Rainbow by K.L. Savage
I’m as happy as a mother-fuckin’-clam!
“Heads up!” Hound shouts as he tosses me the rope to hook to my harness.
I catch it just in time and tie the knot through the hook. “Thanks, Hound!” Hound is actually one of the few firefighters in the house. Unfortunately, everyone is based at different stations, so we don’t have the pleasure of working with one another. “You steady?” I shout down at him from the roof and think about how I could have done this by myself, but I made a promise to my Sassafras, and I plan to keep it.
He plants his feet, shaking his head as his boots begin to slide against the mud. “Man, this is a bad idea. I can’t get traction!” he answers, wiping the water from his face with his hand. “Just forget about it, Rainbow. It isn’t safe.”
I can barely hear him over the powerful roars of wind. The rain wouldn’t hurt so bad if it wasn’t coming at me sideways at a speed that cannot be safe. Hurricane Jeffrey isn’t even here yet, and the river is already flooding, and trees are already down. I can only imagine the mess that’s going to wait for us when the storm surge hits.
I imagine car accidents, downed powerlines, people buried underneath debris, and fires. But, of course, people are always surprised when a fire happens after heavy rain.
“I have to get this branch out of the way, or it could fall on the roof and do some damage,” I shout down at him as I throw my end of the rope over a different, thicker branch. I grab the handsaw, and take another glance at Hound. My brother wraps his arms around him and holds him down, helping him get that traction he’s been looking for.
I can always count on Mime to be there.
Lifting my sight from the ground, I stare forward and close my eyes for a second. Whenever I have to do something that takes courage and a pinch of stupidity, I get a twinge of fear.
Sure, I run into burning buildings and jump out of planes into wildfires for a living, but that doesn’t mean I’m fearless. I always think about if I’ll make it out alive. It’s in the back of my mind. To do what I’m about to do is fucking stupid, but this branch has got to go.
For the most part, the clubhouse is hurricane-proof, but nothing is as strong as the fury of mother nature. The winds whip around me, and the leather of my boots shines from the rain. I take a deep breath, inhale and exhale, and then leap off the roof, dangling from the magnolia tree next to the house. It’s actually right next to my bedroom window. In the summer, when the flowers blossom, I like to open my window to smell the sweet scent.
Hopefully, the tree is still here after the storm so these flowers can bloom.
The wind blows me backward, and I spread my arms out and shout to enjoy the ride. It’s scary as fuck, but it’s just like flying. There’s no better feeling than dropping through the air.
The gusts pass, and I take the small break as a gift. I swing my body up onto the branch, hook my ankles together, and climb as far as I can before rolling over so my stomach is flat against the bark. I stretch my arms out to reach for the broken branch. My brows pinch together when I see the break.
It’s clean.
I shake my head to clear the rain from my eyes and run my fingers over it. There are no splinters and no jagged edges, which means it didn’t snap. So someone cut it, but that can’t be right. Nobody was up here trimming this tree lately. Maybe this was from months or years ago. Maybe they decided not to cut this branch off, but now it’s a hazard. Leaving it half-cut like this can only lead to serious injury.
A voice in the back of my head tells me this was intentional, but then I scuff it up to my Sassafras getting into my head. I have to stay positive for both of us. With a shrug of my shoulder, I began to saw the branch, biting my inner lip as another strong burst of wind comes accompanied by needles instead of rain.
Fuck, it hurts.
The branch cracks and I grab it, grunting as I fight the force of the wind. I just need to get it to drop next to the house instead of on the roof. I use every ounce of strength I have until I feel like my muscles are going to tear pushing down on the saw to try to angle it, and finally, it drops.
Landing right next to the porch and barely missing the roof by just a few inches. Damn. Close call. I’m ready to go inside.
“Alright, I’m, coming—” the strongest gust yet swings me off the branch, leaving me blowing in the wind.
Oh, this is bad.
