Monk by Ivy Black

Chapter Seventeen

Kasey

“Okay, and that should do it,” the salesman, a gangly kid named Howie says.

“And all of my data is imported? Contacts—”

“Everything,” Howie assures me.

“Great. Thank you.”

I pick up my new phone from the counter, then stuff everything else into the bag. It’s not the latest and greatest, but it’ll do. I’ve never been one who needs all of the bells and whistles anyway. So long as it does what I need—calling, texting, and browsing the Web, it’s good enough for me.

Giving Howie a smile, I turn around and walk out of the shop and to the parking lot. After dropping my bag in the back seat, I decide to get a coffee. So, I close the door, set the alarm, and casually stroll down the street to one of the mom-and-pop coffeehouses that endure in this world of corporate coffee houses. After getting my drink, I head back out and walk around, really taking in the town for the first time since I’ve been back.

It’s a beautiful day out. The late-afternoon sun is high in a sky filled with scattered and patchy clouds. It’s warm, but not too warm, and a cool breeze carrying the heavy scent of the ocean rustles the leaves in the street, sending them skittering along the pavement with a dry, scratchy sound.

As I wander down Harrison Avenue—Blue Rock Bay’s main drag—I notice just how much things haven’t changed. The same shops I remember from my childhood still line the street. Oh, there’s some new additions—Starbucks now has two locations, one at either end of Harrison, because apparently, you may need a refill after that half-mile drive or so.

There are some new boutique shops I’ve seen, and as always, the big-box stores are located elsewhere in town, pushed far back from Harrison, since the city council doesn’t want our idyllic, Mayberry-esque main street spoiled with the gaudy edifices of rampant, out-of-control capitalism.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same, huh?”

His voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin, sending a spike of adrenaline straight into my heart. Spinning around, I find Jacob standing in the doorway of Miller’s Fine Meats, one of the dwindling number of boutique butcher’s shops left in the state. Maybe even in the country.

Jacob is standing in the doorway, holding a large paper bag that’s tied with white string under his arm, smiling at me.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

“You didn’t.”

Jacob nods. “All right.”

He closes the door behind him and stands there for a moment, holding my gaze, but saying nothing. There’s a heavy sense of anticipation crackling in the air between us, and the longer the silence drags on, the heavier it seems to get. As if sensing it as well, Jacob shuffles his feet and clears his throat.

“Anyway, thanks for giving me a chance to talk the other night. I hope it gave you some… closure, I guess,” he says.

“Closure,” I reply. “Right. Yeah.”

My tongue suddenly feels too thick for my mouth and my verbal comprehension skills drop to that of the average rock. There’s so much I want to say to him still, but I apparently lack the ability to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. I didn’t feel like such an awkward kid even when I was an awkward kid.

“So, you moving back here for good?” he asks.

I give him a shrug. “I’m not sure yet. There’s a lot of things still… up in the air. Things I’m trying to figure out.”

“Yeah?”

I nod as thoughts of Spencer and the shitshow my life has become flash through my mind. There’s also the bag of cash hidden in my closet to think about. I don’t even know how much is in there but given the weight of the bag and Spencer’s desperation to get it back, I have to imagine it’s a pretty substantial amount.

“What kind of things are you trying to figure out?” he asks.

A wry smile forms on my lips. “Life. Just trying to figure out my life.”

“You? I seem to recall that you always had it all buttoned down.”

“Yeah, well, what’s that old saying? Man plans, God laughs.”

He nods. “I hear that.”

It’s strange to me that for so many years, I held such animosity for this man, I can stand here and have a civil conversation with him. And while my hurt and anger still haven’t entirely dissipated, they’re not as strong as they once were—as I expected them to be for the rest of my life. Thirty is on the horizon, so maybe I’m mellowing with age or something.

I point to the package in his hand. “Picking up dinner?”

He nods and looks at the package as though he’s forgotten it being there. “Yeah, Bo loves his red meat.”

“Oh. Bo? Y-you have a… son?”

