Kristen Ashley - Motorcycle Man

I yanked free of Tack’s arms, whirled and glared at him.

His eyes caught mine but my eyes caught his mouth twitch before he asked, “What?”

I slapped his arm, lifted up on my toes to get in his face and hissed, “You don’t make out like that in front of newly broken up people! In fact, you don’t make out like that in front of anyone.”

His face moved to within an inch of mine and he whispered, “Wrong, baby, I do. I make out wherever the fuck I want which means you do too.”

I squinted my eyes at him, whirled back around and ran to Lanie.

I put my hand on her back and carefully extricated her hair from the maple syrup.

“Honey,” I whispered, “you got your hair in the syrup.”

She sat back abruptly and looked to the ceiling, crying out, “I don’t care! Who cares! I can shampoo with maple syrup. There’s no one to care!” Then she flopped back down on the counter and I had just enough time to grab the plate and get it out of range.

I lifted my eyes to Tack and skewered him with a look at the same time I held the plate up and jerked it at him. He sauntered to me and took the plate while I pulled Lanie off her chair.

“Let’s get you into the shower,” I murmured to her.

“No shower. No work. No nothing. I’m going to eat Tack’s pancakes until I weigh nine hundred pounds and die and they’ll have to cut around your door to get my carcass out of your house.”

I so totally told you that when Lanie let a drama rip, watch out.

“You’ll feel better after a shower,” I told her, guiding her out of the kitchen.

“I’ll never feel better, Ty-Ty,” she told me and I sighed. Then I guided her to her bedroom. I dashed to the bathroom and did my business quickly. After I was done, I went back to her bedroom and guided her with her toiletries and clothes stuffed in her arms into the bathroom. As I was doing this last, I heard the knock on my front door. I focused on Lanie and got her situated and as I was exiting the bathroom to see who on earth was at the door, I saw Tack was there before me.

“Hey, Tyra!” Tabby called chirpily.

“Yo, Tyra,” Rush called after her.

I stood in the hall outside my bathroom in my drawstring pajama shorts and camisole with my wild bed hair staring at Tack and his kids in my living room and heard the bathroom door click behind me.

“Uh… hey,” I called, stunned.

“Dad texted, said it was an impromptu Allen Pancake Morning so we came right over,” Tabby stated.

“Nothin’ better, not even his fajitas,” Rush put in.

“Babe, get your ass in the kitchen so I can feed you and my kids and get on the road,” Tack ordered while sauntering toward my kitchen.

His kids followed.

I stood in the hall and stared. Then I blinked. Then I stared some more. Then my body came unstuck and I motored into the kitchen to find Tack at the stove, Rush on Lanie’s barstool and Tabby’s head in the fridge.

I went direct to Tack and got close to his side seeing he was pouring perfect, silver dollar pancakes on my griddle.

“Can I talk to you?” I asked quietly.

His head turned and he looked down at me.

“Yeah,” he answered but otherwise didn’t move.

“Elsewhere,” I defined my request.

“Then… no,” he said through a grin.

I opened my mouth to make my request sound more like a demand when a loud banging came at my door. It was so loud, my body jerked in surprise and Tack’s head whipped around.

“What the fu –?” he started to mutter when we heard, “Open this motherfucking door!”

Ohmigod! It was Naomi.

More loud banging, so loud and violet I was uncertain my door could withstand it and I wondered if some of it was kicking then, “I know you’re all in there! I saw you go in there! Open this goddamned motherfucking door!”

Through this, Tack crashed down my fabulous, pink, Williams Sonoma mixing bowl with the little pouring thing-a-ma-jig in the lip, shoved the griddle off the burner, turned and stalked out of my kitchen.

Oh boy.

I hurried after him and I felt Rush and Tabby at my heels but we weren’t fast enough. Tack had the door open and he was standing in it. My body stuttered to a stunned halt when I saw Tack’s torso rock back because Naomi shoved a hand violently in his shoulder to push in. She took three steps in, turned to me, Rush and Tabby and I fancied I saw her head split right down the middle and fire pour out, such was her fury.

