Motorcycle Man
Page 19

My eyes slid to Tack to see his jaw was clenched.
Tabby kept talking. “I can’t live with this shit anymore. I kid you not, no more. I never know when she’s gonna blow or freak out about something or get in my face or… or… whatever. And that douchebag of a husband of hers, he gets in on the act –”
“How?” Tack barked. He said that one word so forcefully, so abruptly and so angrily, it startled me so much I jumped. Both Tack’s kids went still and their demeanor instantly turned cautious.
“He’s just a dick, Dad, you know that,” the boy said quietly and carefully.
“How’s he a dick, Rush?” Tack asked curtly, only a slim edge of patience in his tone.
Rush and Tabby looked at each other then back to Tack.
“He’s the one who took my keys,” Tabby stated softly. “Says I don’t pull it together, he’s gonna sell my car.” I held my breath when Tack’s scary biker dude vibe filled the air again but Tabby went on, “The problem with that is, I don’t know what I gotta pull together because I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“He just wants to sell her car because he’s a lazy f**k,” Rush muttered under his breath, eyeing his father who was at that very moment yanking his phone out of his back pocket.
“Dad –” Tabby started.
“Quiet,” Tack ordered, beeping buttons on his phone.
“I wanna live with you,” she ignored him in order to continue. “And, just to say, I’ll lose my freakin’ mind that douche sells my car.”
Tack put his phone to his ear and scowled at his daughter. What he didn’t do was reply to her. Instead, he spoke into his phone.
“Shut your f**kin’ mouth,” he growled into the phone. I held my breath again at his vicious tone and he went on, “That shithead thinks to sell my girl’s car because he’s a lazy-ass motherfucker and can’t pull his finger out to get himself a f**kin’ job, he buys himself trouble. And I’m warnin’ you, Naomi, it’s trouble he don’t wanna have. I gave Tabby that car, that car belongs to her. It don’t belong to you and it sure as f**k don’t belong to him. You get his shit sorted and you get your shit sorted and you do not use my kids to sort it. Are we clear?”
He listened for approximately two point five seconds then went on.
“Bullshit,” he bit out. “I hear you, or him, talk that way about Tab again, swear to Christ, Naomi, both your asses are in front of the judge. Do not use my daughter to work out your shit. Your life ain’t what you wanted it to be, that ain’t Tabby’s problem, it ain’t Rush’s problem and it ain’t my problem. I’m sick of your games and I’m done playin’ ‘em. You stop this shit, Naomi, or honest to God, I’ll make you wish you never started it and I’ll be creative in how I do that. Now, are we clear?”
He listened this time for approximately point five seconds before he carried on.
“I don’t wanna hear your shit. I asked you a question. Are we clear? There are two answers to that, woman, but only one smart one.” There was a pause then, scarily, “That wasn’t the smart one. Kiss your kids good-bye.”
Then he flipped the phone closed, shoved it in his back pocket and his eyes sliced through his children.
Then he asked, “You guys have lunch?”
“No,” Rush answered.
“Right, then you’re goin’ for a sandwich with me and Tyra,” Tack announced.
My lungs seized and I felt my eyes get wide.
“Tyra?” Tabby whispered then both kids turned their heads and looked at me for the first time.
Oh boy.
“Uh… hey,” I greeted.
Tabby looked me up and down. So did Rush. Their looks couldn’t have been any more different. Then Tabby grinned. So did Rush. Their grins also couldn’t have been any more different.
“Sweet shoes,” Tabby told me.
“Erm… thanks,” I replied.
“Shoes?” Rush muttered. “Didn’t get that far. The skirt’s burned on my brain.”
My eyes moved to Tack to see now he was grinning.
Tabby looked at her father. “This your new woman that Mom’s in a tizzy about?”
Tack didn’t answer, Rush did, “Duh, Tab, you saw her skirt.”
Tabby looked back at me and grinned, murmuring, “Right.” Then she informed me, “Tyra’s a cool name.”
“Um… thanks,” I said. “Is, uh… your name Tabitha?”
“Totally,” she replied.
“That’s a pretty name too,” I told her.
“I hate my name. Mom gave me my name and I hate my Mom ‘cause she’s a total bitch,” she replied.
I couldn’t argue with that and I couldn’t agree with it. I also couldn’t make myself vanish in a puff of smoke and reappear in Siberia even though I was using every fiber of my being to try.
Since my body wouldn’t disappear in a puff of smoke and a response was required, I said, “Well, once a gift is given, no matter how you feel about the person giving it, it’s yours. And even though you’re angry at your Mom now, she still gave you a pretty name. So you shouldn’t think about her giving it to you. You should just think of owning it and you do so, um… own it.”
“Dig it,” was Tabby’s response made through a widening smile.
“I’m Rush,” Rush stated. “My name’s Cole but no one calls me that. They call me Rush.”
“Hey, Rush,” I said to him.
“He’s always in a rush,” Tabby explained. “Dad says even when he was a baby, the minute he could crawl, he was rushin’ everywhere. And it’s the God’s honest truth, let me tell you, and he’s got the speeding tickets now to prove it.”
“You should probably, maybe, uh… check that impulse when you’re behind the wheel of a car,” I advised Rush. “Speeding tickets are expensive.”
“No shit,” Rush grinned at me.
“You guys gonna shoot the shit with Tyra for the next four hours or are we gonna get a sandwich?” Tack cut in to ask.
Tabby jumped up and down twice, turning toward her father, shouting, “Sandwich!”
“I want enchiladas,” Rush declared.
“I’ll make fajitas tonight for dinner,” Tack told his son and I stared at him. The idea of rough and ready biker guy Tack in a kitchen cooking was something my mind violently wanted to expunge but it couldn’t because he’d said it.