The Biker's Heart (9 page)

“
I remember the cop shooting her. I remember why he shot her. I remember lots of things. Like, maybe you’ve forgotten, but I remember her eyes. I remember how there was nothing left in them at the end. Because you took away everything that was good in her.
You
did that, Dad,” Boon said, his voice raising as he took another step towards my mother, his head turned so that he didn’t break eye contact. Tank followed Boon, his arm outstretched, gun shaking slightly.

“
You shut your fucking mouth,” he growled. Beads of sweat began to stand out on his wide neck.

“
You want me to avenge my mother’s death? You want me to kill someone else’s mom so I feel better?” Boon was only a few steps from Mom at that point, the knife stretched out in her direction. “Well, fuck you.”

“
You better think real clear about what you’re doing right now, you little fuck,” Tank said through gritted teeth. He cocked the gun, the sound seeming to fill the room. Boon dropped his eyes, lowering the hand that held the knife. He held it in two hands, then, staring down at it. He didn’t seem to care at all that, for the second time in a week, he was on the wrong end of a gun. His eyes darted back up to his father’s. What I saw in them then…well, it was clarity. Or something like clarity.

“
You’re right, Dad. I
should
avenge my mother’s death,” Boon said slowly.

“
Damn right you should,” Tank said, his voice starting to sound strained.

All I saw of what happened, then, was a blur of pink flesh and the glint of the knife. All I heard was a screech of pain and a gunshot. And then another. My ears rang with the sound, so loud it hurt. I was vaguely aware of screaming against the gag, my eyes shut tight. There was a thud, then another, then a gigantic crash and the sound of many footsteps and garbled shouting.

I opened my eyes slowly; the room was coated in police officers, all with guns drawn. Boon was standing, arms up, knife laying on the ground next to him. Someone was struggling with the binds holding my arms back; another cop was untying my mother. Two cops had their guns drawn at a figure on the floor that I recognized, after a moment, as Tank. He was hunched over on his knees, holding his wrist in one hand. Blood was dripping from his arm.

The gun was laying on the ground. I blinked. Everything changed. My arms were suddenly free, and I scratched at the gag, taking a deep, gasping breath as I freed myself. My mother was in front of me, racing across the room, arms out. I met her with my own embrace and we sobbed together in the middle of the room as chaos continued. I breathed in deeply, never wanting to forget the way she smelled. Everyone was shouting and stomping around but I was in a globe of perfect serenity. My mother was okay. She was alive and okay and in my arms.

And that was the only thing I needed or cared about, in that moment. The last thing I concretely remember from that night was stepping outside and watching as Boon was thrown into the back of a squad car. His face turned to the window and our eyes met. He grinned at me. That fucking grin.

“
Wait, wait, not him! He didn’t do anything! It wasn’t him!” I remember crying out, detaching myself from my mother to rush towards the car. It wasn’t fair. He’d
saved
us, and now he was in handcuffs in the back of a car. A cop intercepted me, blocking me from getting all the way to the car as it began to pull away. I struggled against the cop, swatting at his chest.

“
Get out of the way! Move! Stop! Don’t take him!” Hands pulled at me from behind; turning, swatting blindly, I saw Kevin’s face in front of mine. “You have to make them stop! He saved us!”

“
Samantha, stop. Stop. They’re taking him down for processing, but the deal stands. He’ll be okay. It’s just procedure until we get all the details ironed out. Trust me, he’s going to be okay,” Kevin said, holding my arms in his hands as fresh tears streamed down my face.

“
You don’t know that! He could be there for years!” I cried, wanting to collapse. Hadn’t I been through enough that day? Couldn’t I get a single fucking break?

“
Samantha, stop, you need to stop. You need to calm down. You’ve had a tough day…”

“
A tough day? A tough fucking day? I want to see him! Take me to see Boon right now!”

“
I can’t do that, Samantha, you need to trust me, it’s going to be okay. Your father is the sheriff, you know he’ll take care of everything,” Kevin said, making total sense but infuriating the shit out of me nonetheless. Regardless, I was growing tired. I mean, I’d already
been
tired. Now I was…empty. I stopped struggling, letting my body grow limp as exhaustion washed over me. I let myself be led, docile, into the back of another squad car. My mother was already there and I leaned in close to her, lying my head on her shoulder.

“
I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry…” I murmured, already falling myself slipping away as my head rose up and down with each of her breaths.

“
It’s okay, Sammy, it’s okay, it’s okay…”

When I woke up, it was morning. I blinked, dazed, as I looked around. I knew, immediately, that I was in Becky’s room. I let my eyes drift around the room, seeing all the familiar decorations.
Where’s Mom,
I thought, panic gripping my heart again like a clutched fist. Becky’s face suddenly appeared around the door and she entered, holding a glass of water.

