Hush
They say, grief affects people differently. But as I stared into Danika’s eyes, I saw myself. Both of us are mourning a loss.
Hers being the woman she once was.
I wanted to tell her everyone changes. We evolve with time as we grow, but hers was a forced evil. One she had zero say in and that really pisses me off. Her will to choose was stripped of her and that wasn’t fair.
I sit, watching her sleep, my body glued to the chair almost like a mental force holding me down. With her small breaths, and her long lashes resting on the tops of her cheeks she reminds me of her. But fuck, she always reminds me of Gracie. They look nothing alike but somehow—someway—she’s the perfect likeness to her. Gracie was a few inches taller than Danika and her hair a completely different color. Where Danika has her bright blue eyes, Gracie’s were brown. But it paralyzes me, making sense as to why I can’t stay away. The morbid curiosity overtakes me, and it’s far too powerful. And in a sick way, I felt close to Gracie again.
I flex my right hand, trying to loosen the soreness out of it. The dried blood is still visible over top of my knuckles. I’d have killed that sick fuck if my need to get Danika out of there hadn’t outweighed the urge.
To make sure she’ll be all right, I crouch down, studying her vitals, reaching out to move a strand of fallen hair over her cheek. But as I do, I pause, deciding it’s best not to touch her or satisfy any curiosity I may have. So, I slip out and head back to the clubhouse.
EIGHTEEN
Danika
My head is being used as a base drum with every movement I make. Even the slightest twitch of muscle and my temples start pulsating. The headache—no migraine is unreal. This is worse than any hangover I’ve ever experienced. Way worse and the light is really challenging me. But here I am, at Tank’s gym and I’m doing this today. Or so I believe because as soon as I start throwing punches, my body screams for me to stop.
I love to punish myself.
When I woke this morning, Hush was gone. I’m not surprised, maybe disappointed, but not surprised. I figured he wouldn’t have stayed. I mean, why would he?
With a squint, because the snow is making everything brighter, I leave the gym disappointed in my shit workout. But when a light and a shadowy movement catch my eye from inside the shop, I can’t help but peer inside. It’s not even eight am yet, but Hush’s motorcycle is out front. I try my luck with the door and when it opens, I get a rush of something. Excitement maybe. I’m not sure, but whatever force pulls me inside, I don’t fight it.
It smells of paint, metal, and grease, but also a subtle hint of citrus. There must be an air freshener around somewhere. My hair falls over my shoulder when I tilt my head, scanning the motorcycles lined up. Some obviously being worked on, and others look finished.
I jolt from a noise stemming from the back and Hush steps out of a square room and closes the translucent door behind him. His broad back and muscles are visible even under his hoodie. He’s not wearing his club’s cut, but I’m assuming that’sbecause he didn’t want to get paint all over it. That part is obvious.
He removes the black gloves, tossing them aside, and takes off his respirator mask, placing it on the metal work bench. It’s like my body freezes in time, watching him in tenderness. This man fascinates me in the worst conceivable way. Maybe it’s his natural kindness, his mystery, or simply because I like his aura when he is around. Welcoming the quiet he presents. It’s a peace and calmness.
When he turns, our gazes finally meet, but his body visibly tenses from where I stand.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I saw the light on and became nosey.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a thing as I progress toward him slowly. “I didn’t know you paint.” There isn’t a way to have known considering I don’t know much about Hush.
He clears his throat, tossing his used gloves that sit on the ground into the trash, then closing the gap on us. My head tilts up to be able to still meet his eyes, and he shrugs. “Just something to do I guess.”
I cast a glance inside the spray booth hoping to steal a peek at whatever it is he’s working on. And good doesn’t begin to describe what I see. A floral landscape with intricate detail lines the body of a motorcycle. A mix of different shades of purple makes it so elegant and beautiful.
“You’re really talented. Did you always like to paint?” When I turn back, he’s still staring at me. It’s the same way he always looks at me. It’s honest, sincere, safe, yet debilitating all the same.
“It was something I…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I picked up.” His voice is a lullaby, a tune any person can get captured in. I say that because when he speaksof something that seems deep and hardening to him, his voice changes. It becomes less lethal and more sorrowful.
“That’s one hell of a talent to discover,” I say, watching as the lids to his eyes flicker. Like whatever thought or memory he was recently diving into diminishes.
“Thanks.” He shyly breaks our profound eye lock, stalking past me and to the front of the shop. Something I notice about Hush, he doesn’t like small talk and that’s fine, honestly, nowadays, I don’t either. But it makes him visibly uncomfortable, like the thought of anyone knowing anything about him turns him off completely.
On a table near the front of the shop sat a coffee maker with the pot full. I thought I smelled evidence of a past brew mixed with citrus as I walked in.
“Coffee?” He holds up the small plastic cup, and I try to lessen my reaction on how fantastic that truly sounds.
“You’re my hero.”Again.“I haven’t been able to shake this head pounding since I woke up.”
The carafe makes a clinking sound when he places it back into its rightful place, after pouring each of us a cup. The smell alone is enough to cure my hangover, which I hadn’t asked for in the first place.
The cup warms my fingers and palms and when I go to sip it, a moan involuntarily escapes. Who knew such a liquid could satisfy every part of me like this. I open my eyes to find Hush watching me and the heat rises on my face. But there must have been a quick of unfamiliarity or uncomfortableness because he quickly averts his attention back to his own cup.
