Page 33 of Forty

My mom never cared that I was hanging out with Forty. Correction. Shehatedhim, and she hated that I was friends with bikers and girls who cussed and wore belly shirts. But she didn’t care enough to give me a curfew or anything.

Maybe she thought the less time I was home, the better. In a way, she was right.

I ended up crashing at Shirlene’s a lot if Forty was away on a bike run or something. Shirlene, for whatever reason, had a “no boys in the bedroom” rule. Shirlene Robard, who dealt marijuana for medical purposes before it was a thing. Shirlene, who has a half sleeve tattoo of the Army emblem in the middle of a burning American flag.Shirlenehad a no boys policy. People are complicated.

Anyway, one weekend night I was sleeping over at her place. Forty had been away on a job. Heavy’s dad had them doing stupid shit. Running black market cigarettes, stuff like that. I was asleep in the guest room under an old quilt. I’d left the window open ‘cause I love the feel of being warm under the covers while the night breeze nips at your nose and the tips of your ears.

I was in the middle of a dream when Forty slipped under the quilt with me, scooping me to his chest, dropping kisses down my neck.

I’d told him no boys allowed. He said he wasn’t gonna disrespect Shirlene.

He held me all night long, listening to me deliriously ramble on the edge of sleep, for hours it seemed. We were the only two people on the planet, and he could follow what I was saying no matter how tongue-twisted I got, and whatever happened to make him so wild-eyed and spooked when he crawled into bed, I made disappear. When the sun rose, he’d let himself out the window the way he came.

I haven’t thought about that night in forever.

What did happen that scared the shit out of him?

Whatever it was, he never told me. His brothers knew. They were definitely there when it went down.

I guess we weren’t the only two people on the planet after all.

The water’s turned lukewarm. I pop the drain, and I squeeze the water from my hair, wrapping it in an old Budweiser towel. I use a Cap’n Crunch towel to wrap around my body. Guess Mom didn’t leave any linens when she left for Florida.

I wash my face with some witch hazel wipes, and I grab my phone. I’ve still got my ear buds in, although all music is background noise once my brain starts cranking.

I head for the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal—the power of subconscious suggestion—and when I round the corner into the living room, I freeze in place. Dripping on the carpet.

The entire Steel Bones Motorcycle Club is in our house.

Forty’s here. He’s in the dining room. Heavy and Pig Iron are with him, staring at something on the table. A map?

Big George is by the sofa. Charge and Nickel are leaning on the wall by the kitchen.

They all look up at me in unison.

I clutch my towel, even though it’s tucked tightly around my boobs.

I search Forty’s expression for clues as to what’s going on, and I watch as he shuts down his face. His eyes go blank. His jaw tightens. He turns away.

Oh. Guess whatever this is, it’s not about me.

That’s when Lou grabs my elbow and hustles me back down the hall. I pluck out my earbuds.

“Why is Forty here?”

“Club business.”

“Why is there club business in our house?”

He shrugs and pulls me into the room I’ve been crashing in. “Here.” He reaches in his wallet and takes out a twenty. “Go into town and get yourself a few drinks. Gimme a call in a few hours. I’ll let you know if the coast is clear.”

“Why am I leaving my house for Steel Bones’ club business?”

“You’re not.” The vein at Lou’s temple tics. “You’re leavingmyhouse becauseIasked you nicely.”

“I can’t believe you pulled themy housecard!”

“You were the one who left. You were the one who cut Mom and Dad off.”

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