Kristen Ashley - Own the Wind

“Jason didn’t want me to bury it, just so you know. He wasn’t that kind of guy. It was me who buried it. All me. Now, looking back, I’m wondering if it would have surfaced. I’m wondering if he worried about it. I’m wondering if we might have—”

“Stop that, babe,” Shy commanded quietly and I blinked.

“Pardon?”

“Way you say it, you were into that guy and he was into you. Don’t ask questions that will never have answers. You’ll drive yourself crazy with that shit. Just remember you were into him, he was into you, it was all good, and don’t fuck up good memories with questions that have no answers and never will.”

He was right. Totally.

My head tipped to the side and I felt my eyes go soft when I asked, “How’d you get so wise?”

“Had a good teacher,” he answered.

“Your dad before he died?”

“My dad before he died and your dad when I found him.”

I sucked in a sharp breath.

It was not lost on me that Shy liked my dad, he respected him, and I loved that because that was how I felt about my dad. Obviously more, since he was my dad, but I still loved it that Shy felt the same.

Yes, I totally could love this guy.

“You’re done rantin’ and got nothin’ to do but sit there and stare at me,” Shy began, “haul your ass off that stool, come around and help me with the fries.”

I was done ranting and it would probably burn out my retinas if I stared at him too long, so I grinned at him, hauled my ass off the stool, rounded the bar, and helped him with the fries.

* * *

“Sugar, you awake?”

I opened my eyes and blinked at the blank TV.

I didn’t know what time it was but it felt late. What I did know was that I’d fallen asleep with my head on Shy’s chest, my legs curled behind me on the couch, my arm resting over his abs, his arm around me.

The last thing I remembered was being sucked into a marathon of American Chopper.

I tipped my head back and looked up at him.

“Hey, is it late?” I asked.

“Yeah, you gotta work tomorrow?” he asked back.

“Yeah,” I answered.

He nodded, gave me a squeeze and shifted to move but my arm around him tightened and he stilled.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why what?” he returned.

“Why did you ask if I have to work tomorrow?”

“Goin’ for a ride, thought, you didn’t have to work, you might want to come with me.”

He was going for a ride.

I wanted to go with him.

I wanted to go with him because I liked to ride. I wanted to go with him because he was Shy and I was me and that was what we did. It wasn’t rare, it wasn’t frequent, but he liked to be on his bike and he didn’t hesitate to offer to take me with him. I didn’t hesitate to say yes.

This, too, I was denying. How much I liked it that he asked. How much I liked to be behind him on the back of his bike.

I shifted, saying, “I’ll get some shoes.”

He gave me a squeeze and his fist came under my chin, gently tipping my head up to look at him again. “Tabby, baby, you gotta work. It’s cool. Another time.”

I held his eyes and replied quietly, “I’m alive. You’re alive. I gotta work to live so I do that and I’ll have to do that for a long time. But when I’m not workin’, I’m livin’. So let’s ride.”

His eyes moved over my face and then a slow, lazy, sexy as all hell, beautiful smile spread on his face about a millisecond before he pulled himself off the couch, taking me with him and setting me on my feet.

Then, looking down at me still smiling that unbelievable smile, he whispered, “Let’s ride.”

I smiled back, took off, grabbed my shoes. Shy held my hand all the way to his bike and we rode.

For a long time.

It.

Was.

Paradise.

Apocalyptic

Two and a half months later…

“Are you insane?”

That came from my best friend Natalie, who not only asked the question but was also staring at me like I was insane.

I was back. Totally back.

I was me.

What I was not was insane.

Life had settled, grown into a pattern I liked with work and family, friends, and Shy.

I was going out again with Tyra, shopping, meeting friends for lunch, hanging with the boys, acting crazy, just like I used to.

I’d even found the time to reach out to Jason’s family, see if there were relationships there to salvage.

I couldn’t say I was tight with his mom and sisters, but I liked them in a way that I knew if we had the future we were supposed to have, I would have gotten tight with them. Though I didn’t like his dad too much. He was too straightlaced for me, and I didn’t like the way he sometimes barked at Jason, making Jason’s mouth go tight, and then later Jason would take that crap out on me. But his mom and sisters were cool.

We’d clung together after we lost Jason then naturally drifted apart, shrouded in our individual fogs of grief. But when we sat down, it was clear they didn’t want the tie to Jason that was me to be cut and I felt the same.

It was all good.

My life with Shy hadn’t changed. We saw each other all the time, I ruined dinner, he took me out on his bike, we called each other frequently, and I laughed and smiled even more.

And it had been weeks since I’d had a time where he needed to treat me as fragile and I no longer felt empty inside.

That didn’t mean the sucker punches didn’t keep coming. I’d drive by a restaurant where Jason and I went, I’d remember, and my breath would leave me. Or I’d be blow-drying my hair, looking in the mirror and remembering how Jason used to come in, dip down, and kiss my shoulder. And going to bed and waking up alone day in and day out, I still wasn’t used to that.

But I was no longer going through the motions. I was getting back to life, living it and not pretending.

Thus I was out to lunch with Natalie and sharing with her my scheme.

I looked into her pretty gray eyes framed by flawless peaches-and-cream skin and halo of fabulous ash-blonde hair with kick-ass highlights, and I narrowed my eyes.

“You are,” she stated. “You are insane.”

I leaned forward. “I’m not insane.”

“Wrong,” she declared.

