In our town, though?
Yeah, it was Gala and Jazzy who knew all of the shit that went down in town.
They’d been there, after all. Because their coffee shop was my favorite place in town.
They’d seen me with one guy.
Then they’d seen me with another.
And then they never saw me again.
Because I’d been running from my problems for so damn long.
It was time to stop running.
It was time, in fact, to face them up.
Was it impulsive as hell?
Yes. Yeah, absolutely.
But that was just who I was. Much to my parents’—who worried about me constantly—chagrin.
I jumped.
Then started to look for the parachute pull on the way down.
And, yeah, a lot of the time, that pull wasn’t there. I was a professional free-faller in life. I did a good tuck and roll when I landed, trying to minimize the damage. There was always damage, though. Battle wounds and emotional scars.
That was life, though, right?
A series of missteps and punches you had to learn to roll with.
Seemed pointless to try to avoid getting hurt. It was better to just learn some first aid and develop a pretty strong pain tolerance to it all.
That said, even I was having reservations about this new plan of mine as I got a fourth cup of coffee, this time to go, and headed back out of She’s Bean Around to think it through.
I mean, what the fuck?
Was I really going to commit to something as lifelong as a damn outlaw biker patch just to face up the uglier part of my past?
I mean, granted, prospecting didn’t mean I was going to get a patch. In fact, I didn’t actually want a patch.
I’d never been someone who knew what they wanted to do with their life, but I was pretty sure being an arms-dealing biker wasn’t in my ten-year-plan.
That said, I could fail my way out of it. These were guys I knew, after all. They would let me out when I wanted out.
But going in and acting like it was something I wanted gave me the chance to deal with some shit.
To say my piece.
And maybe fuck with someone who’d cut me so deeply that I was pretty sure I never fully healed, that I’d been bleeding inwardly for years.
Was that the most mature and level-headed thing to do? No, of course not. But no one would ever accuse me of being level-headed.
“That is the gait of a woman up to something,” a familiar voice called as I made my way down the street, heading back toward my car that I’d parked in the community lot at the edge of the main street because I’d wanted to walk around and take in the town.
Turning, I saw a face I didn’t realize I’d missed as much as I did until I saw her again.
Lo.
The co-owner of the gym I’d practically been raised in because my parents believed to their cores that self-defense wasn’t just an option for a young woman to learn, but a necessity.
Over the years, I’d taken damn near every class she offered at the gym, learning more fighting styles than most people would ever hear of.
It had been a great outlet for a restless girl with too much of an attitude and not enough of the sense that would come with some extra years.
“Lo!” I said, giving her a genuine smile because she truly was someone who meant a lot to me.
“You look great. I didn’t hear you were back in town.”
“I just got back a couple of days ago,” I explained. “Been holed up at my parents’ place, sleeping off a little jet lag and letting them fuss over me.”
“We parents do like to fuss,” she agreed, nodding. “So, what are you up to? I can hear those gears turning from over here,” she said, leaning back against her car.
“I am about to do something that is, objectively, supremely stupid and maybe a little bit vengeful,” I admitted.
“Well, that sounds like a lot of fun,” Lo said, making a laugh escape me, reminding me why I loved her so much.
I mean, I guess when you’d run a paramilitary survival camp for most of your adult life, you kind of had a different outlook on life and what is and isn’t fun.
“Right?” I asked, smiling. “Don’t worry. Cash is going to be telling you all about it in the coming days,” I told her.
“Oh, girl,” she said, shaking her head, again seeming to know without me having to say anything.
“You can’t tell me he doesn’t have it coming,” I said.
“No, no, you’re right. He could probably use to get his ass handed to him. I guess I’m just more concerned about your well-being in the whole thing.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten a lot tougher over the years,” I assured her.
It was then that her keen gaze met my eyes, seeking, and seeming to find what she was looking for.
“I can see that,” she said, nodding a bit solemnly. “It never gets easier,” she said, shrugging, “watching all you kids learn about the harsher shit in life. I guess we all want to think that we could shield you from all of it. That’s naive, of course, but it’s what we all hope for.”
“Hey,” I said, moving toward her, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. “We’re all doing alright.”
“But are you?” she asked, and it felt like a bigger question than I could ever answer. Because it didn’t feel like it was just about me. It was about all of us.
“Maybe not,” I admitted, shrugging. “But you have to at least put your faith to rest that you gave us all the tools we could possibly need to deal with our shit, right?” I asked.
To that, she let out a small, airy laugh.
“With you, darling, I’m a little worried about just how many tools I’ve given you. Not to mention your father,” she said, cringing a bit. “And how you might choose to use those tools. And on whom,” she finished.
“Oh, come on Lo,” I said, turning to leave, walking backward as I added, “a little castration never hurt anyone,” I told her, turning away at the sound of her laughter.
Oddly, I felt better about my decision after talking to Lo. As much as she was kind of hands-off with all “her girls,” she would absolutely say something if she thought we were being completely stupid.
That said, it was no secret that Lo was a complete hopeless romantic. When we were really young, we used to steal her steamy romances that she would leave around the gym and read the totally inappropriate for our ages material.
She loved a love story.
And I could totally see her urging me to go through with my plan because she had some misguided notion that it might end up with Valen and I somehow ending up together.
Which was just about the most ridiculous thing I’d heard in years. Which was saying something because I’d recently been told when staying at a lady’s house that if I put a knife under my pillow, it would stop my bad dreams.
Little did she know, I slept with a knife under my pillow every night.
But, yeah, my plan wasn’t going to end with Valen and I getting back together.
Oh, no.
That was dead.
Dug up by scavengers, eaten to the bone, then re-buried by the sands of time.
It couldn’t be revived.
I just wanted him to pay a little bit.
I wanted him to know that you couldn’t go around being that much of an asshat and not have someone make you suffer for it.