I don’t know why it’s never occurred to me that Jacob might have a son, or that he might have a woman in his life. I don’t see a ring on his finger, but I suppose that doesn’t necessarily mean much. As much as I hate to admit it, the idea that he’s started a family of his own sends a lance of pain through my heart—something I am not even prepared for. Jacob looks at me, appearing to be thinking of something.

He holds the package in his hand up. “Why don’t you come over. I’m gonna throw some steaks on the grill. You can meet Bo.”

I’m not sure how I feel about that, to be honest. It’s strange enough for me to think about him having a child at all, given how I’d hoped to be having a family with this man one day. But on the other hand, there’s a morbid curiosity. More than that, there’s just something different about Jacob. He’s not the man today he was the last time we were together.

He was always angry and had a darkness to him, don’t get me wrong. And that’s all still there, I suppose. But I think his time away—his time in the military—has changed him. Of course, war changes a person. You can’t be exposed to all of that violence and death and not come out the same person.

But it’s more than that. I can’t quite explain it, but there’s something else about him that just seems different. Maybe time has somewhat tempered that darkness inside of him. I mean, it’s still there, but it’s not necessarily as close to the surface. Don’t get me wrong, he still has that edge of danger to him, like a spring coiled tight and about to at any time.

It’s not just the anger inside of him, though. He seems… lost. He seems disconnected and completely disengaged. There’s just a vast emptiness in his eyes. I’ve heard of a thousand-yard stare, but when I look at him, it’s more like a thousand miles.

All of it makes me wonder what he went through in the military. What he was forced to do. It makes me wonder if that sort of disconnect and disengagement are what made him gravitate toward this biker club in the first place. I don’t know why, but the thought of it, the way he felt as if he had no choice—not to mention all he must have endured—hurts my heart for him.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I say.

My eyes widen in surprise as I hear the words fall out of my mouth. The last thing I was planning on was having dinner with him tonight. He looks at me with an expression of surprise on his face I’m sure matches my own. It’s as if he’s not expecting me to agree to come over any more than I do.

“Great. Then why don’t you just follow me?” he offers.

I nod, still too stunned to say anything. But I watch him walk over to his bike and drop the package into his saddlebag. I am so caught up in my own head, I don’t even notice his motorcycle parked half a dozen spots down from my Range Rover. Jacob climbs on and starts it up. He looks over at me, obviously waiting.

Disbelief washing over me, my body feels like it’s moving of its own volition as I get behind the wheel of my car and pull out, following Jacob’s motorcycle down the street.

***

Bo stares at me with warm, chocolate brown eyes, then launches himself at me. Kneeling down, I scratch him under the chin, laughing as he showers me with slobbery, wet kisses.

“I have to admit, I was not expecting Bo to be a Pit Bull,” I say.

I reach out and scratch the big, burly dog behind the ears, then stand back up and wipe my face with my hands. Bo looks at me with the sort of adoration I’ve always wanted to see from my partner. If I want that, I guess maybe I need to get a dog.

“What, did you think I had a kid?” Jacob asks from his spot at the grill.

“In my defense, I don’t know many people who grill steaks for their dog.”

He shrugs. “Bo’s a good boy. He deserves a treat now and then. Besides, I’m not really daddy material, you know?”

Once upon a time, I absolutely believed otherwise. Back then, I’d thought that, despite his rough upbringing, that he would make an amazing dad and I actually looked forward to raising a family with him. The thing about Jacob that nobody else ever saw was just how kind and tender, how gentle and compassionate he can be.

He’s got this whole different side to him that’s caring and nurturing that he doesn’t show to anybody. He hides it as if it’s something to be ashamed of. Or perhaps just feared. His father—and others—undoubtedly saw it as a weakness, so outwardly, Jacob never showed his true nature. But when we were alone, he was like an entirely different person.

“What about you?” he asks. “I’d have thought for sure that you’d have some children by now.”

I manage to form a wan smile, doing my best to stuff down the hurt. I’ve always liked children and yeah, have always wanted a family of my own one day. But those are dreams I’ve had to stifle simply because Spencer doesn’t want kids. I remember he told me we’d talk about it one day, but I knew he was saying that to simply placate me. My dreams have always been subjugated to his career and selfish desires.

