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Not even a family, now, either.
“Well, except for you, little man,” I say, bouncing Charlie in my arms. I’m not sure why I do it, but it seems to calm his crying a little and it just feels right, a good way to fidget while I walk toward my motorcycle and wonder just how the fuck I’m going to ride the thing while carrying a baby. “Guess all we have is each other.”
Those words feel so final they make me sick.
For a while, it’s all I can do to keep it together while I stand by my bike and tie a makeshift sling from a spare t-shirt and some paracord to hold Charlie while I ride. It’s awkward, it fits awful, but it holds him snug, secure, and he giggles when I slip it over my chest and put him in it. I don’t remember exactly what it’s called holding a baby like this, though I think it rhymes with the back end of a train. I saw more than a few fidgety, flabby hosts on TV bemoaning the death of masculinity when pictures of some famous men carrying their kids like this surfaced. Whatever it’s called, there were a couple times where I carried essentials like this on missions, when I needed stealth and mobility that a full backpack couldn’t deliver, so I strapped some ammo, weapons, and other sundries to my chest and got dropped behind enemy lines to deliver death and mayhem. Far as I’m concerned, if it’s tactically sufficient for killing a tribal warlord and his two-dozen bodyguards, it’s more than suitable for carrying a baby.
“This isn’t how I ever saw myself having kids,” I murmur as I throw a leg over my bike. Not that I’d ever thought I’d have them, either. Not with the way I live; you have to have a home to have a family, and now, I’ve got neither. That thought makes me open my mouth again. “Bear with me, little man. I’m new to this parenting thing. Now, hold on, it’s going to be a long and bumpy ride… just like this dad thing.”
Dad thing. Holy fucking shit. Am I a dad now? Technically, maybe, but not really… right?
It echoes in my head as I steer back toward the main road. Like it or not, I’m responsible for this little guy, and it’s the most vital mission I’ve ever undertaken. All my time in the Rangers, my time riding nomad, bouncing around, pulling odd and dirty jobs to scrape together the cash to survive, it all pales in comparison to this: keeping Charlie safe. His life is in my hands.
I steer west.
I have to get far from here.
Find somewhere safe to set up. Make something close to a home for my nephew.
Then, and only then, I can find the men responsible for my brother’s death, and teach them the brutal lesson that they don’t have to be dead to experience hell.
Charlie giggles. The wind must be tickling the hair on his head. That, or he likes the bouncing as I navigate the bike slowly down the bumpy access road. Maybe he’s a born rider. Wouldn’t surprise me — Tyler rides, too, and so did our good-for-nothing dad. Riding’s in the blood.
“That’s right, Charlie,” I whisper to him, smiling back at his blue eyes. They’re just like my brothers. Just like mine, too. All Hayes men have them. Even my dad had them, though his were often hazy from all the drinking and, when they looked at me, nothing more than narrow, angry slits. “We’re going to find ourselves a home far from here, get you comfy, safe, set you up in a nice crib, and then your uncle’s going to murder some motherfuckers.”
Chapter Two
Emily
“I’m really sorry, Em, but we need you on the register tonight. Macy has to go home sick,” says Dr. Margaret Simmons. “I know you had some stuff you were hoping to get ahead on, but this is a bit of an emergency.”
I frown, but only for a second. The last thing I want is to seem reluctant or annoyed in front of my boss. Still, I can’t suppress that momentary frown, because there’s a research paper taking up most of the space in my mind — as one would expect from an end-of-term paper that counts for a huge chunk of my grade also stands a good chance of being submitted to magazines — and the pharmacy is usually dead quiet on Friday nights, which means I’d have plenty of time to get work done.
While the non-pharmacy part of Ironwood Falls Meds & More is decidedly not-quiet.
“No problem, Maggie. I can cover it,” I say, while my mind tries to dig up all the memories I had of my first day of training, when the store manager, Carl Dunkhauser, insisted on training me on the checkout counters, even though it was not part of my pharmacy assistant job description. I questioned the point of it, but now I think I may not be the first pharmacy assistant that has had to fill in for a suddenly sick cashier on a Friday night.
“You sure? Oh, that’s so great.”
“Of course. I just need a couple minutes to finish this paperwork for Mrs. Dunnaway’s prescription refill and then I can go up there.”
A momentary sigh draws my eyes from the paperwork to her and makes me pause. “Actually, Em, can you pass that paperwork to me? Macy’s in the bathroom right now, throwing up, and there’s a customer waiting around at the register kind of causing a scene.”
“She’s throwing up?” I say, feeling a pang of guilt that I doubted her.
“Yes. It is… extensive.”
I’m on my feet and halfway to the door leading out of the little pharmacy area and onto the main store floor when I stop short, made to pause by something in Maggie’s words. “You said there’s someone causing a scene. Is it…?”
“It’s not Jay. We all know to look for him. And he’s been warned.”
“I know…” My words trail off, and I feel foolish for even having brought it up, but it’s a reflex learned the hard way, and it’s one that I’m not sure I’ll ever unlearn; jumping at shadows doesn’t seem so foolish when those shadows leave you with bruises darker than they are. “Tell Macy I hope she feels better quick. I’ll be up front if you need me.”
“Thanks, Em,” Maggie says.
Not even halfway to the front, somewhere between the men’s razors and the women’s deodorant, I hear the upset customer coloring the Friday night with his language.
“Such unbelievable service. In all my years shopping at this establishment, I can’t believe that I’ve experienced something so goddamn disrespectful.” When I clear the snack foods aisle, I catch sight of him just a split second before he catches sight of me. “You. Missy. Are you here to tell me where the store manager is? Or at least, is your supervisor on the way? I imagine he’d want to hear me out and make sure that I’m a satisfied customer.”
