Lungs

While the guys were on their run to Arizona, I occupied myself by working a few hours of overtime at work. I wanted to have a legitimate excuse for when Mom inevitably wanted to talk to me. I knew that if I spoke with her alone, I was bound to slip up and let her know that I had known about the cartel before she had.

I was sitting on the table in David’s corner of the shop while he drew up a design for a customer. He was hunched over his work, focusing intently while I prattled on about the stupid things that popped into my head.

“Is that a cat? Who would get a cat tattooed on them?” I asked, leaning over to peer at his drawing.

“Says the girl with a dragon drinking a juice box,” David muttered under his breath.

“Yeah, but even my cartoon dragon is a little bit bad ass. I don’t have pussy on my skin forever.”

“It’s a portrait of her childhood pet,” he corrected me. After a pause, I could see his lips flicker upward in a grin. “But the pussy thing is still true.”

The bell on the front door chimed loudly, announcing the entry of a customer. I hopped down from the table and headed out into the reception area. When I saw who had entered the shop, I sprinted forward.

Juice caught me as I crashed into him, and I could hear his amused laughter and I clutched him roughly.

“You must have driven all night,” I said into his shoulder.

“Yeah, well, we needed to get back. Being on parole really makes us have to honour our deadlines.”

“Stop leaving,” I whispered.

Juice kissed my temple, then released me. “I wish I could promise you that. I actually can’t stay right now. I just wanted to come in and let you know that we made it home safe.”

I stuck out my bottom lip as I looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. “But why? I’m not busy; I could skip out and we could hang out all day.”

“We’ve, um, we’ve got to deal with Luann’s death.”

I felt stupefied. “But she died almost two years ago,” I argued. “You haven’t done anything about that yet? You still deal with Cara Cara all the time!”

“I would have told you all the dirty details if we did.”

I snorted. Dirty was the perfect way to describe that whole mess. Luann Delaney was the wife of Otto, a club member who was spending the rest of his life behind bars. She had run the Cara Cara porn studio in Charming before she’d been killed by a rival film maker. At least, that was what we all thought had happened.

“Alright, be safe. Say hi to Madison and Lyla for me.” I stretched up and kissed him quickly.

“Will do. Love you,” he ruffled my hair affectionately before turning away.

“Can’t wait to hear about your trip,” I called after him. Juice gave me a small wave as the door shut behind him.

“Did I just hear you say that Juice was going to the porn studio?” David asked, running a hand through his close-cropped black hair as he came in through the back room.

I nodded, tearing my gaze from the front windows to look at my coworker. “Yeah, the lady that used to run the place got murdered about a year and a half ago. They’re looking into it for her husband. I can’t really blame the guy for wanting to know what happened to her.”

“Yeah, but you just let him go? To hang out with porn stars? No offense, Lexi, but that sounds like a really dumb idea.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that you would bang someone who’s had sex with hundreds of guys on camera? Knowing full well that all of those other guys are probably packing a lot more than you are in the dick department?”

David’s lips curled up in a wry grin. “Are you saying Juice has a small dick?”

“No, I was actually referring to you specifically,” I shot back. “I trust Juice. And I’m friends with a couple of girls there. They would never let anything happen. They’d be too afraid that I would murder their coworkers.”

“I’m just saying, you give the guy a way longer leash than any other woman would in this town. And that’s really saying something, considering what the guys in that bike gang are known for.”

I raised my eyebrows in amusement. I had never really heard an outside opinion of the club from an adult. When I’d been in school, kids had had all kinds of wild ideas about what SAMCRO did, but I had no idea what the general public thought. “And what, exactly, are they known for?”

He shrugged, letting his hip come to rest against the edge of the counter as he crossed his heavily tattooed arms over his faded tee shirt. “Killing guys and sleeping with hot women.”

“Ah,” I nodded slowly. “Here’s the thing, though. Some of the crow eaters are really not that pretty. And I’ve killed just as many people as some of the guys in the club have.”

David leaned away from me. “You’ve killed people?”

“No, that’s my point,” I lied. “I mean, I was suspected of murdering someone once, but I was never charged. Those were a couple of fun weeks. But seriously, most of them have never hurt anyone. It’s something that people came up with to scare their kids away from wanting to join up when they got older.”

He relaxed, though he still looked a little wary of me. “So Juice has never killed anyone?”

The appearance of several dead bodies following Opie’s wedding had made the news. There was no way that I was going to let anybody know that their deaths had been in retaliation for the attack on my brother in prison. And I definitely wasn’t going to admit that Juice had been a part of it.

