“Do not call me that.”
“Just trying to wake you up,” I say, setting Janelle’s coffee on the table next to where she sleeps. “Come on, ma’am.”
My coffee finishes and Janelle raises a sleepy head from the pillow, a mat of curls stuck to the side of it. I feel like I’m seeing something secret that I shouldn’t. She touches the side of her head and groans.
“I look a mess,” she grumbles, reaching blindly for the coffee. Her eyes are half-closed as she struggles in the dim light – I only have the bathroom light on out of respect for her.
“You look perfect.”
She looks over at me with a strange sadness on her face.
“Thanks. But you don’t have to flatter me.”
“I’m not,” I tell her, watching her slowly. I’m experiencing something downright bizarre internally. As I watch Janelle sip that coffee, I have this bizarre sense that I could watch her do this for the rest of my life. That if I woke up each day and Janelle was there in bed, even if she hadn’t slept with me, there would be this sense of peace. The feeling makes me gawk at her, and she pretends not to see until her first few sips of caffeine.
“I can feel you staring at me.”
“Sorry.”
I’m not completely, but it’s the right thing to say in this situation and I don’t want her getting mad at me before we’re miles away from Boston and in a much safer position.
“Thanks for making me coffee,” Janelle says, a chill returning to her voice. I can all but see yesterday’s events rushing over her as she takes those first sips and adjusts to being awake.
“Once we get to the Midwest, I’ll get us someplace nice where you can shower.”
“Thanks,” she says, easing her body out of bed and rushing off to the bathroom. She’s handling business on her own which tells me something about the adrenaline in her body and how much of it there is. You learn to watch for the little details of stress and shock, depending on your position in the armed forces and the kinds of situations they toss you into.
“Worried about the cops?” I ask her when she gets back. I notice that she washed her face and tried to braid her hair so it was less messy. I popped a Zyn in my mouth and got to work with the hundred-fucking-thousand group chat messages I have to respond to thanks to the club members and this West Coast business.
“Yes.”
“Don’t. I took care of it.”
She gives me a disbelieving look. “Right. For nothing in return.”
I try not to get too pissed off that she’s all suspicious of me. There’s nothing I’ve done to warrant this level of distrust from her, but I suppose she got cheated on and part of her believes that all men are partially responsible for the violation of trust committed by the one.
“Maybe I want loyalty,” I tell her with a half-smile. Janelle is still stern. I can’t figure out how to get past her walls, not like I should want to.
“Get me back in one piece,” she says. “Then you can have some loyalty.”
“Ready to leave?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “Do I have a choice?”
I’m just happy I don’t have to drag her onto the bike. Last night, Reed dropped off a spare helmet at the front desk, so both of us can ride safely. Ruger, Zayna, and Oske are all staying at Oske’s trailer, and it’s much safer and easier for us to defend a base on Indian territory than anywhere else.
Oske isn’t too familiar to me. It’s not my nature to trust in Indians, but Gideon gave me a good punch to the mouth one time after I said something out of pocket about her, so I guess I ought to change my mind if I don’t want the shit kicked out of me. I suspect she might have some kind of blood relation to the Shaw family, although I couldn’t speak to the specifics.
As far as I know, she’s never cheated any of us out of any money and even if she’s not a Christian, I appreciate her putting us up at her place with barely any notice.
Janelle doesn’t bother asking precisely where we’re going. She’s quiet, scared out of her mind as she hops on the back of my motorcycle. I can feel how scared she is by the way she clings to me, even if I haven’t started the bike yet. The sound of my motorcycle breaks through the quiet morning. The noise causes her fingers to sink even more tightly into my torso. Her body presses up against mine as she straddles the bike like an old horse. The engine vibrates to life and I can feel her head leaning against my back as Janelle braces herself. I kick up the stand and set my legs up on the footpegs before we take off out of the motel parking lot, leaving Boston behind.
The first couple hours of the drive, Janelle holds me so tightly that I can barely breathe. I try to go slow enough not toscare her, but the point of being on the back of a bike like this is all the speed. She has plenty of clothing on – I let her put on a thick hoodie and a pair of sweatpants before climbing on the back. Our first stop has to be for gas. I pull over and Janelle practically leaps off the back of the bike.
She takes the helmet off and shoves it against my chest.
“What iswrongwith you?!”
