Rowe by Jessica Gadziala

CHAPTER SIX

Rowe

“You know what is good pain relief?” Dezi asked from the driver’s seat of the SUV. How he ended up being my driver to physical therapy was beyond me. He was usually passed out at ten in the morning from whatever events kept him awake the whole night before. “An orgasm,” he declared when I didn’t respond. Mostly because I knew exactly what he was going to say.

With Dezi, the answer was pretty much always fucking, food, fighting, or booze. And not necessarily in that order.

The problem was, an orgasm wasn’t going to help me. Because the vast majority of the time, I still had very little sensation in my ass, thighs, and groin.

I usually woke up with a bit of it, but as the day went on and the strain on my back got worse, the less and less I felt.

Billie’s remedies kept me going.

I kinda felt like a dick for doubting her.

I mean, I wasn’t actually sure the tea was doing anything. I kept choking it down regardless. And I tried to tell myself it was because I told Malc I was trying to recover. But a part of me knew it was because anytime I ran out, it was another excuse to see Billie.

The cream, on the other hand, was absolutely helping. My only complaint was that I couldn’t reapply it whenever it wore off. But I’d been told that if I used it more than was instructed, I could end up with burns from it, and then not be able to use it for several days until my skin calmed down. That, well, that wasn’t an option. Because after using the cream was the only time of the day when the pain wasn’t damn near blinding.

In that hour or so after an application, I managed to be able to function mostly like a normal human being. I could get my own food. I could do some light straightening up around my room. I could get some laundry done. I could go out and see the guys so they stopped thinking I was practically bedridden.

If Billie didn’t sell that shit, she needed to be doing it.

People would pay a fortune for the relief it could give them. Even if it was short-lived.

The brace, too, was doing some good things for me. The jury was still out on the physical therapy since I’d only gone to two appointments and because my fractures were still so new, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot we could do aside from slight abdominal strengthening exercises.

But I was doing it.

Because I told Billie I would.

Because it was the one stipulation she made about helping me. And, really, could I even think of denying her that? When she was going out of her way to make me salves and teas?

“So, does Billie cook?” Dezi asked, undeterred by my silence. In fact, next to nothing deterred Dezi from anything.

“How would I know?”

“You’ve been over twice.”

“To get more of her tonics and shit.”

“I’m thinking that if she can brew up a tonic, she probably can cook.” That was Dezi, thinking with his stomach.

“If she cooks, it’s probably vegetarian.”

“But, you know, rice and beans can be good if she spices it up right.”

“You ate on the way to therapy,” I reminded him. He’d made us leave twenty minutes early so he could pop by Fallon and Malc’s diner to grab some danishes from the bakery inside.

“It’s been a couple hours,” he insisted, patting his stomach as he pulled into Billie’s apartment lot and parking beside her bright green hippie van. She had some sort of talisman hanging from the rearview full of feathers—likely ones she’d found—crystals, a tiny jar stuffed with herbs, and some weird eye bead. She probably got tickets about it all the time. But that wasn’t going to stop Billie.

“Want the chair?” Dezi asked as he hopped out.

I honestly did. My back was screaming again. There was just this irrational urge for me not to be in the chair again when I saw her. I felt weak enough when I needed her to help me in and out of my damn brace.

“Nah,” I said, turning toward my door.

I could have sworn I heard him mumble something about being stubborn, but he didn’t press it. Hell, the guy didn’t even slow down as he made his way through the lot. Luckily enough for me, Dezi walked at a slow swagger unless motivated by one of his favorite things. Since he wasn’t sure Billie had anything in her cupboards aside from dried herbs and oils, he was taking shit at a gingerly pace.

“It’s open!” Billie called when Dezi knocked.

“Of course it is,” I grumbled as Dezi opened the door, moving into Billie’s place.

“This looks like her. Smells like her too,” he added, and I hoped to hell he didn’t hear the growl that moved through me at the idea of him knowing what Billie smelled like. It was something I’d spent way too much time noticing myself. It wasn’t like that chemical shit that they put in lotions or perfumes. She had a very natural, herbal scent to her. But I was never able to figure out what it was.

“Sorry, sorry,” Billie called, breezing out of the bathroom in a pair of cutoff shorts and some sort of bra masquerading as a shirt, with just some fringe hanging down to create a peekaboo effect with her stomach.

I’d seen Billie a lot over the years. And I’d heard the infamous rumors about how free she was with her body. The girls constantly quipped about Billie stripping naked for yoga meditation or just because.

But I’d always seen her fully clothed somehow.

This was the first time I’d even seen a sliver of her stomach.

And the first time I saw the little crescent moon belly ring she had. Or the tattoo that half-disappeared into the bra-shirt.

“Oh, hey Dezi,” she said, giving him the warm smile she no longer ever gave to me, and I had to remind myself that I couldn’t be upset about it. I’d been the one to make that smile stop coming in my direction. “Looking like your usual sexy, unkempt self,” she added, and I swear my fucking stomach twisted at the words.

“Billie, the prettiest girl I’ve seen in…”

“Five minutes because you say that to all the girls?” Billie asked, smile going devilish.