“You stupid, skank, whore!” she shrieked then came right at me.

I braced and she made an “oof” noise and bent double at the middle when Tack caught her at the waist and pulled her back at the same time Rush’s arm went around my waist (a fair bit more gently, I might add), and he pulled me behind him.

Tack positioned himself between Naomi and me and planted a hand in her chest.

“Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?” he growled.

“Get out to your car!” she screeched at Tabby.

Tack was shoving her toward the door and she was fighting it but losing.

“Get the fuck outta here.” He was still growling, his voice low, deep, the gravel had turned to ice shards and it wasn’t directed at me but I still felt my skin rise in goose bumps.

“You do not spend time in that fuckin’ bitch’s home!” Naomi screamed, again, for some reason, at Tabby.

“Oh God,” Tabby whispered and her words were not filled with ice. They were filled with embarrassment.

Naomi landed against the door, Tack’s hand still pressed into her chest and his face got into hers.

“You follow them here?” he asked, his voice still scary.

“Fuck you!” she shouted in his face.

“You follow the kids here?” Tack barked in hers.

“They are not spendin’ time with your latest piece of tail!” she yelled.

“You’re tellin’ me you slunk out to your fuckin’ car and followed your kids to my woman’s house,” Tack stated.

His woman? When did I become Tack’s woman?

“Tabby’s already part-slut, spendin’ time around you and all your bitches. She don’t need to learn the high-class, fancy-ass way to spread her legs,” Naomi fired back.

I gasped, Rush made a noise like a growl and Tabby whimpered.

Automatically, my arm stretched back, searching blindly until I found it and then I wrapped my hand around Tabby’s, held it tight and moved back until the back of my side touched the front of hers. The minute it did, Tabby’s hand closed around mine like a vice.

“Did I just hear you?” Tack said in a soft, dangerous voice.

“You heard me, asshole,” Naomi snapped.

“You’re tellin’ me I just heard you,” Tack gave her another opportunity to stand down.

“You heard me,” she clipped.

Another knock came at the door at the exact same time Lanie made her appearance.

“What on earth is going on?” she asked from the mouth of the hall wearing her shimmery, fabulous, short kimono, a towel wrapped around her head, her beautiful face and perfect bone structure no less beautiful with my pale pink terrycloth towel framing it.

Naomi looked around Tack at Lanie then back at Tack and she shrieked, “Fuck me, you buildin’ a harem?”

Another knock at the door.

Tack’s hand wrapped around Naomi’s arm and he yanked her from the door. Stepping back, he threw it open.

I peered outside and stared in shock at my favorite aunt, Bette, and favorite uncle, Marshall, who didn’t live in Denver. They lived outside DC.

Aunt Bette’s eyes were round and she took in the inhabitants of my living room, her gaze finally resting on me and I knew she’d heard Naomi but then again, how could she not?

“Uh… surprise?” she asked and Uncle Marshall pushed in, shoving his wife in with him as Tack took a couple of steps back, dragging Naomi.

Uncle Marsh’s eyes also looked around my living room then found me.

Then, just like Uncle Marsh, he grinned his shit-eating grin.

There was only one person on this entire earth that could hear a foul-mouthed woman shrieking in his beloved niece’s house and find it grin-worthy and that was my Uncle Marsh.

I pulled in breath through my nostrils, tipped my head back to look at the ceiling then I looked at Uncle Marsh and grinned back.

“You might wanna step aside,” Tack growled at Aunt Bette and Uncle Marsh.

Aunt Bette stared up at him but Uncle Marsh shuffled Aunt Bette to the side just as Tack manhandled a struggling, spitting Naomi out the door. He slammed it in her face and locked it. And then he turned to face the room.

Pounding came at the door and Naomi could be heard screaming, “You did not just do that!”

