Brute: The Valves MC (8 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

In the week following the incident, I had spent many hours turning all the possibilities around, trying to find new views on it. All details seemed to point towards a vile situation, but the specifics of that were unknown. And not knowing was the scariest part.

On Thursday, Ginger stayed home, sick. I could barely go through with my work, the day seeming so long and never ending. My classes over, I left without doing any paperwork and drove as fast as I could. The little girl was sick and I needed to see if she was all right. Dawson might have been a good father but I didn’t trust his medical skills. Besides, lately I hadn’t trusted Dawson, period.

On my way home, like everything conspired to slow me down, I had to get gas. I couldn’t wait anymore, so I called Dawson. “Hey, I’m just on my way home. Wanted to ask how Ginger’s feeling.”

Fine, he told me. No need to worry, just a common cold. He seemed distant. Before I could suggest a visit, he assured me that the little girl would be just fine by the weekend. I felt anger rising inside me. Was I just interested in an easy babysitting job? Or was I more concerned with her well-being?

I wanted to ask him what he took me for, but I held my tongue. I wouldn’t have known how to proceed anyway.

I heard Ginger’s voice in the background, probably asking who it was that he mentioned her name to. He said she could say hi but didn’t hand her the phone. She seemed fine with just yelling “Hi, Mari!” towards the handset, then I didn’t hear her anymore. I felt on the brink of crying. The bastard was trying to keep her from possibly asking to see me.

I hung up, unable to believe such preposterous possibilities, and drove home. I unlocked my front door, eying his house with a concerned look on my face. I couldn’t see Ginger, so I stepped inside and closed the door. For some reason, I felt exhausted. And terribly hurt with loneliness.

I sat down, dropping my purse on the floor, starting to feel tears on my cheeks. What was going on seemed like the worst dream I could ever have with Dawson. I felt stupid for having imagined happy times and a future into this relationship. It seemed that, regardless of what he said or what I thought to have seen in his eyes, he didn’t want to be close. Ginger was the only thing bringing us together and he was taking her away when she needed me the most.

What cruel man would do that? And what sort of sordid business was he involved with? Drugs? Prostitution? Surely, as a bouncer, he had access to just the right type of market.

And Ginger?

“Mari!” My heart jumped out of the ribcage. Ginger had cried my name and I darted through the door.

She was running towards my house, wearing just a light little dress, barefoot. I kneeled on the grass and hugged her tightly, concerned for the weather that seemed to get cooler by the hour. I intended to have a word with Dawson when I heard him walk towards us.

I raised my eyes as drops of rain started falling, big and round, at a slow, but determinate pace. His dark features looked even darker against the cold sky and, for a moment, I felt a stray ripple in my stomach.

I stood, still holding Ginger, trying to shield her from the rain. I glanced once at Dawson, then dashed towards his house, where I could change the girl into something warmer, maybe tuck her in with some tea, make her comfortable. To hell with his unwillingness to have me there without prior arrangements.

He reached the door before us and held it open. I stepped in and went straight for Ginger’s room. He walked in front and opened the door, leaving me space to get inside.

The pink room had never surprised me. I expected him to provide her with anything she wished. I went straight to the small bed in the corner and laid Ginger down. She was mellow and her skin was hot to the touch. I looked at Dawson sharply. He looked down.

“Okay, baby, we’re going to sleep now,” I whispered, gesturing for a warm looking bathrobe thrown over a pile of toys. He grabbed it and I dressed Ginger, caressing her burning cheeks.

She seemed to be falling asleep, a little smile stapled on her face. I held her close to my chest, rocking her slowly, whispering a lullaby. I felt him watching me and when I stole a glance at him. His face looked open, warmed by the sight like it was something he pictured many times before.

I felt confused and an aching knot formed in my stomach, trying to figure what was going on with him. Why the contradiction? I didn’t have time nor was it the right place to ponder the issue, as I felt Ginger’s breath even out, slipping into a calm sleep with, hopefully, sweeter dreams now that I was there for her. That we both were.

I carefully stood and Dawson bent to cover her delicately. His manly smell, mixed with the smallest amount of cologne, brought me back into a teen-like lightheadedness. He took my hand and pulled me out of the room. Next thing, I was pinned against the wall in the most powerfully burning kiss ever touching my lips.

He didn’t come across as sexual, no. He seemed protective of me, grateful even, for being here. It was as if he always wanted me here, like this. And the hunger in his kiss, like tomorrow the world would end, made me feel a pain I couldn’t describe. His pain, not mine, but I felt it just the same.

He drew back to breathe, looking deep into my eyes. Mine were swimming in warm tears, ready to overflow.

“Come,” he said, taking my hand again. “Let’s have something hot to drink.”

I couldn’t speak. If I did, my voice would break and I knew I would cry and never stop. At the same time, I knew I had to make a decision but I wasn’t sure of anything anymore, I couldn’t make up my mind; I didn’t know what to make up my mind for. The pain simmering my insides was born from the uncertainty of what was happening and I was afraid that, if I asked, the beauty of this moment would perish forever.

