Nowhere But Here
Page 103

“But Oz was defending Emily,” Mom says.
Dad and I glance at each other. Brothers have hit each other before and rarely are they kicked out the first time. There’s a suspension from events and a fine. But none of those brothers had been intimate with the offspring of the two most important men in the club.
“They’re holding Church tonight,” he says. “And I’m going to fight to keep you in.”
The seat creaks as I readjust. I fucked up, not him, and the thought of Dad placing his rep on the line for me doesn’t sit right. “You said I have to be my own man in the club.”
“That’s the reason why I’m going to fight for you to stay in. If you want the truth I wasn’t sure you were ready for the club. They had to talk me into letting you skip your prospect period.”
My eyes flash to his and Mom’s stroking Dad’s arm in support.
“Standing up to Eli last night,” he says. “That was the first time I’ve seen you be your own man.”
What the hell? “Standing up to Eli last night is what’s going to get me kicked out.”
“No, son, the club is about standing up to things bigger than yourself. If you get kicked out it’s because you didn’t show Eli respect and go to him when you developed feelings for his daughter. But as I said, I like the changes I see in you and I’m going to fight by your side.”
I edge back in the chair—a retreat.
Mom shifts so that her feet are on the ground and she snags my hand. I try to pull back, because the touch catches me off guard, but she maintains a firm grip. “Did you know that your dad and I are here for you?”
“We were talking about club stuff,” I say.
“You were and you weren’t,” Mom presses. “You do this. You’ve done this since you were little and I try to tell myself that it’s understandable, but I need you to know—me and your father...we are here and we are on your side.”
There’s a warning siren in my mind. The threat of a familiar bleeding wound creeping forward from the recess of my memories. “I know that.”
“I don’t think you do, or maybe you know it in your head, but you don’t feel it. You’re a great son, but when we try to be there for you in the major moments, when we try to give you advice or stand by you, it’s as if you don’t trust us.”
“I trust you.” The automatic answer is easy, too easy, so easy that I understand that it might not be the truth, but what they prefer to hear.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to figure out how to be your mother.” Mom’s voice breaks at the end. “I’m sorry that I was young and selfish and that you learned to rely on and love Olivia before you could love and rely on me.”
I push back all the way in the chair until I’m standing. “That’s not how it is.”
“It’s exactly how it is. But you can rely on us now. It’s killing me to see you go through losing Olivia alone. It’s killing me to think that your father and I are sitting right here and you can’t let us in.”
The buzzing of phones. Dad releases Mom’s hand and she inches to the end of the couch as she watches us check the message. Dizziness disorients me for a second then both Dad and I are moving. Digging keys out of our pockets. Grabbing our cuts off the table.
My phone rings and I answer it as I sprint out the door. “What’s going on, Eli?”
The text was my worst nightmare.
Everyone come to the clubhouse. Emily is missing.
Emily
“DO YOU WANT me to answer?” Violet’s in the driver’s side of a nineteen-seventy-something-older-than-me Chevy Impala. Her cell rings and this time it’s Oz’s face that pops onto her screen. The first five times, it was Eli, followed by Olivia and now Oz is on the job.
He’s worried about me and while I care for him and he cares for me, Oz doesn’t understand this need to unravel my past, especially since he was instrumental in hiding it. “No, not yet.”
It’s eight in the morning and Violet’s back to her kick-ass self. She assesses the house we’ve parked two properties down from. It’s a nice neighborhood. The houses aren’t stacked on top of each other. Instead, there’s quite a bit of land between them. The buildings themselves aren’t grand. Some are one story. Some resemble the house I’m interested in and are two stories. They’re modest brick and vinyl with do-it-yourself colorful landscaping.
“So this is where your mom grew up?”
I squish my lips to the side. “My mom said she grew up in Snowflake.”
“My mom said that your mom came to live with her grandmother who lived in Snowflake during high school.”
“Anything else I should know?” She’s filled me in on what she does know—that my mother and Eli were an item, that they were tragically in love, that they got pregnant with me while they were still in high school, had me, got engaged and that my mother’s brother got into a fight with my mom and in retaliation, Eli found my uncle and almost beat him to death.
Mom’s family wasn’t thrilled with her marrying a biker and Eli decided to shut my uncle up. My mind separates as I attempt to reconcile the man I’ve been around the past few weeks with the man who tried to kill his almost brother-in-law.
“Other than I’m sorry for losing my mind last night?”
She’s already apologized for that. A million times. “Will you tell me what’s so horrible in Snowflake that you totally spazzed?”