“Not unless he’s just never told me about it. And he tells me pretty much everything, so I’m guessing he’s clean.”

“You know him pretty well, huh?”

“I should by now,” I mused, smiling a little at the thought. “I’ve known him since he was just a hang-around at the clubhouse.”

“You should really write a book,” David told me, grabbing the schedule off of the counter and double-checking the appointments he had for the day. “I would pay twenty bucks or so to read everything that you had to say about that kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, well, I’d need to go into witness protection if I said everything that I know. I could put a lot of people away for a very long time,” I informed him.

“I thought you just said that they haven’t killed anyone.”

“I actually said that a lot of them haven’t. And murder isn’t the only thing that can get someone thrown in jail.”

He nodded absently as he flipped through the organizer. “Alright, I’ve got to go finish drawing that up. Come and keep me company if you get bored all alone up here.”

With David gone, I found the silence deafening. I wondered whether or not they were going to kill Luann’s murderer, and I wondered what time it would all be over. I wanted Juice to come home. But I also knew better than to call him if he didn’t. God only knew where he’d be and who he’d be with. And there was still the possibility that they might not find the guy today. Sometimes these things took time.

I looked through the latest jewellery we’d gotten in. It was a small shop, and the whole process only took me a few minutes. I gave up, grabbed the cordless phone in case someone called, and headed into the back to hang out with David some more.

The day passed slowly, and the evening seemed to drag on even longer. I took my dog, Casey, for a longer run than usual in the hopes that Juice would be home when I returned. He wasn’t.

The night wore on, and I occupied myself by watching some superhero movie that was on TV. When it was over, I dragged myself dejectedly into the bedroom and fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning all alone. I managed to shower and clean myself up, but following that I felt a bit lost. I didn’t have to work today. I’d been hoping to spend the day with Juice, since he’d been so busy lately. It didn’t seem like that was going to happen.

After awhile of sitting around accomplishing nothing, I dared to call his cell phone. The call went straight to voicemail. I left a short message asking him to call me back, but for some reason I didn’t have high hopes.

I drove by the TM lot and found that there wasn’t a single bike parked there. I was starting to get anxious. Maybe they were still out looking for the guy who had killed Luann. They were very likely all together, since none of them were here.

I pulled up to the tattoo shop about around eleven. Marla was sitting out front, filing her nails. I stuck my head inside the door to get her attention.

“Did Juice come in here looking for me?” I asked.

She shook her head, looking perplexed by my odd question. “No, I haven’t seen him. What’s going on?”

I stepped all the way inside of the shop, knowing that she wouldn’t let me leave until I had explained myself. “He didn’t come home last night. I’m a little worried, that’s all.”

“Have you tried calling him?”

“Gee, no, why didn’t I think of something so obvious?” The sarcasm was a reflex. I knew she was only trying to help, but her suggestion was useless.

“God, sorry for caring,” she held up her hands defensively.

“Sorry. It’s just not like him.”

“Don’t they all stay at the clubhouse sometimes? I almost always see bikes there when I drive past on my way to work in the morning,” she lowered her hands as she spoke. I could see in her eyes that she was concerned about me. I had never come to her with a problem before. I had known coming here now that I was grasping at straws, and yet it hadn’t stopped me from trying.

“Yeah, sometimes, but he always calls. This is the first time since I moved in with him that I haven’t had a clue where he is.”

She shrugged, focusing once again on the task of filing her fingernails. “Maybe he got arrested again.”

“You’re not being very helpful,” I grumbled.

“Did you seriously expect me to be?”

“No,” I admitted. “I’ll see you Saturday, alright?”

“No, you won’t.”

I frowned. “Why not? Did I get fired and nobody told me?”

She looked up, a tiny smirk revealing how amused she was. “No, it’s the tattoo convention. Dave and Keith won’t be here, and Keith told me not to bother opening up for walk-ins. And since we’re closed Monday and Tuesday for inventory, I won’t see you until Wednesday.”

“Oh. Right. You guys don’t need help doing inventory?”

“Would you believe that Keith is actually spending the money to bring in someone to do it for us? Because I can’t believe it. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself for four days. Maybe I’ll have to take my kid to go visit her deadbeat father or something,” she prattled on, oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t interested in the least.

I pushed the door open, and the chime pulled her out of her reverie. “I’m going to go check at the police station. I’ll talk to you later.”