I sat at the dining table and hugged the hot cup of sweet tea with both hands. I felt naked and raw and I couldn’t look into his eyes.

He lifted my chin and smiled but I could see he shared the same pain as me. Something was standing between us and I couldn’t see it. It’s magnitude, I felt it, but I couldn’t see it. I smiled back, as painful as him and we knew we didn’t need words.

But regardless of how simple life would be without them, words needed to be said between us. I needed, we needed, for the sake of Ginger it was needed that things become clear. Only that I knew the same struggle went on inside him and none of us knew how to start these words.

“What happened?” I asked, barely above a whisper, urging him with my eyes to uncover all that was hidden in his soul.

“She was sick, crying, and saw your car. I couldn’t stop her. She just ran out the door,” he said, and I saw he knew my meaning but chose to ignore it.

I lowered my gaze, beginning to feel the magic disperse.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he followed, looking away. He had a guilty look on his face, a struggle showing its signs on his features.

I waited, my lips parted, encouraging him to open up. He didn’t look at me. I suspected he couldn’t.

“I…It’s hard. It’s…” he began, wary of choosing his words.

“What is it?” I said, raising. My feet took me closer to him and I touched his face, making him look at me.

He lost himself in my eyes, and I saw him fighting to draw courage from me. I opened up as well as I could, smoothing my features, trying to offer him a safe place to talk.

“It’s just…It’s my job,” he finally said, deepening the mystery more.

“Daddy…” Ginger’s feeble voice reached us. I turned to go, but he stopped me.

“I’ll go,” he said and I understood he needed the time to collect his thoughts, to ready his words.

I nodded and remained alone, feeling strange and uncomfortable. What could it be about his job? Being a bouncer surely wasn’t the worst job and it seemed to pay for a decent life.

That started me into rummaging through my unanswered questions, through my dreadful suspicions, but I didn’t have time to lose myself in thoughts. Ginger was crying and I could make out my name. I ran to her room and grabbed her extended arms. She was shaking and the fever had gotten worse.

“I’m here, baby. Shh!” I murmured, rocking her gently. “What happened?” I mouthed silently to Dawson.

He whispered “Bad dream.”

“It must be the fever. We need to get her to a hospital.”

And with his nod, our moment of truth had ended. I took her in my arms and he covered her with the blanket. We agreed in silence that his Harley wasn’t suited for this task and took my car. He drove us, fast, and we got to the hospital through a tense silence, like a physical block between us.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Today felt like one of the worst days in my life. It would have been a usual Friday if it weren’t for Dawson taken Ginger home himself. I had to drive alone and the ride seemed terrible. I was growing quite fond of coming home with her.

When I had seen him at school, he seemed distant, in a hurry and my reaction was to crawl into my shell and not say more than two words. He didn’t seem to notice, which only made me feel even lonelier.

Once at home, I felt too drained to do anything productive so I left everything as it was and turned the TV on. I couldn’t find anything worth watching and my attempt at an afternoon nap turned out to be futile, too.

With less than half of a grain of motivation, I got out of the bed and walked into the kitchen. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I really didn’t have anything to do, but then desperation hit me. What was I to do to settle my wayward mind?

On the fridge I had put a page from an old-fashioned cooking magazine. I remembered discovering it a few weeks back and liking the idea of salty caramel and raspberry on a cheesecake base. Excitement at a premium today, I decided to try the recipe anyway. How could it hurt? I checked for ingredients and learned I didn’t have any cream. I looked out the window, at the heavy rain and shivered.

“What the hell?” I said, and grabbed my coat.

I ran to the car and drove away. In the store, a moment of clarity opened my mind to the fact that everything around me seemed to slow down. From the moment I left home, starting the car with delayed motions, to my perusing between the aisles aimlessly, unsure of what I wanted. It seemed like some sort of physical sadness had engulfed me like quicksand, blocking my mind, slowing my life down. For a moment, I was unsure of why I had come to the store, then I remembered what I needed to buy. Still fighting my trance-like state, I grabbed the cream and left the store in a hurry.

A weird energy was coiling inside me, in direct contradiction to my languid perspective. The result was unsettling and I needed to be busy soon, otherwise I feared I would break down.

Too focused inwards, I almost bumped into Dawson, who was waiting for me by the front door.

“What are you doing here?” I asked automatically.

“Are you all right?” he ignored my question.

I frowned. What was he talking about? “Yes. Why are you here?”

“Are you sure?”

I was noticing how he was in the habit of talking over me. It felt particularly annoying. “Yes! Why wouldn’t I be?”

He regarded me pensively. “You look unwell, baby. Let’s go inside.” His voice sounded warm and sincerely concerned for me. Out of habit, he pressed the door handle before I could unlock the door and I discovered that, in my foggy state of mind, I had left the house unlocked. He looked at me again, questions in his eyes.