I catch Hound and Mime struggling to maintain a hold, but the winds are becoming too strong. I shouldn’t have been out here, but I’m the only one limber enough to climb a tree. The howls in the air slashing by remind me of a pack of wolves.
I’m over the water at this point, the river. Hound has had to let the slack out, and damn it, I knew moving right next to the Mississippi River was a bad fucking idea. I take the saw in my hand and glance at the guys. Hound is pressed against the house, his mouth open as he yells, and his muscles are flexed along with my brother’s to try to reel me back in.
Yeah, that’s not happening.
Mime stares at me as I place the saw on the rope. He shakes his head and tries to pull again, a desperate attempt to get me on land. The only way that’s happening is if the wind stops getting stronger.
All I can do is hope I make it out of this like I do everything else.
In one slice, I cut the rope. With a loud crack, it lashes back, snapping into the air. I cover my face, straighten my body, and hold my breath as I hit the water.
The current is a vengeful bitch swooping in for the kill. Waves crash over my head from all directions. I don’t fight the current; I swim with it, doing my best to keep my head above the muddy water.
It’s cold, the water tastes like something died in it, and the smell is… horrendous.
I wince as I swallow a mouthful of river water, retching when I taste grains of dirt and fish. I don’t know how long I drift for, but my muscles begin to ache. I’m tired. Finally, I see what could be my salvation: a huge tree trunk is extended over the water, but it’s still pretty firmly stuck in the riverbank. I reach for it, knowing it might be my last chance to get out of this river before it kills me.
Fucking rope swinging in the wind, god, I’m an idiot.
All I keep thinking about is Ryan and how I should have been more careful. Of course, the guys and I have done dumber shit than this, but to be fair, there weren’t catastrophic winds on those days.
I catch the trunk by wrapping one leg around the end that’s sticking in the water, then throw my body around it. I crawl over the rough wet bark, scraping my hands along the edges of the wood. I spit out more water and shake the ends of my hair out of my face, fighting the current smashing against the right side of my body.
Fuck me, I’m exhausted, but pretty green eyes flash in my mind; I can’t help but push forward. Giving up would be so easy. I could stop fighting and let the water take me, just like all the fires I’ve been in, but there’s always something that makes the next day worth it.
And this time, it’s Ryan.
My Sassafras.
I smirk when I think about what he’ll say to me when I get home. Although he might slap me and kiss me all at the same time, which makes me smile.
Hell, I hope he slaps me. It would be fun to see what would happen next.
I crawl along the tree trunk faster as I think about him, scampering as quickly as I can back to land. I know right now everything is happening fast between us, just like the current that’s trying to sweep me away. I never thought in my life that when I finally found myself settling down, it would be with a man. Honestly, I thought I’d marry a woman, have a few kids, and have the typical white picket fence house.
Even when I was a teenager, I always just figured I hadn’t met the right woman to make me feel that spark. I hadn’t found the person I’d spend the rest of my life with. My dad always told me that I’d know within the first two minutes of meeting someone if they were the one or not. He said he knew the moment he saw my mom at the peace rally. I remember asking him what he thought or how he knew and all he said was, “Everything around me slowed down, and everything inside me changed. That’s how I knew, and that’s how I know to describe it.”
Well, it made no sense to me, and for years I thought Dad was full of shit.
He wasn’t.
I’ve just been waiting to meet Ryan. I don’t know if I’m gay, considering I haven’t ever found a man attractive before, but I’m fucking gay for him, and that’s all that matters.
I groan as I slide off the trunk and fall to the ground, gasping for breath as I stare up to the sky. The wind is swirling violently, whistling and snapping branches. I don’t have long before the worst of the hurricane arrives.
And if I’m not home by then, there’s going to be no hope for me.
My muscles tremble as I roll to my stomach. Pine needles and mud squish under my palms as I push myself to my feet, staggering from how weak I feel. I lean against a nearby tree and take another second to compose myself. The pounding of the water splashing and waving against the bank has me taking a step back, so I don’t fall and find myself dragged away.