“Like I said before, man plans, God laughs,” I say, not without a note of bitterness in my voice.

Jacob frowns but doesn’t say anything, perhaps feeling his own culpability, or perhaps just feeling sorry for me. He gives me a tight smile, then disappears into the house and brings back plates and utensils, setting the table before us.

“Anything I can do?” I ask.

“Can you grab a couple of beers out of the fridge?”

“You got it.”

I walk through the back door, with Bo right on my heels, and into the kitchen. Finding a bowl of treats on the counter, I pull one out and Bo immediately sits down, looking up at me, licking his lips expectantly. I give him a scratch behind the ears, laughing, and feed him the treat.

“You are a very good boy, aren’t you?”

The big brindle colored Pit turns in a circle, looking excited. I open the refrigerator and fish a pair of beers out, then take them back outside. Jacob has the table set up and my stomach rumbles as I look at the steak on my plate. It looks grilled to perfection and has a nice, thick dollop of a garlic butter melting on top of it. There’s some grilled asparagus on the side, and a bowl of rice pilaf to go along with it.

“You put on quite the spread,” I say as I take the seat across from Jacob.

He shrugs. “It’s nice to cook for somebody for a change.”

“I don’t recall you ever liking to cook.”

“Things change.”

I nod. “That they do.”

A silence descends between us that’s awkward and strained. It feels pregnant with a lot of words unsaid between us. And when I look up, my gaze meeting his, he seems to be struggling to find the words as well. I clear my throat and give him a smile I hope doesn’t look too forced.

“This all smells fantastic,” I say, unable to come up with anything else.

“Well, let’s dig in.”

As we tuck into our meals, I see him cutting off chunks of a steak set on a separate plate—sans butter and garlic—and he tosses them to Bo, who’s sitting patiently by. The big dog snatches the pieces out of the air and chomps on them with zeal.

“You never cared much for dogs when you were younger,” I say.

He looks fawningly at Bo. The look of adoration on his face is precious, showing me that gentle, sweet side of him he hides from the world.

“What made you decide to get a dog?” I ask.

Jacob’s face clouds over and he frowns. He gives Bo another piece of meat and sits back in his chair. He picks up his bottle and takes a long swallow, his expression inscrutable, his eyes troubled. Jacob sets his bottle down and lets out a long breath, looking as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to say what’s on his mind. Or if so, how much to tell me. Which I find odd.

He looks up at me, that frown still on his face. “When I rotated home, I was seeing a counselor at the VA and she suggested… rather, she ordered… me to get a dog. She thought I needed the companionship.”

Jacob’s never been the most social of people, but to know that a counselor ordered him to get a dog tells me just how far he’d isolated himself. And that breaks my heart for him. How bad must have things been for him that he’d shut himself that far away from the world?

“And has Bo helped?”

He nods and favors the dog with a big smile. “Yeah. He has. Knowing he relies on me kept me going. Wouldn’t let me just give up and pack it all in.”

Hearing him say that he’d even considered “packing it all in” so blithely sends a jolt through me. Despite all of his struggles when he was younger and the horrible environment he grew up in, Jacob had never said anything remotely like that. He’s always been the strongest person I’ve ever known, better able to deal with all the adversities and bullshit life throws at you.

“What happened to you over there, Jacob?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He flashes me a rueful smile. “Not much that was good, I can tell you that.”

He tosses the last piece of steak he’d grilled for the big dog and Bo catches it out of mid-air, gobbling it down, then turns to Jacob, looking hopeful. He laughs, then takes a bite of his own meal.

“You’ve had enough, big guy,” he says to the dog.

Bo, as if understanding him, lies down, but keeping his eyes on Jacob, no doubt trying to bribe him out of another piece of steak. I look out over the backyard. It’s not that big, but it’s large enough to accommodate a lemon and an orange tree. The backyard, much like Jacob’s house, is nothing like what I’ve expected. For one thing, the place is immaculate. Everything has a place and everything’s in its place. Which is a stark contrast to the filth and squalor he grew up in. But then, maybe it’s because of that upbringing that Jacob is so fastidious.

