I hear him suck in a breath before he says, “Marcus is on the move, so you need to hit the road. I’ll be in Catawba tomorrow sometime.”
“Talk to you soon, brother.”
He doesn’t bother replying, just ends the call. As I slide my phone back in my pocket, I see a black four door Mercedes turn into the hospital parking lot. I’m not sure why, but my gut is telling me that is the fucker I want to kill. I fight against the urge to pull my piece out, knowing Shay and her family don’t need that shit right now. Instead, I lean my head back and pull in a deep draw from my smoke. Then, I rev up the engine and head to my girl.
Don’t Say It
Shay
I hold onto Tin-Man as we pull up to a deserted single-wide trailer. The grass is un-cut, giving it an unkempt look, but I can tell that this was once a cherished home. There are flowers planted by the steps and a sign hanging on the door that says, Home Sweet Home. The trailer may not be fancy, but the people that lived here took pride in what they had.
Just like Bowie, Tin-Man pats my leg as soon as he cuts the engine of his bike. “Jump off, Shay.”
I push myself off, holding onto him until my legs quit shaking. Finally, I step back and look at him. He has his phone out and staring at the screen. I can tell by looking at him that something is wrong. Well, I already knew that but I think this is something new. “What’s going on?”
His eyes jerk to mine and I can see a flash of sadness in them. My stomach tightens as he climbs off the bike without saying a word. He walks over to me and wraps his arms around my middle. Staying silent, he holds onto me.
Finally, he breaks the silence. “Be strong, hermana.”
His words come out sounding like a warning. I want to ask, beg him to tell me what is wrong. Instead, I stay quiet. I can feel his hands running up and down my back, comforting me without words. He stays in that position until the roar of a motorcycle fills the air.
I pull away, but Tin-Man doesn’t release me as Bowie pulls into the driveway. I watch as Bowie climbs from his bike and lifts his chin to his brother. Tin-Man mimics his chin lift, before slowly pulling away and climbing on his bike. Not a word is said, as he starts the engine and backs out of the driveway.
Finally, Bowie breaks the silence as he wraps me in his arms. “We need to talk, baby.”
His words send a chill of foreboding down my spine. I ask the question that has been on my mind since his phone rang in the hospital. “Does Marcus know I’m alive?”
He shakes his head and pulls away. Grabbing my hand, he leads me to the trailer. Before stepping onto the porch, he reaches to the flower pot on the bottom step and pulls a key from the loose dirt. Then, he leads me to the door and unlocks it. He pushes me inside and directs me to the couch.
Feeling the tension coming from him, I try to focus on my surroundings. I see scattered toys, battered furniture, and a few scattered DVDs in front of an old TV. The house isn’t messy, but it is lived in. Well, it was lived in at one time. Dust covering the picture frames on the wall makes it obvious that no one has been here for a while. As Bowie sits down on the couch and pulls me beside him, I spot a pair of woman’s shoes by the chair in the corner.
“Whose house is this?”
He pulls me into his side and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Has Lock ever told you about Shooter?”
“Of course,” I mumble out, remembering the stories my brother told me about his friend. Shooter is another soldier that served with him and Bowie. They were as close as brothers, and going by what all Bowie has done for me, I assume they still are.
“This is his old lady’s place. She’s staying with him now, so we’re going to stay here until tomorrow.”
“What happens tomorrow?” I ask, wondering what my future holds.
“Your brother is going to come visit for a bit then we’re heading home.”
Home? Is Kentucky my home now? I think back to morning coffee with Nina, mani and pedis with Rachel, Tin-Man calling me sister, and frequent visits from the guys at the MC. Then, I feel the warmth of Bowie beside me and realize it is. Kentucky is my home.
“We need to talk about something, baby,” Bowie says, bringing my mind back to the conversation.
“What did Marcus do?” I ask, assuming that my husband had caused some problem.
“It’s not him, Shay.” His voice is soft, almost a whisper. He is looking at me, searching my face.
The drastic change in him is scaring me. “What’s wrong?”
“Baby, your mom.”
Before he can say anymore, I jump from the couch. I shake my head back and forth and shout. “No! Don’t say it, don’t say it.”