A Dream of Summer (Bleeding Angels MC Book 3) (4 page)

That may be the case, but I still go back to Suzie’s question. Does the reason matter? Right now I can’t separate what she did from the reason that she did it. I’m angrier with her than I could ever have imagined. I’m furious, but that hasn’t done anything to dull this ache that is weighing on my chest. I can’t just switch off the way I feel about her. She’s a part of me. But what if I’m no longer a part of her?

I lay back on the bed, exhausted by all the thoughts racing around my head. I dream about a girl with green eyes—the girl that was mine.

You know that moment when you wake up and you’re not completely sure of where you are, but for that brief space of time, everything is right with the world? For those few seconds, it’s as if all the bad and all the worry doesn’t even exist. But all too soon you come crashing down, back to reality, back to the truth that you can’t hide from.

I open my eyes and look around Jonah’s room. Everything’s the same as it always has been, but there’s something different and I can’t quite put my finger on it. Then it occurs to me—it’s me that’s different. It’s me that isn’t the same person I once was. All the things that have happened in recent months have taken their toll. I feel sharper and rougher around the edges than I have ever been before.

It’s only just light out, but I know I’m not going to get any more sleep. I figure I’ve only had a couple of hours’ worth, if that. But, despite my body feeling like I’ve joined a chain gang, there’s too much to do. Sleep is a luxury I just don’t have time for. Not right now. A plan of action has already started to form in my mind. It’s not like there’s a whole heap of options open to me. I’ve played almost all of my cards, and I only have a couple left. I just have to hope that one of them is going to be an ace.

I slip out of the bedroom as quietly as I can, so I don’t wake Jonah and I see that someone, presumably Sally, has left out some clean clothes for me. I glance at the underwear that I’d left piled on the floor the night before, and I can’t bring myself to put it on. The idea of having anything on my body that reminds me of Ryan and what he did makes me nauseous. So I pull the over-sized summer dress over my head, run my fingers through my hair to try to get out at least some of the knots, and I head downstairs. I avoid the mirror—I already know what I’m going to find there. Besides, what I look like isn’t important. In fact, it couldn’t be further from my mind.

The conversation I can hear coming from the kitchen tells me that I’m not the only one that found it hard to sleep last night.

“Why don’t you take a break? Get some rest and I’ll take Jonah to school this morning.” My mother’s voice is kind and cajoling. She sounds dog tired, but it’s clear she knows that Sally is even worse shape than she is.

“I can’t; there are things that I have to do and I can’t expect you just to drop everything to do the school run,” Sally jokes, and she sounds about as exhausted as I feel, if not more.

“Honey, it’s not like I have a whole lot going on.” My mother’s reply is rueful, but she’s not wrong. Being in a catatonic state for almost a decade tends to leave a bit of a dent in your social calendar.

“Still, you’re not fully recovered yet,” Sally points out and I can hear her bustling about the kitchen, going about her everyday tasks as if that will make her feel like she’s still in control.

“I could take him,” I say, walking in and showing myself.

The two women look at me as if I may have gone mad.

“No honey, you’ve been through enough,” my mother replies, waving me away as if I’ve said something crazy.

“It’s no trouble.” I shrug, pouring myself some of the coffee that’s just brewed. I think I’m going to need all the caffeine I can get today to stop myself from falling over. “I have to get back to the studio anyway to pick up another uniform—I’m working today.” I pick at the lines of thread from the dress that have started to come away at the seams so I don’t see their immediate reaction.

“You’re going back? Today?” Sally asks incredulously. She stares at me like there’s no way that what she heard could be correct.

“Well, yeah. That’s where I live. Besides, I have to go to work,” I repeat, just in case they hadn’t quite got that part of my reasoning.

“Don’t you think you should take a few days, Aimee? Give yourself some time to process everything. I’m sure Big George would be more than happy to give you some time off.” Sally cradles the coffee mug in her hands as she talks, looking into the depths of the dark liquid studiously.

“I don’t have time to process things. Lord knows what the Angels are doing with Jake, or how far they’ve taken him already. I need to start working on getting him back.” My voice is firm, but it doesn’t really sound like me. It’s a little like hearing yourself on an answering machine.

“What are you saying, Aimee? What are you going to do?” My mother’s voice is fearful, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. She’s thinking about my father and what happened to him when he stood up to the Angels. What could happen to me if I do the same.

“I’m going to get Jake back, just like I said I would,” I say simply, sipping my coffee with an unusual sense of calm. There is a certain comfort in knowing what you’re going to do and knowing you’re going to do whatever it takes. There’s no hesitation or “what ifs.” It gives you a purpose.

