Beautiful Outlaw by Emily Minton
Finding Home
Laura/Shay
I nervously climb on the bike and wrap my arms around Bowie’s large frame as I settle in behind him. He smells of leather and tobacco; something about the combination makes me feel warm inside. I lean closer, bringing my face to his back. His chocolate brown hair tickles my nose as the wind catches his waves.
“Keep your arms tight,” e says in a voice so gruff that I nearly jump, then he tightens my grasp on his waist.
I peek around just as he releases my hand. His tattoo-covered arms look beautiful next my pale skin. I’m mesmerized by the markings. Some are dark, almost gruesome- skulls, knives, the Grim Reaper. Others are proof of his love for his club, the Savage Outlaws MC. Jeremy told me all about the motorcycle club that Bowie is part of. He also told me to stay the hell away from the other members. He reminded me that no matter how nice they seemed, the men were all outlaws.
I am still staring down at the ink when he pulls from the parking lot. A moment of fear hits me, but it quickly fades away as his bike weaves in and out of traffic. It’s replaced with something so foreign that it takes me awhile to place. I feel alive for the first time in years. I close my eyes and lean into his body, letting my newfound freedom fill my soul. Joy, pure joy.
I should feel terrified right now- I’m on the back of a bike with a man I’ve never met- but I’m not. Everything about Bowie screams danger, but something about having my arms around him as he rides down the road feels right. It’s like I was made for this, made to be here with him. As odd as it sounds, it is like I have known him my entire life. I’m not sure if it’s my brother’s stories or the fact that he is so different from Marcus, but something about him makes me feel safe.
After what seems like hours of riding, Bowie pulls into the driveway of a small house. It’s covered in old-fashioned wooden shingles, painted country blue. The windows are wrapped in white shutters, with small flower boxes perched on their ledges, bursting with yellow and orange mums. This place isn’t just a house- it’s a home.
He cuts the engine off and pats my knee. “Here’s your stop, babe.”
I climb from the bike, having to hold on to Bowie to keep my balance. My legs feel like jelly. “You have a nice house.”
He shakes his head as he climbs from the bike. “This isn’t my place, darlin’. It’s Nina’s house. She’s gonna be taking care of you for me.”
“What?” I ask in shock as I stare into his blue eyes. “Jeremy said I was supposed to stay with you.”
For some unexplainable reason, I feel safe with Bowie, and I don’t want him to drop me off with someone else. With all the stories Jeremy has shared about their time in the Army, I feel like I almost know him. Almost. I knew I wouldn’t be with him forever, but I didn’t expect him to leave me right away.
He shrugs and turns to the house. As he walks away, he explains, “Lock asked me if I had someplace safe for you to go. Nina’s place is about as safe as you can get.”
I follow behind him, doing my best to keep up with his long strides. My heart is beating a fast rhythm as we walk. I fight the urge to beg him to not leave me, when I ask, “Who’s Nina?”
“Family,” he answers simply as he steps onto the porch.
Before he can lift his hand to knock, the door flies open and a beautiful, middle aged Latino woman walks out the door. She is wearing a fuzzy pink robe and carrying a cup of coffee in one hand. “Bowie, what in the world are you doing here at this time of the morning?”
He looks over his shoulder at the still dark sky. “It’s not morning just yet.”
She smiles as she turns away from us to walk inside the house. “To me it is. I have to be at work in an hour. Some of us have real jobs, you know.”
Bowie follows closely behind her, leaving me still standing on the porch. I stare at the open door, not knowing what to do. A second later, my question is answered when I hear Bowie call out my new name. “Shay, get your ass in here.”
Taking a deep breath for courage, I step through the door. The inside is a lot like the outside, homey. There is a huge flower print sectional against the back corner of the living room. Above it, pictures of children line the walls. The two boys and one girl in the pictures hold a special place in this woman’s heart, and she wants to make sure everyone that walks through her door knows it.
Without thinking, I walk over and take a closer look. One of the boys is no doubt her son; I can tell just by looking that he shares her DNA. It only takes a second to realize the other boy is Bowie. The child in the pictures looks nothing like the tattoo covered man I just met, but there is no denying that those sparkling blue eyes are the same. I’ve never seen anything like them. They remind me of the summer sky, just before a storm, a mixture of a million shades of the same hue, changing constantly.