“Well, I am a connoisseur of all women,” Dezi agreed, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Frequent eater at the Y, huh?” she asked. “Good for you. We ladies appreciate men like you,” she added.

“Give me a pair of nice, thick thighs to suffocate under, and I’d die a happy man,” Dezi declared. “Speaking of eating, though…”

“Help yourself,” Billie said, waving at the kitchen. “There’s a big batch of the best minestrone soup you will ever have in there,” she added.

And me?

I was fucking jealous of Dezi.

For getting to make sexual innuendos with Billie.

For getting to eat the food she’d prepared.

“How was therapy?” Billie asked, turning to me when Dezi’s head disappeared into the fridge.

“Fine,” I said, shrugging.

“You look like you’re hurting,” she said, raising her brows at me.

“Little bit.”

“And by little bit you mean your jaw is tight it is so bad,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Come on. Let’s take off the brace, and get more salve on,” she said, waving toward her bedroom.

Her table wasn’t set up this time, and the curtains were thrown open to reveal that whichever architect had designed her building was a fucking idiot because another apartment jutted out just five or so feet away, which meant that when her curtains were open, and their curtains were open, they could both see into each other’s bedrooms.

And, well, his curtains were open.

And he, ah, wasn’t wearing a goddamn stitch of clothing.

“What’s…oh,” Billie said, noticing my gaze looking out her window. “Hey, Manuel!” she called after jacking open the window. “Rowe, this is Manuel. Manuel does The Website That Must Not Be Named lest you summon one of those uber-religious ‘porn is evil’ sorts,” she explained to the man who waved a hand that glittered with an abundance of gold rings at her. “Don’t let the prudes get you down,” she called across the minuscule courtyard. “Sex work is real work and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Who’s your friend, doll face?” Manuel called, his gaze moving over me.

“Oh, this is Rowe. Rowe is an, ah, acquaintance of mine,” Billie explained.

Acquaintance.

That was what I was now.

Once, I probably would have been referred to as a “friend” or even a “future lover.” But I’d demoted myself to acquaintance.

“He doesn’t bat for your team,” Billie said, sounding apologetic.

“Shame. He’s a treat for the eyes,” Manuel declared, turning fully and making his way to the window. Exposed cock and all.

I noted that Billie didn’t agree with him.

“Are we still on for that potluck next week?” Billie asked.

“Absolutely, doll. You know the drill. Clothing optional.”

“Or, more accurately, strongly discouraged,” Billie shot back, smiling wickedly. “Manuel and his friends are nudists,” Billie explained.

“Does your friend want to come?” Manuel asked, a brow lifting.

“Come where?” Dezi asked, moving into the doorway with a giant bowl of soup, a spoon halfway to his mouth, not the least bit fazed by the naked guy across the way.

“Potluck,” Billie supplied. “A naked potluck,” she added.

“I’m down,” Dezi said, nodding.

“No, you’re not,” I growled, getting a raised brow from Dezi who was close enough to hear, but nothing from Billie since she was half-leaning out the window to toss something across the courtyard toward Manuel.

“Yeah, totally. Okay. See you there,” she said, turning, closing the window, then looking at the bowl in Dezi’s hands. “Well, Violet will be happy. We are going to need to order in again.”

“I think Fallon said Vi got a skip,” Dezi said, shrugging. “But it’s her loss… hold up,” he said, sticking the spoon in his mouth to reach for his phone, and answering with it still between his lips. “‘Sup?” he asked as he cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder to remove the spoon. “Yeah? I’m on my way. Okay. Yep. I’m out,” Dezi said, tucking the phone away again.

“What? Why?”

“Lead on those fuckers who fucked us over and sent you over a roof,” Dezi said. “Someone will pick you up later,” he added, already in action mode. Nothing got between Dezi and the opportunity to smash someone’s face in. Except, apparently, his food. “Any chance you got a big cup for me to take this with me?” Dezi asked, holding up the bowl.

With that, Billie set him up with a giant smoothie cup and sent him on his way.

Which left me alone with Billie again.

Sure, I’d seen her every day for the past several, but it never felt all that alone when the guys were all moving up and down the hallway on the other side of my bedroom door, occasionally even popping in without waiting for an answer to their knocks.

This felt a lot more intimate. Especially with Vi likely already on her way out of town. And the guys off tracking down the guys who’d caused all the pain I was dealing with.

“Are you disappointed?” Billie asked, making my head turn to find her watching me.

“About what? Dezi leaving? Not particularly.”

“Hey! He’s a giant puppy,” she said, shaking her head at me.

“Clearly, you’ve never seen him off his leash,” I shot back.

“I meant are you disappointed that you couldn’t go with him? Especially because of what you’re dealing with.”

“I want to be involved,” I admitted. “But I can barely fucking function. I would be a liability to them right now.” And maybe forever since no one could give me a concrete answer on if my back pain was going to ease, or if it was going to be something chronic I would be dealing with for the rest of my life.

“I’m worried you’re driving a wedge between yourself and your brothers,” Billie said, hitting the nail on the head, and it was more than a little disconcerting.

