I’m almost to the door when the bell chimes and it door swings open. A man of average height and build stands in the doorway looking around. I can barely see his face, but I already know who it is: Darren Jennings. We used to date back in high school, and things had gotten pretty serious until it all went to hell. He eventually upgraded to some chick I didn’t really know, but I felt bad for her all the same. He’s got a little scruff on his face and a ball cap pulled over his brown hair. For just a second, I freeze. I can practically feel my face paling. Before I can duck around, recognition covers his face and he smiles at me. It’s never been an evil smile. It’s pleasant in that unsuspecting way.
“Nicole,” he says. “It’s been a while.” Checking out his khakis and polo shirt, I can’t see much change from high school.
Acting surprised, I say, “Darren Jennings?” as if I hadn’t already made the connection in my head. He swoops down and wraps his arms around my torso, pulling me into what probably looks like a friendly hug. My lungs feel like they’re shrinking down to nothing as a swell of panic overtakes me. I stay perfectly still and wait for it to end. I pause, then try to hug back, but my right arm is crushed between our bodies. I pat his back softly with my left and hope he lets go any second. I hate people who are huggers. It’s like they have zero sense of boundaries. And Darren has always been a hands-on kind of guy.
“How have you been?” he pulls back, holds me at arm’s length, and asks with a huge smile on his face. It’s a challenge to stop myself from telling him that I feel like puking all over his loafers because he’s touched me. I want to tell him that despite whatever was fucked up in my life before this moment, that shit just got a whole hell of a lot worse. I really just want to gouge his eyes out.
“Listen, I gotta go,” I say, refusing to have this conversation with him. I mean, if I tell the truth, it’s a pretty gloomy story-- and it’s half his fault-- and I’m not about to go down that road with him. Last time it didn’t end well. He narrows his eyes slightly at my response.
“So, I just graduated from USC,” he says like I’ve forgotten our long-lost plans or something. Darren was always supposed to go to the University of Southern California, as he did. He’s a legacy, meaning his dad graduated from there, and now he has too. I wasn’t ever going to get into USC, but I was shooting for a school nearby there. But that was before everything fell apart and I decided that I’d rather rot in this place than to spend anymore time in his presence than absolutely necessary.
I try to offer my congratulations as he continues. “I’m back home for the summer. We should hang out. We have a lot to catch up on.” The mere thought of hanging out with Darren turns my legs into Jell-O.
“I’ve just been really busy,” I say in an attempt to end the conversation without really pissing him off, not that there’s a formula for keeping him calm or anything.
“You were wild back then,” he says, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. It almost makes me sick.
“She’s wild now,” a deep, masculine voice sounds from behind me. I practically jump in place at the intrusion. Darren’s eyes jump from mine over my shoulder to the man behind me. Turning around, I see the person I least expect standing in Universal Grounds: Diesel. He’s tall and thick in every way imaginable; a little more portly than most of the club members, but he wears it well. His shaved head has a short black buzz growing in and he’s scowling at Darren like he’s a piece of shit that dared make its way to the bottom of his shoe. He may be a serious bad-ass, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Diesel.
Living in a small town like Fort Bragg, California, with a local motorcycle club like we have-- the Forsaken Motorcycle Club-- you’re either their friend or their enemy. There is absolutely no in-between, especially if you’re like me and you’re the daughter of one of their incarcerated members. It’s wise to make good with the club, and for lack of a better social scene, I’ve made real good with the club.
“Hey,” I say. Inside, I’m screaming at him to leave. Club members showing up at my work-- for the first time in as long as I can remember-- is not a good thing. I don’t care that it’s Diesel and we’re on good terms. I guess I can at least breathe a sigh of relief that it’s not Duke.
But today is not the day to show up at my work-- of all days. Eileen is as straight-laced as they come, and while she knows my dad’s Forsaken, it’s not something she’s keen on acknowledging. Knowing that mouthing off to Diesel won’t end well, I just bite my tongue and give him a pleasant smile while taking a few steps in his direction.