“
You’re up,” she said, simply, before setting the water down and wrapping me in a hug. Alicia appeared soon after.

“
What happened?” I asked. I’d thought that the first time I woke up in a friend’s bed with no idea of how I got there I’d be drunk.

“
Your boyfriend saved the day, your mom and dad are both at the hospital, and my dad had to carry you up here last night,” Becky said, making room for Alicia on the bed.

“
Oh,” I said, the only thing I could really think of. I felt like my head was full of cotton instead of brain.

“
Here, drink,” Alicia said, grabbing the water and handing it to me. I guzzled it down, not realizing how thirsty I was until the contents of the glass had disappeared in a few gulps.

“
Can…man…can I go see Mom and Dad?” I asked, my priorities very specific.

“
You don’t have to. Alicia just got off the phone with your mom. They’re coming here to pick you up in a few hours. You’re gonna stay at a hotel until they get the house fixed,” Becky said.

“
Is Boon…is he still….”

Becky and Alicia exchanged a look that told me as much as anything they could have said.

“
He’s still in processing,” Alicia said finally. My head drooped. I’d slept for hours, but I still felt exhausted.

“
Do you know…I mean…what’s happening?”

“
They’re trying to get him off, I guess. I don’t know, they’re talking to the people whose car you…uh…borrowed. And some other DA’s from other states. It might be awhile, Samantha,” Becky said, reaching out for my hand. I nodded. I should have expected as much.

“
Can I see him?” I asked, not sure why Alicia and Becky would know that. Alicia shrugged, looking at Becky, who threw her hands up.

“
You’re gonna have to ask the po-po that,” Alicia said. I had to smile a little bit; she was just so damn
silly
all the time. I counted my blessings in that moment: my Mom and Dad were fine, and my best friends were there with me. I could count myself as lucky. I just hoped that Boon would find himself lucky, too…

On the third day after everything went down, we moved back into our house. The damage hadn’t been very substantial, so it hadn’t taken long to get it back to normal. We’d also installed a security system. My father still had a cast on his arm, and my mother was still jumping at every strange noise, but things were starting to feel more normal again.

But I hadn’t heard anything about Boon, or his ultimate fate. My father wasn’t allowed to go back to his job for a week, under strict orders from the doctor, and even though it seemed like he spent hours on the phone trying to figure out what was going on, no one could give him a straight answer.

We were all over the news. There were editorials about us. Camera crews surrounded the house at all hours, though by the time we moved back in much of the hype had begun to dissipate. There were calls for interviews, weird looks on the street, the whole deal. This wasn’t the sort of fame anyone asked for or wanted, and it was wearing on me, to say the least. Between not knowing what was happening to Boon and being pestered by journalists all the time, I was still experiencing intense anxiety.

Which was normal, and to be expected. So said my new therapist, at least, who I’d agree to see only upon my parent’s urging. They wanted to make sure I wasn’t totally scarred from the experience. My mother was also seeing someone. It helped to talk to someone, but the one thing I really wanted, more than anything, was to talk to Boon.

So you can imagine what happened to my little heart when I got a text on that third day.

Tag, you’re it.

From Boon’s phone. And of course it was him. The picture attached was almost similar to the first time he’d ever texted me that challenge: a city skyline. This time, though, I knew exactly where he was. It was someplace I’d been before, many times.

When you live in the mountains, there’s no shortage of scenic overlooks. I nudged my little car slowly up the mountain, wary of the dips and sharp turns that made the drive harrowing during the day, never mind at night. As I pulled up to the overlook area, I saw the glint of metal as a motorcycle came into view in my headlights.

Shutting the engine and getting out, my heart was pounding in my ears. I was excited and nervous all at once. I looked around, feeling my heightened emotions playing with my mind, searching for him. I didn’t see him anywhere.

And then I felt him. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me backwards. I twisted in his embrace, our eyes meeting. And then it was gone: the nervousness, the anxiety, everything that I’d been feeling since my life had crashed so spectacularly to the ground. He was here. He was holding me.

“
Hello, gorgeous,” he whispered, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

“
Hello, stranger,” I whispered back. “When’d they let you out?”

“
Couple hours. Thank your dad for me. I got community service, parole. I gotta stay in this dumpy city for a few years, I guess. Don’t know what I’ll do with myself,” he said, leaning in close, his stubble tickling my cheek. I pulled away, wanting to see him from head to toe. When I did, he grew concerned. “How are you? Are you…okay?”