“Because I was okay with Dezi leaving? He’s a good guy, but we’re just… different people,” I said, trying to hide behind that, uncomfortable with the main topic.

“Yeah, you and Malc are a lot better suited. What with the outdoorsy interests and all. Can I ask you something?” she asked, brows pinched.

“Sure.”

“Why did you join the MC? I mean, I know Malc did, but he was a legacy. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been the kind of profession you’d expect someone like him—or you—would go into.”

“Honestly, I needed the money,” I admitted. “I was working construction. And it paid my bills at the time. But my old man was in a hole on the property. Been in my family for several generations,” I added. “My grandfather taught me how to be a man on that property. And my old man was going to lose it to the fucking bank,” I said, an old, hot sort of resentment building.

“I’m sure he didn’t intend—“ Billie started.

“He’s a drunk and spends every dime he finds at the tracks,” I interrupted.

“The horse tracks?” she asked, pressing a hand to her heart.

“Would it be any better if it were the dog tracks?” I asked, feeling my lips twitch a bit at her heartbroken reaction.

“Well… no,” she said, smiling a bit.

“Yeah, I spent a nice chunk of my childhood at the tracks. Know you got a lot of respect and love for your old man, but I don’t have that. I never did,” I explained.

“I’m sorry,” she said. And, what’s more, she meant it. That was the thing with Billie. She had a huge fucking heart. Sometimes, you saw her and all you could focus on was the pussy earrings and the way she wore her sexuality on her sleeve. But under all that, was someone who cared about everything. Animals, other people, the environment, everything.

“But yeah, he was heading headfirst into a foreclosure. And I couldn’t let that happen. But there was no way for me to get that kind of money quickly enough at my old job. So when Malc suggested the Henchmen, I saw a chance to save my family’s legacy. I prospected, sold my place, sold my truck and all my ATVs and shit. It gave me the money to buy my old man out. Just barely.”

“But now you’re stuck.”

“I don’t think of it as stuck,” I countered. “I mean, at the beginning, it had been an adjustment, realizing that my life was sort of decided, if you get what I mean. Bikers are for life. Most of the time, anyway. But the longer I’ve been with the Henchmen, the more I’ve started to appreciate the brotherhood and the sense of family. It’s been a long time since I knew what that was like. Not since my grandparents were alive.”

“What about your mom?” she asked.

“Good question,” I said, shaking my head. “She left my old man when I was six or seven.”

“But… did she leave you too?” Billie asked, sounding a little choked up.

“She hung around for a while. Doing visits every few weeks. But she was no more built for motherhood at the time than my old man was built for fatherhood. She did eventually settle down several years later. Has four kids with her new man.”

“But hasn’t kept in contact with you?”

“No.”

“That’s… that’s terrible,” Billie decided.

“I thought you were the one who felt everyone had a reason and right to do and feel how they want to.”

“Well, yeah. And maybe it would be different if she realized she was never meant to be a mother, then never had more kids. But to walk away from one to have four more, and not keep in touch? That’s awful. And in case no one has told you, it was her loss.”

“You can barely stand to stand near me for two minutes put together, and you want to tell me I’m something to miss out on?” I asked, watching as her gaze darted away, likely thinking I hadn’t noticed what a wide berth she gave me compared to everyone else who she was always very touchy-feely with.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, turning away. “I am close to you several times a day, putting salve on your back and helping you with your brace.”

The absolute second she was done, though, she was rushing away from me like I was contagious.

And, again, I couldn’t blame her. I’d clearly been more brutal with my rejection of her than I remembered. And she, clearly, had moved on from her crush on me too.

Which was what I wanted.

Well, no.

I never really wanted that.

But it was what had to be done.

Case closed.

And it was better for the both of us that it worked.

“Anyway, come on. Let’s get your salve on. We have to get going.”

“Get going?” I repeated, following her.

“Yeah,” she said, popping off my brace, and making even shorter work than usual of smearing on the salve. “I have a workshop,” she informed me as she pressed my brace against me again, then pulled the straps tight so she could secure them. “Come on,” she added, washing her hands quickly, then going toward the door, grabbing her purse and keys.

“What’s this?” I asked when we were in her van, gesturing down to the diner-style glass sugar shaker sitting in the cupholder between our two seats.

“Oh, those are native wildflower seeds,” she said, as if that explained it being there.

“For what purpose?”

“Helping the local pollinators. Bees are still dying, you know. It doesn’t make the news as much anymore, but they’re still dying. Whenever I go out and there are patches of grass on the side of the highway or those little trees they plant in the sidewalks with mulch around them, I always do a quick little sprinkle and hope for the best.”

She would.

That was just like her.

We drove out of Navesink Bank, heading more into the woods. And I had no idea where we were going.

I should have insisted on staying in her apartment.

But, to be honest, I was curious.

It wasn’t until I was already in the van and she was pulling away from the curb that I thought to ask for more details.

And by then, it was too late.

“What kind of workshop is it?” I asked.

I knew immediately from the way Billie tried to mask her smile by pressing her lips together that I probably wasn’t going to like the answer to that.

“A tantric sex workshop.”