With all that was happening and without having had that first cup of coffee, I was at a loss but luckily my feet weren’t. They took me to Aunt Bette while more pounding sounds came at the door and I knew, being closer to them, they came from fists and feet.

I ignored them and Aunt Bette, who was staring at the door, jumped when I got close.

“Hey, Aunt Bette,” I murmured and wrapped my arms around her.

“Open this goddamned door and send my kids out here!” Naomi yelled.

“Uh… hi there, Tyra,” Aunt Bette murmured back, giving me a squeeze.

I let her go and smiled at her.

Naomi screeched over continued pounding, “Open the fucking door!”

I kept ignoring it and turned to Uncle Marsh. “Hey, Uncle Marsh.” Then I wrapped him in my arms.

Uncle Marsh’s hug was different than his wife’s. My mother’s cool-as-hell brother loved me and he loved me a lot. Therefore, his hug was tight, it was warm and it spoke volumes, every word beautiful.

“Hey, honey,” he whispered in my ear.

“I said open the motherfucking door,” Naomi shrieked with more hammering.

I stepped back but Uncle Marsh kept me close with his hands on my upper arms.

My Aunt Bette was petite, had short, curly hair and big, blue eyes. Aunt Bette was the kind of aunt who was interested in everything you did, supported every decision you made, wanted nothing but your happiness and gave love without conditions. She was a call ‘em as she saw ‘em, did what she liked and liked what she did, said what was on her mind and if you couldn’t hack the honesty that was your problem, kind of person. I adored her.

Uncle Marsh looked like a shorter, but way cooler, Kevin Costner. Uncle Marsh got his news from Aunt Bette therefore communication with Uncle Marsh was sporadic unless you were sitting on his deck (where, the last fifteen years, we had spent the vast amount of our time together). That said, he supported every decision you made, wanted nothing but your happiness and gave love without conditions. He was also a call ‘em as he saw ‘em, did what he liked and liked what he did, said what was on his mind kind of guy but his way was that when he called ‘em, did what he liked and said what was on his mind, you listened and learned because he was wise and he wasn’t a fan of bullshit. I worshipped him.

“I’m here for some meetings,” Aunt Bette put in over the continued pummeling heard at the door. “Your uncle decided to come with me, surprise you and make it a long weekend with his favorite niece. We thought we’d pop by and take you for breakfast.” There was more pounding at the door and Aunt Bette gamely ignored it. “My meetings don’t start until this afternoon then we have the whole weekend.”

Uncle Marsh let me go and the minute he did, Tack was there, warm, lean body to my back, tattooed arm curved around my chest. When he did this, I was surprised for a variety of reasons. First, this was a claiming gesture. Second, it was meant to communicate, clearly, it was a claiming gesture. Third, it was a claiming gesture that was meant also to communicate togetherness and intimacy. And last, although we had been intimate, that wasn’t something I wanted my aunt and especially my uncle to know, I wasn’t aware we were “together” as such and I wasn’t certain how I felt about being claimed.

Aunt Bette’s and Uncle Marsh’s eyes immediately dropped to his arm. Then they shot to my face and I knew that neither of them missed a single thing Tack was communicating.

Aunt Bette’s eyes turned openly curious.

Uncle Marsh’s face wiped blank.

Aunt Bette did not judge. She was who she was and you took her as she was. She returned the favor.

Uncle Marsh had been a fighter jock in the Air Force. Now he was a golf pro. He wore Ralph Lauren and Tag Heuer watches. He still had a military haircut. He also didn’t judge. That was, I learned in that instant, until a big, badass, scary biker dude with an arm covered in tattoos, wearing faded jeans and a tight tee, needing a haircut and needing it four weeks ago and who Uncle Marsh just witnessed manhandling a raving woman who assaulted my front door and hurled obscenities at it curved his painted arm around his much-loved niece’s chest. On those occasions, he judged.