The water is rising and soaking the ground. My boots squish with every step, my socks are water-laden. My clothes are heavy and sticking to my skin, which makes it really difficult to walk. I try to figure out my surroundings.
Woods.
Trees.
Branches.
Awesome. They all look the fucking same. I don’t know where I am. I hope I’m not too far away.
Oh, my phone!
I tug it out of my pocket and see that the screen is black. I try to turn it on, but it doesn’t. “Fuck,” I curse. “Waterproof my ass. If it can’t survive a man floating down the river, is it really waterproof?” I ask it as if the phone can answer me. “Damn it.” I shove it into my cut pocket and shiver in disgust when I feel mud slip between my fingers.
I’m coated in it. Head to toe.
I head straight, away from the river and through the woods, hoping I come to a road. Then I hear a loud crack above me, and I look up in time to see a branch dropping down. I dive to the right and dodge it, the leaves kissing the tip of my boots.
“I fucking hate hurricane season.” I pick myself up again and wipe my muddy hands on my wet jeans. How could a good day in bed, messing around with a guy I’m crazy about, turn downstream like this? Literally, downstream.
The canopy of the trees protects me from the hardship of the wind and rain. If I find the road, I’ll have to brace myself because that weather won’t be as forgiving as it is right now. I step over another fallen branch, and that gets me thinking about the one I risked my life for and how it got sawed in the first place.
Someone had to have done it intentionally, but that’s crazy. They would know out of everyone that I would go up there because I’m the crazy son of a bitch who jumps out of planes to fight fires. Adrenaline is a drug to me, and I’m addicted to it. Everyone who knows me knows that. So maybe somebody cut that branch to hurt me.
I shake the thoughts away. That’s just my anxiety talking. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation without a conspiracy behind it.
But even as I try to reassure myself, it doesn’t sit right with me. I’ve never been the kind of person to think about things like that, but that feeling in my gut, the one that’s never been wrong, tells me that’s exactly what happened.
If that’s the case, I need to hurry up and find my way home. Whoever wanted me out of the way is clearly pissed off about Ryan.
I won’t stand for anyone hurting him. I don’t care if I’ve been around the MC brothers for most of my life. Nothing will get in the way of my fucking happiness with Ryan. From the moment my parents died, I’ve waited to feel like this again. To feel like life is actually worth a damn, and I won’t give that up because someone has decided to be small-minded.
“Oh, thank fuck,” I moan in pure ecstasy when I come to the edge of the tree line and see a road.
I step out and look up toward the sky to see the gray clouds moving. The wind is dying down, and the rain has lightened up. There must be a break in the outer bands of the storm before the main event. I’m one lucky mother fucker.
I hold out my thumb as the cars pass, knowing damn good and well no one is going to stop since I’m covered head to toe in Mississippi River mud.
There’s a plus to all this. I’m closer to home than I thought. I’m around two miles away. If I wanted to, I could walk, but I don’t want to. I feel like I’m about to fall over.
“Rainbow? Dat ya? I can’ tell with all that shit on ya, mon amie.” A red beat-up farm truck pulls off the road.
I grin when I notice old Mr. McDonald.
And yes, he has a farm. He is our nearest neighbor at the clubhouse.
“Fuck, Karl. I’ve never been so happy to see someone in my life,” I say to him while walking around to the passenger side.
“What the hell ya doin’ out here? Weather supposed ta get’ real bad wit dis hurricane comin’.” His thick Cajun accent nearly makes it impossible to understand him. Still, since I’ve been around here for fifteen years, it comes naturally to me.
“Ah, you know, just going for a swim.” I close the passenger side door and lean back.
“A swim? In the river? Lord boy, ya need to think. Ain’t everything a damn jungle gym for ya to try to climb.”
