From the beginning, I’d taken to watching over her as she skipped down that untraveled path of hers. In the years after our paths diverged, it wasn’t just the thought of protecting her free spirit that had me continuing to safeguard her. She was like trying to catch a rainbow, larger than life and unreachable. It was almost better that she was, unblemished from the bullshit that tied most people down. Didn’t stop me from wanting her. She’d been chewing on her lower lip in gym class, a nervous gesture, but I had a hell of a time pulling my eyes from her mouth. I wanted a taste. Most couldn’t see past her quirkiness, her eclectic wardrobe, but if they could, they’d see what I did. She usually wore those black frame glasses, something else I found fucking adorable, but they hid her best feature, big green eyes that were the color of summer grass. Even her hair, all those wild dark brown curls, she rarely wore it down, but when she did, I wanted to sink my hands into it, pull her close and kiss that mouth. I wanted her. I knew she wanted me too. I felt her eyes on me, saw the way she looked at me. I knew even at eleven that what we shared would shift…change. It was why I pulled back, before that change happened. There were times when I actually entertained the idea of asking her out, giving in to what I wanted, but the kid I’d been was gone. I wasn’t sure she’d care too much for the man I was growing into.
Moving off my car, I tossed the bottle in the bucket and reached for my keys. The sound of motorcycles pulled my attention. Dax came down the dirt path, a few of his brothers with him, members of the Iron Guardians MC. I worked on their motorcycles. Harry Kemp owned the best garage in the tri-state area. He was a good boss, a better man. Whenever I had trouble at home, he’d offer me the cot in the back of the garage. No questions asked. He was offering that cot a lot more lately.
I’d told Dax about the bonfire. I probably shouldn’t have. Most of the people were underage, and these weren’t guys who would care about that shit, but then looking around, the girls here had done the rounds. It was likely they’d be up for a rougher ride.
Dax pulled up next to me and shut off his Harley. “You leaving?”
“Yeah.”
He looked around, a grin curving his lips. I glanced around. Saw he’d gained the attention of most of the girls. I’d invited the fox into the hen house. It was easy to forget who he was because he could be so easygoing, but then knowing who he was, I was sure it was intentional, unassuming made it easier for a predator to draw in its prey.
He climbed from his bike. Offered me his hand. I didn’t hesitate to take it. His grip was like him, unyielding. There were rumors that their MC ran drugs, did other shady shit. I knew for a fact that they did because he and his brothers talked when they came to the garage, shit they didn’t care I overheard, so imagining the shit they kept quiet was a scary thought. “Thanks for the invite,” he said.
I threw a wish out that there wouldn’t be any collateral damage before I said, “Sure.”
He started toward Misty. I didn’t stick around for the show, and there would be one because Misty liked to perform.
I wasn’t in the mood to go home, so I drove around for a while. The heart of town was a two-lane road, colorful buildings on either side of the street. There were the small homes clustered together, the people who sat out on their front porches, grilled burgers in the backyard. Celebrating nothing more than life. I was envious. There were no backyard barbeques at the Callahans. We lived in one of the estate homes, the monuments to excess and pride. A place that was as warm as a morgue. Everything was about image and appearances, but only on the surface. Behind closed doors, it was something else entirely. As a kid, I lived in fear, now I just wanted out. I’d have left already, but my dad had connections. I wouldn’t have gotten far. I wasn’t sticking around, though. After graduation, I was gone. Where? I didn’t know. Didn’t care as long as it wasn’t here.
I drove down the quiet street. Unlike my neighborhood, this one had character. The houses weren’t big, not like the cookie cutter mansion I lived in, but they had personality. The arts and craft style home had spotlights in the gardens, shining up through the trees, others directed at the house. A large wreath with flowers and pumpkins hung from the black lacquered door. The gardens were pristine, but, instead of the sterile look our gardens had, these were whimsical. Stone fairies peeked out from behind the plants, garden lights in the shape of butterflies changed colors, white fairy lights hung from the heavy branches of a magnolia tree. A stone path led from the sidewalk to the front door, lined with lights, inviting people in. Welcoming them. It was Cedar’s house. Her home. The idea of walking up that path again was what had me driving past it as often as I did. I fucking missed her. I missed her parents. I missed the security and sense of family. I missed the light in my never-ending dark.
I drove home, pulled into the long drive, parking in the garage because my dad didn’t like my beat-up car in the driveway. He offered me a Porsche, but that offer had strings. I bought my car. Had to work double shifts at the garage, but I paid for it with money I earned.
The house was quiet. Dad’s car wasn’t in the garage. He was probably with one of his girlfriends. Mom would be sleeping after downing a bottle of wine, chasing whatever drug she favored this week. Desperately trying to regain her youth and beauty, but knowing she never would. There were no lights left on, no feeling of welcome. In the kitchen, I yanked open the fridge. Our cook left a plate for me. Sad that the only person I actually connected with was Laura, a mother of three who lived in the section of town that I wished I lived in. Taking my plate and a bottle of water, I headed to my bedroom. Nine more months and then I’d be free of the platinum chains…whatever the fuck I had to do to break them.
I stood at my locker, but my focus was down the hall watching Cedar at hers. Her glasses were sliding down her nose, and she kept blowing her hair out of her face. I swear she was talking to herself. Pulling shit from her locker, only to put it back in again. She closed it, turned, froze then turned back to her locker, opening it again. She grabbed a notebook that looked like a Furby vomited; the notebook was wrapped in hot pink fur, but it was the pen she pulled from her locker, one that had a middle finger on the top of it, that had me stifling a laugh. She jotted something down before closing up the notebook and tossing it and the pen back in her locker. Cedar wouldn’t use that pen in class. It was so tempting to dare her to do just that, but then thinking about what she’d have to do if she didn’t follow through on the dare had the crotch of my jeans growing tight.
She closed up her locker again and started back down the hall. I’d been so focused on what she was doing that I hadn’t noticed what she was wearing. Black jeans, that seemed tame for her, but then I saw the one leg was covered in patches, asymmetrical patterns, colors and shapes. Her white fitted tee had a dipping neckline, which wasn’t helping the tightness in my jeans, and edging the neckline were little rose buds. Ones I just knew she’d done herself. She wore Doc Martens on her feet, but not black like most people wore. Hers were covered in flowers and had hot pink laces.