Page 56 of Existential

TWENTY-SIX

Dagne

Sixteen messages, all in a row. Sixteen messages, and not one of them from the man I’d like to hear from.

King gifted me the phone saying he’d feel better knowing I had a way to contact them if I got into trouble while out on my own. I accepted on one condition: that he gave my number to Crackers so if they heard anything from Hooch they’d have a way to contact me. Seems the listing isn’t so exclusive in the Fort Worth club.

I stretch my legs out on the back deck, enjoying the respite from the drizzly rain we’ve had of late. Sunshine breaks through the clouds sporadically, and each burst of warmth fills me with love anew for the small things in life. The things we miss when we’re not taking our time, when we’re rushed off our feet to keep up with empty promises and one-sided obligations.

The clouds roll over once more, and I open my eyes to watch a bird fish for worms in the damp lawn. I’ve wracked by brain for an age trying to figure out what I said or did that gave Digits the wrong impression. His messages started out friendly enough, and I simply didn’t reply because I’d been in the middle of errands with Dog. But the tone of the follow up texts left me feeling uneasy in my gut, and the implication of the ones that followed the last few days literally had my flesh break out in goose bumps.

He thinks I owe him something. That by being here I’m purposefully avoiding him. That it’s my duty to return to him if I choose to stay with the Aces.

I don’t belong to anyone. I made that point loud and clear when I decided to cut ties with what was left of my family and go it alone.

Sure, I could say something to King, maybe seek advice from Sonya. But in the scheme of things I’m relatively new here. I like these people, but I don’t trust them yet. And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that if something is appealing on the surface, you can guarantee it’s ugly on the inside.

Who’s to say they wouldn’t turn on me if I started drawing lines within their ranks? An outsider accusing one of their brothers—an officer no less—of … what? What would I even say he’s doing? Sending messages that make me feel uneasy? I’d sound like nothing more than a child whining in the playground because so-and-so has called her names.

Guess I just have to deal with it.

“There you are.” Sonya steps out of the shelter of the clubhouse, joining me on the deck. “I wondered if you wanted to help me do some baking this afternoon. King said a few of the southern boys are coming up for the next few days, so I thought I’d get a head start.” She smiles, unaware of how uneasy her news has made me. “Those boys sure know how to eat. You in?”

“Sure.” I do my best to hide the concern in my voice, but the woman has wisdom and experience on her side.

“What’s the matter?” She frowns, her eyes tracking my hand as I pick up the phone from beside me. “You still got troubles?”

“I can handle it.” I said I would, and I plan to. Just not sure how yet.

“Well,” she says, eyeing me suspiciously. “If you feel you need help, you just ask, okay? Whatever it is; nothing’s unusual around here.”

“I get that feeling.”

Sonya leads the way to the kitchen, chatting about what she plans on making. Apparently the guys have a soft spot for her brownies, but she makes them special with a gooey caramel center. I’m only half listening, mostly trying to spot a good point to ask the burning question without seeming too obvious.

“Do they visit often?” I slot in when she breaks to collect ingredients. “I mean, like, do they have big get-togethers much, or just stick to their own thing?”

She gives me the side-eye as she sets a plastic tub filled with flour on the counter. “They have occasions, sure, as in anniversaries and anything else that requires celebration, like the patching in of a member.”

I busy myself with the recipe, running my finger down the handwritten page as though I’m reading it. “What are they celebrating this time?”

The page disappears from under my hand. “Why you asking, Dag?”

“Curious, I guess.” Gulp.

Sonya nods, a small smile playing at her lips. “I might be old, and I might be happy stuck in my corner ignoring how the club works, but I’m not stupid.” She leans on her elbows on the opposite side of the counter from me. “What’s really going on?”

“I’m hoping it has something to do with Hooch, is all.”

“Bullshit.”

Her assertion takes me by surprise. I reel back, eyes wide.

“If you were worried about him, you would have simply come out and asked it. But you’re not.” She circles a finger in the air. “You’re dancing around the subject as though if you’re sprung it’ll get you grounded by your parents.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes as I turn away. “I’m not here to cause trouble, okay?”

“Nobody said you were.”

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