“Aimee, what happened to Jake is not your fault.” Sally reaches out a hand to pat me on the arm and her eyes are full of kindness. “It’s not your responsibility. And it’s not as simple as just wandering into the Angel compound and asking nicely for them to give him back.”

“I know that, Sally. I know it’s not going to be easy and I don’t care. I’m going to get him back—whatever that means for me. That’s what I’m going to do and nothing’s going to stop me.” The more I say it, the stronger I feel. As if it becomes truer with each telling.

“Honey, the last thing that Jake would want is for you to put yourself in any danger. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to you on account of him.” Sally is earnest and I can see from her shaking hands that she’s overtired and emotional. But it’s like I’m seeing these things with an eerie emotional detachment.

“Aimee, sweetie,” my mom says, using a firm, reasoning tone. “There’s nothing that you can do. That ship has sailed. You are not The Terminator, you cannot take down the Angels and get Jake back single-handedly. It’s just not possible.”

My mother and I lock eyes, and I wonder if she can see in mine just how serious I am. I understand that she’s worried for me, but I can’t help feeling disappointed that she just wants me to roll over and play dead. It’s not what Dad would have done, and it’s not what I’m going to do either.

“That’s exactly the attitude that got us here in the first place,” I say, and anger I wasn’t aware I was keeping a lid on comes exploding out in full force. “It’s people saying that they can’t make a difference, that they can’t stand up to the Angels, it’s those people who've made Painted Rock what it is today! I’m not willing to be one of them! I’m getting Jake back. I’m going to do what needs to be done, what should have been done a long time ago.” I place the coffee cup on the worktop softly, the gentle action a stark contrast to the strong feelings bubbling up inside of me.

“Don’t do this. Aimee Winters. I forbid you from going after them.” Her voice is quiet, but the commanding tone is clear. She is expecting to be obeyed, expecting that I will bow my head and agree to be a good little girl who lives by the rules of the town. But I’ve never been that person, and I’m a little disappointed that she doesn’t know me well enough to understand.

“I’ve been looking after myself for a long time just fine without you, Mom. The time when you could tell me what to do and how to act has passed. You missed it.” I know that I’m being hard, but I don’t have a lot of practice at this. Your mother coming back from whatever oblivion she had been living in for years isn’t something they teach you how to deal with. But I’m not a kid anymore, I’m a woman and I have to follow my own path. “This is what I’m going to do and you can either get on board to support me and help me, or you can go along pretending that what we go through in this town is normal and okay.” I fold my arms, waiting for her response.

“Come on, girls. We’re all tired, and it’s been a long couple of days. Why don’t we just settle down?” Sally suggests as she looks uneasily between the two of us.

“No,” my mother replies, looking straight at me. “If this is what she wants to do, then that’s fine. Is that what you want? To let Ryan finish what he started, or worse?” she asks, standing up and fixing me with a stare.

“What are you talking about, Bea?” Sally asks, her voice high and nervous. “Aimee, what’s she talking about?”

My mother’s words have hit me like a slap in the face. I had told her of the ordeal with Ryan in confidence, because she was my mother and I needed her. The fact that she just threw that trust back in my face has knocked the wind out of me.

“It’s nothing, Sally. It’s nothing.” I’m not ready to tell Jake’s mother the depths that I was willing to sink to in order to save her son.

My mother’s expression changes to something full of regret and I wonder if she’s realized the bond of trust that she’s broken.

The three of us stand in silence, staring at each other. The wife who lost her husband, the mother who has lost her son, and me—I’ve lost a father and now a lover, but Jake isn’t gone for good. I know that there’s still a chance of getting him back. None of us want to hurt the others, but we’re all dealing with our own losses in different ways.

“I have to go.” I sigh, grabbing the bag where I’ve stuffed my ruined uniform and underwear from the night before and head towards the door.

“Aimee, don’t leave like this. We all want to help Jake.” Sally hates discord in her house, especially at a time like this when she wants all of us to be together.

But I’ve had enough. The lack of sleep, my mother essentially coming back from the living dead, and the Angels taking Jake has wrung out my last strand of patience and tact. My “brain to mouth” filter, which was never particularly effective, has been completely removed. I round on Sally as if I can’t stop myself.

“If you’re so willing to help Jake then does that mean you’re ready to tell me whatever this huge secret is that you’ve been keeping so close to your chest?” I ask, and I watch Sally’s face as it falls. She looks even more tired than she did a few minutes ago, if that were possible.