I shrugged and stepped inside. He followed immediately and closed the door behind him. He didn’t say a word as I put the cream on the counter and started rummaging through my cupboards for the rest of the ingredients. I could feel his eyes on me and it made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t very good at awkward silences, especially when they came with a hefty side of personal concern.

“I was thinking of trying a new recipe. Some sort of cheesecake, but without any cheese.” I needed to talk. He kept watching me. “I think I liked it because of the salted caramel, but I didn’t have any cream so I had to go to the store.”

He shifted behind me, his uneasiness almost a physical object. “I’m sorry, baby,” I heard him whisper. I turned around to see him looking at me.

“What for?” I had to ask. Another thing I was starting to notice and find unsettling was his way of confusing me with so much ease.

“I didn’t do it right today.” Now I was completely puzzled. Before my mouth could form a real question, Dawson went on, “I’m not very good with surprises. I wanted to make it right between us and I thought something out with Ginger. Apparently she was right and I should listen to her more often.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

He smiled. “Your idea of dessert fits right in, actually. Now that we had to change our plans because of the weather.”

I frowned at him, but had to acknowledge I was starting to feel better. He could barely keep from laughing under his own frown. “Would you like me to help you with those?”

“What for?” Back to being confused.

“We’re going at my place, of course.”

Of course. “Naturally. What else?” I laughed.

He came close, bent and kissed me, then grabbed everything in a pile in his arms and started for the door. “Are you coming?” he asked, looking back from the door.

“I need to shower before I step out of this house again,” I argued.

He didn’t budge. “You can do it at my place. I’m sure you can use some of my clothes.”

The warmth I felt inside was more than enough of a reason to follow him in the now heavier rain. Drops were falling over us, weighing us down and soaking our clothes and hair in just the few seconds we spent in its direct line of fire.

Once inside, we burst into laughter. Looking into each other’s eyes, we felt compelled to kiss. Not passionately, not grown-up kiss, but like a sweet stolen touch, like teenagers sneaking around. I felt my heart bursting with the sting of happiness and before I could voice my feelings, Ginger had broken us up with a very distinct “cuuute”.

We both blushed and looked down, in keeping with the teen theme.

“Tsk-tsk. Where were you?” she demanded.

“Did you see that?”

I noticed he was in the habit of talking over Ginger, too.

I laughed. “What?” I asked, shaking my head.

“I think she’s the only kid I ever heard saying that grown-ups kissing was cute!”

I looked at Ginger and she frowned. “What do you mean?” she requested, visibly puzzled.

“It’s just not what kids your age do, baby,” he said, trying to calm her.

“What?”

“They go more like ‘eww’ than ‘cute’, baby.”

“But, why?”

Ginger had taken an inquisitive stance, little hands balled up on her hips. I leaned on the doorframe, extremely amused with seeing Dawson being roasted by his five-year-old daughter.

“What are you laughing at?” he turned an accusatory look at me. “Help me out!”

I shook my head, reached for my supplies and took them slowly, one by one, from his arms, then strutted to the kitchen. One last look behind was enough to send me into convulsive fits of laughter. Dawson was actually pouting, head down, while Ginger looked tall and proud, still frowning for clarifications.

I took advantage of the situation and snuck to take a shower, changing into one of Dawson’s sweatpants and t-shirt. The scene between them was over before I got back and we were shortly reunited in the kitchen, each of us equipped with aprons and various kitchen tools. We had divided the labor fairly and each of us had something to do, something to pay for the deliciousness that we were to enjoy later.

Dawson was still figuring out the old food processor he had to bring from my place. He had to go back twice since I forgot to lock the door again and the keys were still on me.

Ginger seemed much more comfortable with her task. Besides graciously accepting the heavy burden of overseeing dinner preparations, she was also making cute little flowers out of vegetables. I was honestly amazed.

Halfway through panfrying some tempting-looking fresh fish, I had asked about its provenience, which, in turn, got us talking about Dawson’s initial plans for the day. He intended to take me and Ginger fishing but the unexpected change in weather had ruined his plans. Both our reactions, something akin to a scrunch, told him the weather wasn’t the only problem with his plan. I, then, learned that Ginger came up with the genius idea of dinner making. She was the one suggesting we should make it look like a proper dinner, using the good crystal glasses and china plates. I kissed her with gratitude and we shared a moment of female bonding to which Dawson stood as a dumbfounded male witness.

I loved every minute of the day. Where everything seemed so grim in the morning, he had turned it all around. Him and Ginger seemed to be my best source of happiness and I had forgotten about every dark thought or doubt for the moment.

I loved them both and I needed to be near them. I reached my conclusion swiftly, without even realizing I was thinking about us. In itself, it looked like my fate was tied to theirs from now on and I relished in that feeling, taking in the laughter around me. One tear had run down my cheek and I left it there. There was no shame in being happy.