“You look deep in thought,” he says.

“Not really. I was just thinking that you have a really nice place. It’s so neat and organized. I’m surpr—”

Feeling embarrassed, I realize how horrible that sounds. It’s elitist and snobby. If Jacob is bothered by such a callous and judgmental assumption, he doesn’t show it.

“Figured what? That I’d have cars up on blocks in the front yard? Maybe a backyard with a mountain of beer bottles? Or that maybe I’d have bike parts on my dining room table and porn mags spread out everywhere?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. That was really ignorant.”

He shrugs. “Everybody’s got assumptions about the club and all of us in it. I’ve been dealing with people trying to shoehorn me into one box of assumptions and stereotypes all my life. As you know. It stopped bothering me a while back.”

“I never wanted to be one of those people.”

“And yet, here we are.”

I turn my eyes away, feeling terrible for uttering such a horrible thing. Taking a long swallow of beer, I set the bottle back down on the table. And when I raise my gaze to his, I find him smiling at me.

“You know I’m just screwing with you, right?” he asks.

“No, you’re not.”

“Kasey, there is nobody on this planet I would ever think is less likely to be one of those people than you. Besides, I understand why you buy into all the assumptions. I know being part of a club doesn’t exactly scream refined and classy member of society. And I’m not any of those things. But I’m not some caveman either,” he says.

Jacob looks at me and I can see the sincerity in his face. He’s not actually bothered by the assumptions. And no, he’s not a caveman. It just leaves me with a lot of questions.

“Why did you join this motorcycle club,” I ask.

He leans back in his seat again, taking a long swallow of beer. “One thing I missed when I came home was the camaraderie and brotherhood that I had with my unit over in Afghanistan. The Pharaohs—most of them veterans themselves—gave me that. They’re my brothers and I’d do anything for them.”

I lean forward and hold his gaze. “But what about the drugs and the murders? The human trafficking? What about all of that stuff?”

“I see you’ve been talking to your dad. Or rather, he’s been talking to you.”

“He might have mentioned some things, yeah.”

“Does your dad strike you as the kind of guy who’d let us walk around the streets of Blue Rock Bay if we were runnin’ and gunnin’ like that?”

I give him a faint smile. “I had the same thought, actually. Probably not.”

“Well, there you go.”

“But just because he hasn’t caught you, it doesn’t mean you’re not doing it.”

“And just because he’s accused us doesn’t mean we are.”

I sit back, letting his words sink in. What he said is true. And yet, at the same time, he deftly sidestepped my question.

“What about you?” he asks. “What’s brought you home?”

I blow out a long breath and tug on the end of my hair. It’s a question I don’t particularly want to answer, but given how open he’s been with me, I feel almost obligated to reciprocate. But at the same time, I have to wonder how much of an explanation I really owe him.

I don’t actually owe him anything, given what he did to me. As the thought crosses my mind, I can’t help but feel petty. It makes me feel like a silly girl. It was a long time ago. I’m a different person now, and so is he. That said, I know I can’t bare my entire soul to him, either. There are secrets I can’t share as much for his sake as for mine.

“Let’s just say, my soon-to-be ex-husband isn’t who I thought he was,” I say.

Monk’s eyes bore into me and it feels as if he’s plumbing the depths of my soul to stealing my secrets away. I look away, tearing my gaze from his.

“I just wasn’t happy. I didn’t like who I’d become when I was with him,” I offer.

We both lapse into a comfortable silence and I feel a weight being lifted off my shoulders. It’s as if being able to verbalize my thoughts to him—somebody who will actually hear me—has eased my burden. If only a little.

What amazes me the most about sitting here, sharing a meal and some conversation with him is just how normal it feels. The back-and-forth banter and gentle teasing that always marked our conversations are flying fast. In a way, it almost feels like not a day has gone by and as if we’ve simply picked up where we left off so long ago. I know we haven’t, but it feels like we have.

It’s not that our shared history has disappeared, but what happened more than a decade ago doesn’t seem necessarily relevant right now. Or important. It’s all so confusing and I don’t know what to make of it. And yet at the same time, it feels so natural. More than that, it feels right.