“He was such a cute kid. I’m not sure what happened to him,” Nina says as she steps next to me and pushes a cup of coffee in my direction.
I turn to her, not yet meeting her eyes, and take the cup. “Thank you.”
“I quit hanging pictures when he started inking up his body. I told him God gave him beautiful skin, there was no reason to cover it, but he wouldn’t listen.”
I’m not sure what to say, because it’s rude to disagree with a person in their own home, but I think Bowie’s tattoos are beautiful in their own right. Trying to change the subject to something else, I point to the young girl. “Who’s that?”
“That is my beautiful Rachel, and that one is my hijo, Justin. He’s another one that doesn’t get his picture hung. He shares his brother’s fascination for color, only he’s worse. Ink has become an obsession to that boy.” She finishes motioning toward the pictures of the children.
Brother? They look nothing alike. I don’t ask how it is possible; instead, I look back at the photos. My eyes focus in on one of the pictures.
“He was in high school in that picture. He and Rachel had just moved in with me.” She motions toward the shot of an adolescent Bowie in a football uniform, with a baby wrapped around his leg. “That was taken right before his first game in the Varsity league.”
“I remember that day,” Bowie says, walking into the living room with a cup of coffee in his hand. “I didn’t think Priss was gonna let me play.”
Nina laughs, looking over her shoulder at Bowie. “Rachel just wanted to play too.”
Bowie shakes his head and chuckles. “She wasn’t even a year old. Not sure she could have hung with the guys on the team.”
“Your sister would’ve put them all on the ground.”
Sister? I look back at the wall and stare at the girl’s face. I look from picture to picture, watching her grow from a toddler to child and finally a teen. It takes me a minute, but I can see the resemblance. A small tip to the end of each of their noses- it’s barely there, but definitely noticeable. I move my eyes to the pictures of Nina’s son. Again, the tip of the nose is visible. Judging by the different skin tones, hair, and eye colors, I can only assume they had different moms, but all shared the same father.
“I see you are confused, cariño,” Nina says, with a smile on her face.
“A little, maybe,” I admit.
She never loses her smile as she explains the ins and outs of their family. “Their dad is a womanizing bastard. He has children spread across this country. Two of those women weren’t willing to be the mother the kids needed, so I stepped in.”
Bowie steps beside her and throws his arm across her shoulder. Leaning down and kissing her cheek, he says, “And you are the best mamá in the whole fuckin’ world.”
Without hesitation, she sends the back of her hand into his stomach. “Watch your mouth, hijo.”
He leans down and kisses her cheek again. “I gotta head out. I got shit to do when I get to the clubhouse.”
Nina narrows her eyes when he curses again, but she doesn’t reprimand him a second time. “I will take care of your woman. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” he says as he pulls away from her and looks at me. “If you need me for anything, just tell Nina. She can get in touch with me.”
Not yet ready to let him leave me, I move closer to him. “When are you coming back?”
He looks toward Nina, a faint splash of red on his cheeks. Finally looking back at me, he shrugs. “I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. He has no intention of coming back; Bowie is done with me.
He shakes his head, not wanting to tell me the truth. “Like I said, I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
“He’ll be back soon. He can’t stay away for long. He’ll miss my homemade enchiladas if he does,” Nina answers for him, trying to break the tension in the room.
Knowing that my last link to my family is leaving me behind causes a wave of panic to course through my body, but I fight to conceal it. I square my shoulders and paste on the serene face that I learned so well during my marriage. “I’ll be fine.”
“Of course, you will,” Nina says as she steps next to me and grabs my hand. “Come on, cariño.”
Without looking back at him, I follow her down the hall. “What does cariño mean?”
My grasp of the Spanish language is limited at best. I understood hijo, because our housekeeper used to tell me stories of her young son all the time. Cariño is new to me though.
“It is a term of endearment,” she explains as we continue down the hall. “Similar to sweetheart.”
I nod at her explanation. “It sounds prettier in your language.”
“Everything does.”
I am about to agree when I hear the sound of a door opening. I listen to it shut, marking Bowie’s departure, as she leads me into a vacant bedroom. Pain slashes through me again; he’s gone. The man my brother trusted to take care of me has discarded me like a piece of trash.
She squeezes my hand, doing her best to make me feel comfortable. “You’ll be all right. I promise.”
Still wearing my mask, I force a smile. “I always am.”