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“It didn’t,” I insisted. Or, if it did, I didn’t understand it. “Maybe you should be grilling Billie, not me,” I suggested, getting small eyes from Hope.
“I’m going to let that snippy-ass tone slide since you’re in pain,” she said, brow arching up even as she took a step back and lifted her shirt, revealing a nasty fucking bruise that covered half her stomach. “I know a thing or two about being an asshole since this happened,” she said, shrugging.
“What happened?” I asked, stiffening, ready to charge out of the clubhouse and take on whoever had done it, broken back or not. No one put their hands on the princesses. True, I didn’t know any of them as long as the actual family members, but they’d long since become family to me too. Maybe especially because I didn’t really have one of my own.
“Work,” Hope said, shrugging.
“Are the men you work with always on jobs that have them roughed up, or is it just you?” I pressed. At that, her jaw went tight, and I had all the answers I needed. “Hope, fucking quit,” I said, shaking my head. “You’ve put up with nonstop fucking abuse there. Quit. You don’t need that job.”
“They’re going to fucking respect me,” she said, voice taking on a rough edge.
I couldn’t claim to relate to that desire. But I’d also never been discriminated against based solely on my gender. I didn’t know what it was like to feel the need to prove your entire sex as capable as the opposite sex. I’d also never been constantly beaten down over and over no matter how hard I tried, how good a job I’d done.
I guess if you’d been through all that shit, you had to get the outcome you wanted, or it would feel like you went through all that shit for nothing.
“I get it,” I agreed. “But don’t kill yourself for a bunch of assholes who can’t see your worth either.”
“If I’m not dead yet on this job, it isn’t going to happen,” she said, gaze dark enough for me to believe she wasn’t exaggerating. Things had been a lot worse than she’d let on about. “But if you say anything to any of our people about it, I’ll break the rest of your back.”
“Understood. But if you need help, Hope, you got a lot of people.”
“I want to do it on my own,” she insisted, chin jerking up. “And, besides, we weren’t supposed to be talking about me. We’re talking about what happened with you and the hippie sex goddess.”
“Hippie sex goddess?” I repeated, lips twitching.
“Can you think of a better descriptor?” she shot back, smirking at me.
“I guess not. And nothing. Nothing that I can pinpoint anyway. Maybe she was just having an off night. Or forgot she had another naked potluck to attend.”
I swear at those words, Hope went green in the face.
“I was dragged to that the last time. I wasn’t told about the clothing strongly discouraged thing. I just walked in with store-bought tacos because I don’t have time for cooking. And there they were. Cocks and balls and boobs all out. Eating. They were eating while naked. I’m pretty fucking sure that isn’t sanitary, y’know? Hightailed it out of there quick. But… fine. Keep your secrets. Billie is a shit liar. I will get it out of her.”
With that, she was gone. And I was left wondering if I would see Billie again.
As it would turn out, I wouldn’t the next day.
Or the day after.
It wasn’t until the third day that, I guess, she hadn’t been able to find anyone to come and drop off tea and a replacement salve because on the way back from therapy, Cary turned the SUV off the main road and headed in the direction of Billie’s place.
“Wait, Billie asked me to come in,” Cary said, giving me a look that was, at once, apologetic and somehow knowing. I guess when he lived quite a few more years than I had, you came to know shit, to read a situation without having any details.
“She’ll live with the disappointment,” I said, shrugging, and climbing out of the vehicle.
I couldn’t claim my back was feeling any better. If anything, I was just adapting to the pain a bit better. It was still there most of the way, a piercing, stabbing sensation that could steal my breath if I wasn’t careful and purposeful with my movements. But I managed to move around more, get some shit done so I felt like a productive member of society, and brother of the MC.
There was a package outside of Billie’s door, and I managed to do this awkward squat assisted by the door molding to get down low enough to grab it, then stand back up before knocking.
“Cary, it’s open,” Billie called, tone light, breezy. The tone she used with everyone except for me, it seemed. “I can’t thank you enough for—oh,” she said, her air rushing out of her as she froze in her rush across the room.
