Page 23 of Sophia, Property of Tracker

I take a minute to catch my breath.

Fuck! This girl has really done a number on me.

I can’t get her out of my head.

I finish showering, and then when I’m relaxed and clean, I shut the shower off and thank God that I found some spare towels under the sink. I bring one up to my nose, and it smells clean. Convinced that it is, I dry my body and hair, noticing how much it’s grown and needing a haircut. Curls are starting to appear, and I run my fingers through my hair. I’m half Mexican, half South African, and I think back to how my mother and father met…

My mother, who is Mexican, met my father in America. He traveled from South Africa for work. He was a doctor who came to LA to study to afford a better life for himself and his family when he had one.

That’s when he met my mother.

She was born and raised in Mexico and came to America when she was sixteen. She met my father years later when he practiced medicine and worked at the Southern Care Hospital. My mom studied nursing. Dad was an intern, and Mom was working as a nurse. They met in the Emergency Room. My dad was called down to emergency to assist as they were understaffed.

Dad was studying to be a heart surgeon, so it wasn’t his normal routine to be there, but his hands were needed. He and Mom both worked on the same man who was suffering from a gunshot wound and kept him alive. Luck was on their side when the patient managed to make it through the night.

My dad had found my mom fast asleep beside the patient in an armchair early the next morning—she never left his side. My mom said that’s when he fell in love with her and the rest is history. She told us the story about how he had asked her out on a date that day, and it wasn’t long before they were married. It’s hard to believe my dad was a romantic. I can’t say I knew him well. All I know are the stories my mom told Tate and me.

And since he left us for another woman, there’s no reason to bring him up anymore.

My mom was a walking zombie long after he left us. She did things in motion—it was as if her body was there, but she wasn’t in mind. Our mom—our funny, beautiful Mother—was gone. She had lost the man she loved and to another woman. I think it would have been easier if he had passed away.

She took to drinking and swallowing sleeping pills. Many nights, Tate and I found her asleep on the couch with a bottle of wine beside her. I would carry her to her bed and ensure she was comfortable and warm. Those nights were the hardest. Having to lie to Tate about why Mom was always asleep. That’s when I had to step up and become the man of the house and when I began to look after Tate. I made sure he had lunch for school and helped him with his homework, and at the same time, constantly reassuring him that everything was going to be okay. Little did he know that I cried myself to sleep nearly every night at the thought of having to do this on my own.

One night, Tate had a fever so bad I had to rush him to the hospital. Unfortunately, he had an ear infection which caused his body to fight with a fever.

Mom panicked in the morning when she couldn’t find Tate or me at home. She called the school to see if we had arrived early, but they assured her that neither Tate nor I were at school. It wasn’t until later on that evening, when we came home, and I found Mom sitting at the kitchen table with a smoke in one hand and a tea in the other, that I remember finding it odd she didn’t have a glass of wine and she had tears streaming down her face.

That night she promised me that she was going to seek help, and she followed through on the promise. She joined Alcoholics Anonymous and found a sponsor who helped sober her up. That was the last time I ever saw her with a drink in her hand.

Things changed after that.

I continued through college and decided I wanted to work with the law. I had respect for our law enforcement officers and wanted to bring the criminals down and off our streets.

Tate, on the other hand, didn’t do so well at school and left without graduating. He got a job at a local mechanic’s shop and made a living fixing cars.

That’s how he made friends with bikers.

He met them riding through and would talk to them about their life and where they were heading. I could tell he found their way of life exciting, but it never occurred to me he would leave one day to join them. I mean, I get it. After spending the day with the Blood Brothers, I’ve come to understand that they are a family rather than outlaws, which is what we, as FBI agents, think of these clubs. I mean, the way they accepted me and let me into their clubhouse and helped me with Tate was something I will never forget. I just hope that the Sinners have the same moral compass as the Blood Brothers and they’re treating Tate well. I’m still furious at him for leaving without a word, but I didn’t want to get into that over the phone. I will have a good talk with him when I see him tomorrow.

With that last thought, I make my way out of the bathroom and head back to the room dressed in nothing but my sweatpants.

I pick up the sheets from the bed and think twice about using them.

Who knows who Hawke has had in his bed?

But I’m too tired to think too much on that subject, so I lay down, cover myself with the sheets, grab my phone, and try to call Sophia one last time. But once again, it goes straight to voicemail.

“Sophia, it’s Ryan. I’m sorry you overhead that rubbish. It’s not what you think. Call me when you get this message, please? I would like to talk to you.”

I end the call and let sleep claim me.

SOPHIA

Past

Lying in bed, I think about what I heard on the phone while talking to Ryan—a woman’s voice offering to suck his penis. Then he told me she’s a whore.

Where the hell is he?He said he’s at a motorcycle club.

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