“I didn’t say I was gonna go out and hunt down the man who killed Shy’s parents.”

This was the reason Natalie thought I was insane.

Although most of the time Shy and I were together I was blathering, there were some times when he talked. He shared. He laid it out. He was as comfortable giving it to me as I was giving it to him.

He talked about his parents and brother a lot, which meant they were on his mind a lot. He did it often grinning, chuckling, natural, comfortable, but as time wore on, I saw this was all an act.

Their loss bothered him.

No, it didn’t bother him. It was coming clear it was eating at him.

All his talk was understandable about his brother. He was in the Army and deployed in Afghanistan now, and I knew, even though Shy didn’t say it flat out, Shy was worried about him. I didn’t even know him but, for Shy, I was worried about him too.

It was more than that, though. It was clear they had a good family, but it was a family interrupted, and the fact that the guy who murdered his parents was never caught and Shy was still talking about it meant he didn’t have any closure. He didn’t have a way to put it behind him, and I wanted to help him heal and move on like he’d done for me.

So I figured finding the guy, bringing him to justice, if that could happen, would help Shy to heal. Or, at least, it wouldn’t hurt.

“No,” Natalie cut into my thoughts, “you’re not goin’ to find the guy yourself, but that doesn’t mean you’re not insane.”

“Why is finding that bastard insane?” I snapped.

“How many reasons do you want?” she snapped back.

“Five,” I retorted.

She sat back in her chair, lifted her hand with one finger extended and launched in. “One, you’re hiring Lee Nightingale and, girl, you know, that dude has had books written about him. They were fictionalized, but he’s also in the paper all the time, so we both know whoever wrote that shit did not tone it down. He’s the badass to end all badasses. He’s such a badass, he’s the freakin’ definition of badass, and his team of badasses only exist to define alternate nuances of the same thing.” Her chin jerked out. “Badass.”

“This is good in a private detective,” I pointed out.

Natalie ignored me, lifted her hand again, and shook two fingers at me.

“Two, he’s the best of the best, and the best of the best is expensive. You got a sweet gig as a nurse, but even so, you also don’t have that kind of cake.”

I had to admit this was a concern.

When I moved into my apartment, Dad and Tyra sprung for my living room furniture set, the brothers bought me a killer stereo, and the old ladies got together to outfit my kitchen with junk I could use to ruin food. I just had to buy my dining room table and bedroom furniture and I was good to go. My rent was also cheap. And Nat was right, I had a sweet gig. I wasn’t a millionaire but my salary was nothing to sneeze at, especially at my age.

Therefore, I was comfortable.

That said, I’d been thinking on this scheme for a while, and I’d called over a month ago to get an appointment with Lee Nightingale of Nightingale Investigations, the premier private investigation service in Denver or, maybe, from their reputation, the world. They set me up, but my appointment was next week. That was how in demand this guy was. And usually that kind of thing reflected in fees.

“Three,” Natalie went on and I focused on her, “I don’t know, it’s a guess since I never was stupid enough to hire a badass but, I’d say, when a badass sends an invoice and it doesn’t get paid, he gets testy.”

Another concern I had.

“Maybe he’ll take installments,” I suggested.

She again ignored me.

“Four and five, because, girl, when I say it you’re gonna know this is worth two numbers, you manage to hire Lee Nightingale, he manages to find this guy, and, Tabby, you know Nightingale is so good, that case could be cold as the arctic and he’ll still find this guy, we’re talking about Shy Cage and Chaos here. The guy who whacked his parents is unearthed, he’s gonna go apocalyptic on his ass. We’re talkin’ takin’ this guy somewhere no one knows about, playin’ with him for maybe years, then probably tossing him into a pit, dousing him with lighter fluid, and setting him on fire like that stone-cold black dude did to Tig’s daughter on Sons of Anarchy.”

“Chaos is not SAMCRO,” I returned, referring to the acronym for the motorcycle club in that TV show.

She lifted her eyebrows.

I decided not to argue that point.

She leaned forward and continued, “Tab, I can see it. My girl is back and I don’t want to turn you to that dark place you’re leavin’ behind, but Shy Cage is not a physical therapist.” Her voice dipped quieter. “In other words, girl, he’s not Jason.”

I licked my upper lip and fidgeted in my chair.

Natalie kept talking, “If Jason’s parents were murdered, you found the guy who did it, he’d stand in front of reporters and make relieved statements about justice being done. You know, there is no way that motherfucker was found, Shy, who you’re suddenly weirdly tight with and we’ll talk about that later,” she declared ominously. “And your dad, I’ll put out there, since Shy is a brother and those brothers are all about the brotherhood, will not lose their fuckin’ badass biker minds and let that shit go unavenged the way they think it needs to be avenged.”

Okay, even though I’d been thinking on this awhile, maybe I didn’t think it all the way through.

“Okay,” I started. “Maybe I can make a deal with Nightingale that he finds enough evidence that when this guy goes inside, he never comes out.”

Natalie sat back, her brows shot up and she cried, “Girl, do you not watch TV?”

I glared at her.

She leaned toward me again and stated, “These guys got networks. That guy would be in the joint about two seconds before some inmate who owed Chaos a marker got the word and he started carvin’ that motherfucker’s name in a shiv.”

This, too, was probably true.

I leaned toward her and admitted, “Natalie, he’s been supercool with me. You’re right, we’re tight and he talks about his folks all the time. I have to do something.”