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“None that have a vacancy.” She swiped some more, her brows furrowed in concentration. “Okay, this one might work, let me call.”
Ten minutes later we were parked on the side of the road, letting Max relieve himself in a patch of weeds.
Laura was fuming, and I was trying to come to terms with my new reality.
“Five places, Callie.Five.”
She was referencing the number of places that had turned us down. Not because they were full, or even because of my dog. They had all given the same cryptic reason, which all led back to Wes.
Private party booked through the rest of the summer.
That was bullshit, and Laura knew it. I knew it. Max knew it.
We all fucking knew it.
“You wanted to know why I wasn’t surprised…this is why. These guys run this town. You can’t argue with it or fight against it.”
Laura kept her head down, hands tethered to her hips. The silence was interrupted by a chorus of crickets in the tall grass off in the distance.
“The next town is like fifteen miles away. I mean, it’s going to have to work, so let’s go.”
My temper was usually mild, and I didn’t try to cling to things I couldn’t change. When Wes and I broke up and I decided to leave, he let me, and so did Dad. No one tried to stop me, and that was response enough for me. What good would it have done to get upset, yell, or scream? None of it would have made a damn difference. But now, I was feeling this fire build in my chest. The war Wes had mentioned was here, quiet and calm on the surface but bubbling and vivid underneath.
I should have known this would be his play.
Pushing off the side of the car, I let out a sigh. The last pieces of daylight were waning, leaving stars in their wake. The moon was just a tiny thumbnail in the sky, and the heat was finally starting to succumb to the night.
With the receding light, the fucks I gave regarding this entire situation with Wes began to lessen, as well. He was keeping me from my home, the one thing my father had left to me. Fuck the club, and fuck Wes.
“We’re going to the source.”
Laura shoved her hair up off her neck and pulled the mass into a bun.
“Damn straight we are.”
* * *
Cicadas sang a familiar tune as we drove toward Belvin Drive with our windows down.
Nostalgia tugged at my memories like phantom talons, clawing and piercing through me. We drove along the dirt path that led back to my childhood home, and my heart raced for what would come next.
I hadn’t laid eyes on the clubhouse in seven years, I hadn’t returned home one time after I left, and while I was still mourning my father’s passing, I could also feel guilt flare the tiniest bit. I realized staying away was due to stubbornness and just being angry at the club, and when Wes joined it was the final straw for me. Back then, my anger and bitterness felt justified. I clung to those reasons until my fingers bled, but now, I just felt foolish. I was the one who had missed out on nearly a decade of memories, and now I was the one who was the stranger in my own home.
As we rounded the curve in the drive, I imagined a small, dark-haired me learning to ride a rusty bike while club members watched and laughed, most of them drunk, several of them high.
My dad wasn’t even the one to physically help me; it was always Brooks or Rhodes who held on to the back of my seat and guided my old bike around.
The being-poor part was difficult too. We never had any money.
Stone Riders had been my grandpa’s creation, from what I understood, based off an era of mistrust and bad deeds from a local factory. My dad was a big reason it had flourished and grew to the expansive size. Seven years ago, he’d reached nearly three hundred members, scattered throughout the area. Based on the funeral size, those numbers had held. Growing up, the club didn’t pay the bills, at least not as far as I ever experienced. If they did illegal things, I was never the beneficiary of any cash flow from it.
My clothes came from donation bins, and whatever Red found for me at the big box stores she went to. My shoes never fit right, and my hair was a greasy mess until I was old enough to use Google and hustle my own products.
It wasn’t until I was in high school that Dad’s club was suddenly flush with money, and I was too in love with Wes to pay it any mind or realize they’d likely started moving bigger, or better, product.
Laura gasped next to me, which brought me back to the moment.
“This is where you grew up?”