Marla didn’t reply, she simply ducked her head back down to inspect her handiwork. I drove the short distance to the station, though walking would have helped me to waste a bit more time. I knew before I pulled up that he wouldn’t be there.

There was a new lady sitting behind the reception desk. This woman didn’t seem to know who I was, and though it was nice not to receive a judgemental stare upon entering, it was a bit inconvenient not to have someone see me and know exactly why I would have a reason for being there. I approached the desk, smiling at her as pleasantly as I could.

“Hi, I’m just wondering if I could get some information about someone who was brought in a few days ago?”

She smiled, though something beneath the gesture was unpleasant and almost smug. “No, I’m afraid I can’t give out any information like that.”

The front door opened, and the new sheriff walked in. He didn’t pass a single glance my way; he neither knew me nor cared to. But I wasn’t giving him the option of ignoring me.

“Hey,” I pointed a finger at him. “I’ve got a question for you. Roosevelt, is it?”

He nodded, looking surprised by my brash interruption. “And who might you be?”

“Alexis Teller.”

He let out a breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Oh, God, another one.”

“Yeah, we’re kind of everywhere. Listen, you picked up my boyfriend the other day over some weed he was carrying.”

Roosevelt tensed at the mention of Juice. “You mean Juan Carlos?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Did you bring him in yesterday?”

“Uh, no, I haven’t seen him since I let him go. Why would you think that?”

“He didn’t come home last night,” I replied. “I just thought this was probably the most likely place he would be, since he’s not answering his phone.”

Roosevelt stepped past me, grabbing a notepad from the reception desk and reading his messages. “I don’t know what to tell you, Miss Teller. Other than, you know, maybe finding yourself a guy who isn’t quite as likely to be found at the local police station.”

“That’s not really an option for me,” I said with a light shrug. “Thanks for your help, Sheriff.”

He nodded, still staring at the paper in his hands. “Anytime.”

I figured that I was just going to have to wait this out. Maybe he’d lost his cell phone, or maybe he was just in a place where he couldn’t talk. Even if something bad had happened, I would have no way of finding out until one of the guys either called me or came to find me. There was no point in going all over town looking for him.

And yet, even with that mindset, I couldn’t help but think about it. The more I tried to go about my day normally, the more I found myself paralyzed with fear that something had gone wrong. If it had been anyone else, any other boyfriend I’d ever had or any other club member, it wouldn’t be troubling that they hadn’t called. But this was Juice. He wouldn’t just forget.

I lay down on the couch, grabbing a tattered paperback novel that I was halfway through reading. Somehow, I managed to drown out my thoughts and get lost in the story.

I must have passed out at some point, because when I woke up the book had fallen to the floor. I blinked slowly, deliberately. I couldn’t figure out what had woken me up. Maybe it had been the act of dropping the book.

And then I heard it. There was a vehicle running outside. I abandoned the book, hurling myself off of the couch and darting toward the kitchen. I peered out through the window just in time to see the headlights on a tow truck flicker off. The night fell quiet as the engine was turned off.

The driver’s side door opened, and a man hurried around the front of the vehicle to open the passenger door. He helped someone else out onto the curb. The passenger was shorter, though it was impossible to gauge his real height as he hunched over in pain. I rushed to the front door as the two men hobbled up the sidewalk.

“What happened?” I demanded. The light from the doorway spilled out across the concrete steps just as Chibs and a very injured Juice approached them. I reached out, not waiting for a response before helping to get Juice up the stairs and inside the house.

Chibs, a tall Scottish club member with scars on his cheeks, beckoned with two fingers for me to follow him. I glanced back at Juice, who had lowered himself onto one kitchen chair and was using his hands to haul his right leg up onto another. I hesitated, watching as he grimaced in pain. Juice slumped back in the chair, letting his head fall back.

The light over the dining room table shone on his face like a spotlight. He was pale, and the deep, charcoal circles beneath his eyes told me that he hadn’t slept. Juice didn’t even look at me, and somehow I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt whatever was going on inside of his head.

I followed Chibs outside, pulling the door firmly closed behind us. He put an arm around my shoulders as he began to walk back toward the truck.

We walked in silence all the way down to the curb. He seemed to be thinking carefully about which words to use when he finally spoke.

“He’s going to need you, love,” he told me, using the tender, fatherly tone that he reserved for only myself and his real daughter.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I pleaded.

“Your boy did good,” he continued proudly. “Make sure he knows that.”