“If I thought it would help, then I would have said something a long time ago.” Her reply is tight-lipped but her eyes look like they might overflow at any moment and I feel a pang of regret for having hurt her. But I can’t separate that sympathy from my frustration at not being able to get through to her. The photograph of Scar and Sally arguing at one of Jake’s early birthday parties is burned in my mind. I can’t get it out of my head.

“When you’re ready to be honest with yourself, you let me know, Sal. I love you, but just because you
think
what you know about Jake’s past isn’t important, that doesn’t make it the truth,” I tell her, shaking my head sadly. Although Sally’s secret may not be enough to save Jake from the Angels, at this point, we could use any information we can get our hands on to do what needs to be done.

“Aimee Winters, if you walk out that door you’re on your own.” My mother’s voice rings out clear as a bell and it’s almost too easy to miss the wavering in it. “If you want to go out there and play Cowboys and Indians with the Angels and get yourself killed or worse, then you go ahead and do that. But you can’t expect us to watch while you destroy yourself. If you walk through that door, then you don’t come back young lady, do you hear me?” she asks desperately.

I don’t even turn around. I just keep moving forward, one foot in front of the other, her words ringing in my ears as I walk out towards the destiny that I’ve chosen.

Returning to the studio that I shared with Jake was worse than I had imagined. As soon as I set foot inside I’m bombarded with memories of the two of us there: making love in the enormous bed, laughing about his lack of culinary skills in the kitchen. He was everywhere. I had thought that being in the Summers’ home with all the photos of him and the memories was hard, but this is worse. He clings to this place like a ghost.
But he’s not dead
, I remind myself. He’s not gone. He’s coming back.

I look at the bag of ruined clothes I’m still holding and memories of Ryan come flooding back. It’s as if it’s all happening again. I can feel the fear, the rage, the humiliation as it all replays in my mind. The tears rush towards me like a freight train but I’ve had enough of crying to last me a lifetime.

“No. No. No,” I repeat to myself, feeling stronger with every word. “Don’t let him win.” The more upset I am, the more I let Ryan affect me, is the more he’s succeeded. And I won’t give him any more power over me than he already has. I won’t. I refuse to.

I take a shower, concentrating on the heat of the water as it stains my skin pink. I don’t look at Jake’s razor that sits by the sink, last used yesterday morning. I don’t think about the time that we made love in the shower. I just think about taking the shower gel and squirting a blob onto my hand. Then I think about washing myself. Then I think about washing my hair, concentrating on the minutiae of each task. And that’s how I get through ten minutes without allowing myself to think about Jake and what’s happened to him or what might be happening to him right now.

I have to force myself to look in the mirror as I dress. I take in my legs, my flat stomach, my breasts that come down on the small side. I look at everything, reminding myself that it’s mine, not anyone else’s, and it belongs to me. I’m taking back my body; I can’t let Ryan have ownership of me because of what he did. That’s exactly what he would want, and I’m the
last
person to give him what he wants.

I slip on a fresh uniform and tie my still-wet hair up into a pony-tail high on my head. The swelling on the side of my face has already started to go down, but I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself than usual so I dab some powder on my cheek to take away some of the bruising. When I’m satisfied with the transformative effect, I give myself a once-over in the mirror.

“It’s time to fight fire with fire, Winters,” I tell my reflection, noticing the sharpness in my green eyes. “There’s no going back until this is done. You’re going to get Jake back and you’re going to do whatever it takes.” The face that stares back at me is hard and severe. My cheekbones jut out, making me look more angular. I hadn’t realized how much weight I had lost since the day that Ryan came here to make his deal with me. It’s amazing what a little fear and loathing can do for a girl.

I grab the bag of violated clothes on my way out. I don’t look at Jake’s leather jacket that hangs on the coat-rack or his dusty running sneakers that are sitting by the door. I make my way downstairs and think about saying something to Bill. But what would I say? I peek through his office window and see him slumped across his desk, like he’s fallen asleep despite himself.

As I stride out of the heavy metal doors and throw the bag of clothes into the trash cans, I feel lighter. I have a plan. It’s not much of a plan, but in my book, it still counts. I’m going to the diner and I’m going to stay there until the Feds make an appearance. If it takes hours or days, I don’t care. I’m going to be there until they agree to help me.

I walk purposefully towards the diner, the heat of the day starting to break through the cool morning. I’m completely focused on the end game, but I can’t help my mind wandering as I follow the route I last walked when he and I were together. I know that I have to try not to think about him, at least not constantly, or I won’t be able to concentrate on what needs to be done. But I can’t help my thoughts wandering towards Jake, the person that I care most about in the whole world—more than myself, more than anything. I wonder what he’s doing.