I can’t hear anything, but the place is far from silent. Vibrations from the jukebox in the corner travel through the wooden floorboards, reaching the soles of my shoes and vibrating up my legs. I can’t hear the raucous shouts or voices, but I know they’re there, because I can feel them too, the air electric with it.
“Probably not everything you thought it was, huh?” Ginger leans forward so the light catches her, and I can read her lips.
Christine sits in the booth with Ginger, Leah sits beside me, also nursing some kind of soda, but then again, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t really drink. I’ve never seen her have more than a few sips of beer here and there. She’s like me. Never did get a taste for any of it, especially not the hard stuff my dad has around the house. I know he and Edge are whiskey drinkers, but I’d rather swallow dish soap than pour myself a glass of it and savor it like they do. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m just glad that I’m here with you guys. I- it means everything that someone has my back right now.”
“We’ll always be here for you,” Christine assures me.
Leah knits her fingers through mine. “Yeah. Don’t worry. Steel will come around. It’s going to be fine. We’ll always be here for you, no matter what. He and Edge will iron things out.”
I have to smile, because only Leah would say something like that, and I absolutely love her for it. I change the subject, because now everyone is staring at me with that pitying look in their eyes and I don’t want to deal with any more sadness. We’re all worried about our men, and I don’t need to add my crushing burdens to the mix when they already know all about it.
“You know… Edge’s yard is a mess,” I start. “I’d like to clean up the back. Maybe put a flower garden or a greenhouse back there. I’ve always wanted a proper garden. Or grow some flowers. The house looks a little bachelor, but I’m sure I could buy some things. Some new curtains or a bedspread or something. Buy a few groceries.” I shrug. “What do you think?”
“I think that’s a great idea.” Leah grins at me, but deep in the wells of her blue eyes, I can see her worry. She has the shittiest poker face that I’ve ever seen.
Christine taps the hand I have curled around my drink to get my attention. “Yeah. We could have a garden planting. Like a barn raising. I could borrow a tiller, and we could make you a garden.”
“Really?”
“Of course. We’ll make it extra-large, so you can grow vegetables for all of us that don’t have the time.”
“Or the desire.” Ginger tucks her face against Christine so I can watch her lips too. She snickers after and Christine rolls her eyes.
“Didn’t mean that, Ginger. Always with the gutter mind.”
I laugh, and it’s surprising how easy the sound comes and how good it feels. It feels more than good, actually. It feels amazing. I didn’t realize how much tension I was holding in my shoulders until I roll them forward, easing out the kinks.
“What we need is a spa day,” Christine announces. “After all that garden planting, we’ll go in and get prettied up. Get manicures to fix our ruined nails.”
“Count me out on that one. I hate people touching my nails.”
Even though I agree with Ginger, I turn to Leah, who is grinning away. “Sounds great. I haven’t gone to the spa in forever.”
I forget, sometimes, seeing how close we are, that she ever came from a different world. A world where she grew up in a huge house, where things like the spa were probably a weekly occurrence. She doesn’t like to talk about it, and even though her mom is happy now, living just down the road from them, neither of them discuss things like that.
“I- I don’t know if I’d like people touching my nails either,” I admit.
“It’s not so bad. I don’t know. A pedicure could be relaxing. Just a girls’ getaway. Sounds like a nice idea to me.” Leah’s eyes twinkle, like she’s holding in a secret. Or maybe I just think that because her lips are pursed strangely and there’s a slight flush riding high on her cheekbones.
On the other hand, I’m way too attuned at reading body language and maybe it’s nothing at all. Maybe it’s just hot in here, which it is, since The Canteen’s air doesn’t even come close to keeping up the sweltering heat and humidity. It assaults the place, wrapping around the building like a wet blanket, even though it’s late, past midnight, and the sun set a long time ago.
Ginger and Christine are talking about something I missed, and Leah goes back to sipping on her soda. I let my eyes wander around the bar. It’s been a favorite of The Riders for a long time. I don’t know how it became the official watering hole. The clubhouse does have a bar, but there it’s just brothers. Maybe they come here for fresh meat and debauchery.
And by debauchery, I mean mostly harmless drunken fun. A few people pairing up in the shadows here and there, darts, and pool. All of which are actively going on at the moment. There isn’t any smoking in the bar, but I imagine the air is hazy anyway, a tribute to bygone days when it was probablyso blue you couldn’t see from one end of the place to the other. The floorboards aren’t sticky either. The place, for being kind of on the small side, with tables lining the walls, pool in the middle, darts at the one end, the jukebox at the other, and the bar at the front, is kept pretty clean.
Leather clad bodies move easily about the place. I watch shoulders shake in mirth, heads nod in agreement, men taking their shots at the pool tables, and another two throwing darts. One misses by a mile and sticks in the wall.
Being here, a real part of The Riders in a different way than I’ve ever been, sends a warmth rushing through me that thaws a little of the worried ice lining my heart.
I turn my attention back to the table, glancing down at my drink. The ice cubes clink together and the glass vibrates slightly, like someone just pumped the volume on the jukebox. My eyes flick to Christine and Ginger’s faces though, and it doesn’t look like they’ve noticed anything like that. It’s strange, living in a silent world that is anything but silent.
I tend to notice all the tiny details, to hear without hearing, to try and fill myself in on everything that I might be missing. I got used to doing it as a kid, mostly so that I’d blend in with everyone else. Now I’m just used to doing it, period.
Which is why I feel a strange vibration when no one else seems to notice. I curl my fingers back around the glass again, and yes, it’s definitely there. It’s dulled out, off in the distance, I realize, but it’s coming closer.
A thrill spikes my blood when, a few seconds later, I realize that I know exactly what that vibration is. The roar of bikes. Getting closer. Maybe Edge and my dad and the rest of our men are back. My heart picks up, slamming a little harder. I canfeel my pulse jumping at my neck, anticipation and hope spiking in my blood like I’ve drunk more than just cranberry juice.
To me, the roar I feel from a bike, all that vibration that travels through the earth itself, into my feet, my legs, my chest, my heart… it’s always been a good thing. A feeling that I associate with happiness and safety. First with my father, then with the rest of the club, and later, with Edge.