“I know, Mr. McDonald, but you know me. I always want to expand my horizons.” I soar my hand through the air toward the sky.
The tires crunch and dip as they roll over the edge of the road from the dirt. Mr. McDonald spits chewing tobacco into a paper cup. “Ya gonna expand right to damn Jesus is what ya gonna do if ya keep going.” He whistles as his own hand slices across the cab and then points to the sky. “Ya got a brother to think of. Ya can’ be out doing crazy shit like that no more. Ya know he is a sensitive fella. He needs ya. He ain’t like the rest of ya, and ya know that.”
“Mime is strong. He isn’t weak.” Mud drips from the tip of my nose and onto my hand. Because Mime doesn’t speak, people think that he’s this sensitive being who cannot take care of himself.
“Ya know he is different and ya just don’t wanna admit it. Tha’s alright. Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit your brother needin’ ya. It’s why ya can’t go swimmin’ in rivers in a hurricane. Okay?”
I sigh and press my head against the window. The glass is warm, and the sulfur scent of the river fills the tight space.
Of course, the air conditioning doesn’t work because this truck is older than damn dirt and the windows are up because of the rain.
“Yeah, I got it, Mr. McDonald. No one gives Mime the credit he deserves. He is stronger than he looks.”
“Ain’t sayin’ he isn’t, Rainbow. I’m sayin’ the boy is sensitive. It don’t make him weak.”
“Can you please take me home? I have people who are probably worried about me.” I want to end the conversation. I don’t like talking about Mime. He is at the top of everyone’s list to talk about.
“Sure, sure. Didn’t mean to poke at ya nerves,” he nods, spitting into the cup again.
Listen, I’ve seen a lot of shit, and I’ve killed and tortured for the Club, but chewing tobacco is disgusting.
“No, you’re fine. I’m tired. I appreciate the lift, Mr. McDonald. How are the kids?” Mr. McDonald has five sons, and they all work the farm with their father. Pretty sure the youngest just graduated high school.
“Ah, they good. Workin’ hard. Nothin’ new. Think my oldest is going through somethin’. I know what it is, but I don’ know how to bring it up to ‘im, and he’s too ‘fraid to talk to me. I don’ like that. I want my kids to talk. Ya know?” He reaches for the spit cup again, and the tire hits a pothole, nearly causing the brown gunk in the cup to spill over.
I close my eyes and hum in agreement. “Well, what do you think it is?”
“It’s easy. He’s one of them gays.”
That has me snapping my eyes open. “What? Dexter?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s been gay since he could walk. I’ve always known it.”
“You don’t care?”
“I only care’n he feels like he can’t tell me.”
His statement has me seeing him in a new way. I always thought Mr. McDonald was a typical ‘stuck in his ways’ kind of man.
“Well, I’m dating a guy, and if I had a dad that knew, I’d want him to come and talk to me about it instead of waiting around for me.”
“Yeah?” He lifts a bushy brow and the movement wrinkles half of his face. Since he works in the sun all day, his skin has the appearance of worn leather.
“Yeah, Mr. McDonald. I think Dex would like that.” We fall into a comfortable silence and thunder rolls above us. A steady flow of rain peppers the windshield. It’s weather like this that reminds me of a typical storm. “Are you and the boys okay over at the farm? Clubhouse has plenty of room.”
“We’re okay. Don’t you worry about us. This isn’t our first storm. It won’t be our—”
Before we know it, the roof of the truck caves in, and the tires skid across the road. Since the pavement is wet, the rubber can’t get traction. Mr. McDonald is pinned against the steering wheel, and all that’s left for me to do is go along for the ride.
When we finally come to a stop in the middle of the road, I know we aren’t out of danger yet. “Mr. McDonald. Can you hear me?”
“Ya. Ya. It’s a bit hard to breathe though.”
With the way his neck is angled, I don’t find that surprising. I’m about to help him when I hear a long-drawn-out honk.
And see headlights coming right at me.
