Page 11 of Speed

Chapter Four

Speed

When my eyes snappedopen, it took me a few minutes to realize where I was.Home. It’d been a while. I stretched and then sat on the side of the bed taking in the room. It had to have been Shakes. She had all Cutters things boxed, furniture switched out in the main bedroom with mine from the bedroom I’d used up until I’d left for the service. The woman was a sweetheart. She’d even labeled what was in the boxes that now were in the other room: clothes, shoes, personal items, and papers.

Yeah, I’d get to those soon. Just not today.

I stood, headed to the bathroom, sleep had come first after Crusher left, now it was time for the shower, then a look around the place.

With two of the s’s done, I went in search of my clothes, the third ‘s’ I decided to skip. Being out of the military it would be a trial to see how long it would take for the stubble to get on my nerves.

Stepping out the back door of the cabin, I looked around, the place had been well taken care of while I was gone. More of Shakes work, I’m sure. I headed across the grass not sure if I was ready for this next step as I stuck the key in the lock and opened the door on the side of the garage. When I flipped the light switch, the open space lit brightly. Scanning the space, I overlooked the benches holding every tool you would need to work on bikes, even spare parts that lined the shelves. Nope, my focus settled on the tarp off to one side.

Reaching it, I grabbed the end and pulled the tarp back revealing the mangled bike beneath. As I ran my hand over the dented, scarred, and broken metal I thought of my dad and for the first time ever wondered what had gone through his mind in those last seconds before he crashed. My plans were to strip the bike down and start from scratch piecing it back together. It was my last tie to him, and I planned to keep it as long as I could, even if it was only the rebuilt model.

Harvey Weston had been a great dad. He made mistakes along the way, but who doesn’t, but he also admitted to them too. Not often mind you, but some. Mistakes made still didn’t keep him from being a great dad.

Clarice, my mother, I use the term lightly, was a club whore. She’d grown up in Shades Valley, from what I had been told about her, lost her parents at an early age and ended up being raised by an aging grandmother, who died leaving her without family at the age of eighteen. She worked at the grocery store in town, lived in the local trailer park, and spent her weekends at the club partying. That was where my dad came into the picture, really all the men in the club. He just happened to be the one she set her eyes on.

I didn’t remember much about her, and I never asked. What I learned was said to me by Cutter when I reached horny teenager status.

“Kane, noticed you’ve been sniffing around a few of those girls in your class. Boy, have you got your dick wet in any of them yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Here,” he shoved a box of condoms at me, “before you run out, you tell me, I’ll get you more.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t stick your dick in without the damn raincoat, you don’t know what any bitch could be planning. And always use your own.”

“What for? A condom is a condom.”

“Goddamn, Kane, no it isn’t. Son, I don’t want what happened to me and a few of the others to happen to you.”

Cutter proceeded that day in telling me how Clarice had evidently done alterations to a stash of condoms. A stash kept by Cutter in the room he used at the clubhouse. She ended up pregnant and by the time she’d let it slip during one of their frequent arguments that she planned it because she wanted to be his ol’ lady, it was too late. Cutter hadn’t been the only one in his stash, and five other women who frequented the club ended up pregnant. And over a period of months to follow, the sons of Black Hawk were born.

I rubbed the back of my neck, and the heat was there just like it was that day. I didn’t want to have ‘the talk’ with my dad any more than I’m sure most young boys do. Even thinking back doesn’t make the conversation any less embarrassing, but I’d learned a lot in that talk. And lived by that knowledge too. Not once have I fucked without protection, no matter what the woman said and I damn sure carry my own condoms. No wetsuit, no diving in the pussy pool for my cock.

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