Madeline Sheehan: Undeniable

Seven years passed before Deuce and I crossed paths again.

During those years, my father had been released from prison and I had gained an older, pain in the ass brother, Frankie.

Franklin Deluva Sr. had been my dad's road chief. He had died in a head on collision with a Mack truck a few years back and his old lady had died several years earlier from breast cancer. As was the case with most biker brats, Frankie didn’t have any other family willing to take him on. Since my father didn't have a son, he took Frankie in and under his wing and began mapping out his future as a Demon. If Frankie stayed the course my father had made it clear he'd be taking the gavel from him one day. Which was fine, great even, there was just one big problem.

Frankie was angry.

All the time.

So much so that all he did was get into fights. At school, at the club, on the sidewalk, in the grocery store. Frankie would fight with a brick wall if it pissed him off. You would not believe just how many walls have pissed Frankie off.

His poor fifteen-year-old body was already covered in scars from street fights. Since he had come to live with us he'd been hospitalized sixteen times for various broken bones, knife wounds and numerous concussions.

Frankie also had serious abandonment issues.

When he had first moved in with my father and me, he had violent nightmares. He would wake up terrified, covered in sweat and screaming at the top of his lungs. The nightmares turned into night terrors and Frankie began thrashing in his sleep, beating his head with his fists while screaming and crying uncontrollably. My father had to hold him down until he either calmed or regained full consciousness.

One night, when my father was out on a run, Frankie snuck into my room and slipped in bed with me. He slept soundly for the first time since he'd moved in with us and he’s been in my bed ever since.

And life moved on.

Two weeks after my twelfth birthday my father decided it was time for Frankie to tag along on an MC run. When he found out I wouldn’t be going he threw a violent fit until my father caved. When it came to Frankie, my father was a total pushover.

On the back of Frankie’s bike I left Manhattan, Northern Illinois destined, our first stop: A pumpkin farm. When your father and his cohorts were involved in illegal dealings and needed to meet privately, criminal gatherings at pumpkin farms were more frequent than one would think.

These sorts of meets usually lasted a couple of days; the adults stayed inside and the kids outside. There was always a lot of yelling, a lot of fighting and a lot of drinking. And a lot of slutty women.

I'd started developing early and looked rather awkward being as skinny and as tall as I was, all elbows and knees with a pair of C cups. Several boys who had accompanied their father’s to the meet had been following me around, snapping my bra strap, and calling me “stuffer”. Which was how I found myself hiding in a tree, my headphones on, listening to the Rolling Stones, swinging my legs, bobbing my head and singing along.

I felt a tug on the toe of my chucks and I jerked my foot away.

"Go away Frankie!" I yelled.

Frankie tugged my toe again and I ripped my headphones off my head and glared down at him.

It wasn't Frankie.

Except for his hair, which was now thick and sandy blonde and hung down to his shoulders, he looked exactly the same. Still devastatingly beautiful.

He grinned his multi dimpled grin.

"Heard you were around here somewhere, darlin'. You remember me?"

"Deuce," I whispered, staring at him. "From Riker's."

He burst out laughing. "I'm not actually from there. Home sweet home is in Montana. I was just visitin' my old man, same as you. Remember?"

I nodded. "Reaper. I liked him."

His smile slipped. "He's gone now.”

I never knew what to say to people who had lost their loved ones. Nothing ever sounded right.

But seeing the faraway look in Deuce’s icy blue eyes, I had to say something.

"He had a great smile," I said softly. "Just like yours."

His eyes shot to mine and he smiled.

And I smiled.

"You know," He said as he pulled a thin gold chain out of his dirty white tee shirt and lifted it over his head. "You should have this."

He grabbed my hand and placed the chain in it.

"It was my old man's," He said. "Ain't no one ever said nothin' nice ‘bout that bastard. Ever. Not even his own mother. Not until right now. Figure that makes it yours."

I held the chain up and studied the small, round medallion hanging on it. The Hell's Horsemen's insignia was on the front. The words, “Hell’s Horsemen”, encircled a hooded grim reaper straddling a Harley and holding a scythe.

On the back it read, "Reaper".

"That day seven years ago was the first time I'd seen that asshole smile. It was also the last."

I didn't know what to say. So I didn't say anything, just slipped the chain over my neck.

"Thanks," I said and tucked the medallion under my Jimmy Hendrix tee shirt. "I like it."

Nodding, he looked off into the distance.

"Gonna take a walk through them pumpkin's darlin'. You wanna join?"

I hung my headphones around my neck, clipped my walkman to my jeans pocket and hopped down.

I didn’t give it much thought, just slipped my hand into his like I would with my father or Frankie. He glanced down but didn’t pull away and his thick, warm fingers curled around mine and we started walking.

As we walked, Deuce stared up at the cloudy gray sky, chain smoking, not speaking.

“Are you sad?” I asked.

He glanced down at me and his brows furrowed. I bit my lip. Had I said the wrong thing? Maybe he hadn’t wanted anyone to know he was sad. My heart started beating faster and faster, I felt my palm grow clammy, and because my hand was in Deuce’s hand, I became embarrassed and started sweating even more.

“Little brother died, darlin’. Few days ago.”

I stopped walking and threw my arms around his waist, squeezing as hard as I could. “I’m so, so sorry,” I whispered.

Deuce sucked in a breath. “Darlin’.”

Then he fell to his knees and squeezed me until I couldn’t breathe but I didn’t care because it felt so nice and I knew he needed it.

“You’re a good kid, darlin’. A good, sweet kid,” He whispered in my ear.

He pulled away and looked me in the eyes. “Promise me you’ll stay that way, yeah? You and me kid, we were fuckin’ born in the life, reared by the road and the wheel; it’s what we know and where we belong but that don’t mean it won’t take its toll. So you promise me, no matter what you see, no matter what sort of fucked up shit happens to you. Don’t let this life turn you bitter.”

I stared into his icy blue eyes, entranced by the safety and comfort blanketing me, warming me. I couldn't look away. I wanted to tuck this feeling in my back pocket, take it home with me and keep it safe under my pillow to have when I needed it most.

Eventually, when I remembered what he’d said, I nodded.

He brushed his knuckles down my cheek and stood. I slid my hand back into his and we resumed walking, Deuce resumed smoking and I began pointing out unusually large pumpkins.

“You ever watch, "It's the great pumpkin Charlie Brown”," Deuce asked. “Stupid fucker makes me laugh.”

I decided I too really liked that stupid fucker Charlie Brown and made a mental note to watch everything featuring Charlie Brown as soon as I got home.

"You gonna dress up for Halloween, darlin'?"

"I haven't decided," I told him. "Halloween is very tricky. Once a year you get to dress up and pretend you're something or someone entirely different then you are. There’s nothing else quite like it. You don't want to mess that up, you know? It's important to pick carefully that way you have no regrets only fabulous memories."