“Right.” He sighed. “Here goes then.” He turned the knob, pushed the door in, and clicked the lights on as they stepped over the threshold.
The smell closed around her first. Not a terrible smell – nothing rotten, nothing rancid or dead. Just a closed-up stale mustiness; the scent of dust, of loneliness. Then her eyes tracked over it all, this place Aidan called home.
A tiny living room led through to a kitchenette, a small window letting in artificial light above an old stainless sink. Worn furniture, mashed carpet, card table and chairs in the kitchen, and an outdated fridge Goodwill probably wouldn’t accept. Laundry baskets on the floor, beer cans on a side table next to the recliner. The only thing worth salvaging was the TV.
“We’ve got two bedrooms,” Aidan said. She knew he and Tango were roomies. “One bathroom. We do laundry down the street. When we think of it.” He touched her arm. “Come on, my room’s back here.”
Down a short hall, past the bathroom, a little white-walled box of room. Single bed, haphazardly pulled-up flannel covers, lumpy pillows. More laundry baskets on the floor. Small TV on a nightstand and an Xbox hooked up to it.
Sam looked at Aidan and found him watching her, face pained, hands in his pockets and shoulders tucked in shame.
“Aidan,” she said. “Why did you bring me here?”
“It sucks, doesn’t it?”
“No. That’s not what I mean at all.” She stepped close, reached up and laid her hands on the bristled planes of his jaw. “You wanted me to see your place. Why?”
He studied her a moment, and she saw the shields lower in his eyes, the honesty shining through. “I want you to know what you’re getting into,” he said. “I’m not worth a damn, and I want you to understand that, before you throw everything away on me.”
“Oh…” Sometimes, despite being a writer, there were no words for a situation. She stood up on her toes and kissed him instead.
Nineteen
Halloween.
Sam hadn’t celebrated the holiday in any real way since she was twelve, and what a disaster that had been. The seventh grade Halloween dance had become one of those recurring nightmares from her childhood, the kind that left her feeling less than adequate as an adult. The party had been held in Tommy and Natalie Greshams’ backyard, overseen by their parents and a handful of other mothers and fathers. A kids’ party, costumes required. In preparation, Sam spent weeks hot-gluing red sequins to a pair of ballet flats to create ruby slippers. Mom had sewn her blue gingham dress, and they’d put a stuffed dog in an old apple basket. The night of the party, Sam spent almost an hour braiding her hair into pigtails, hoping her glasses wouldn’t completely ruin her ensemble.
At seven on the dot, her father kissed her on the forehead and dropped her off at the Gresham house, decked out in full Dorothy regalia, giddy with excitement.
Natalie Gresham had taken one look at her and burst into raucous laughter. “Oh my God. It’s fuckingDorothy.”
The yard seemed to tilt beneath her feet, and the party revealed itself for the horror that it was. The parents were drinking, lounging on the back patio, ignoring the children. Children who had slipped vodka into the punch and who were making out on the picnic tables. Children who were dressed as slutty nurses, French maids, cats.
That was the year Sam broke up with Halloween. Her first year reunited with the holiday, she was going to abiker party.
The irony wasn’t lost on her as she stepped back from the mirror and blinked, willing her eyes not to water. She wasn’t in costume, but was pretty sure she wouldn’t be the laughingstock this time around.
She’d gone to the eye doctor that morning and gotten herself some contacts. These were a trial pair until the real things came in, and so far, they were irritating. But if she was going to be on the back of a bike, she didn’t want her delicate plastic glasses to go sliding off her nose and crash to the pavement.
She’d dressed in black skinnies, a white sweater, denim jacket, and black ankle boots. Not exactly Ava Lécuyer biker chic, but not bad either. Her hair was down, blown out, loose and wavy. She dabbed a little lipstick on and forced herself out of the bathroom. No more time to think things through or fiddle with her earrings. Aidan would be here any minute.
Erin was at the kitchen table, doing her homework in a sullen funk, Helen putting away the groceries she’d brought home.
“Don’t you look cute!” Mom said as Sam slipped the strap of her bag over her head.
Erin rolled her eyes.
Sam said, “You think?” and held her arms out, did a spin, ignoring her sister.
“Yes,” Helen said decisively. “Have a good time tonight. You don’t do enough fun stuff.”
Trynofun stuff. Sam nodded, thankful for her mom’s encouragement.
A knock at the back door. Then Aidan let himself in, and Sam forgot to breathe for a moment.
When she’d seen the Dogs ride in formation through the city, they were always clad in all black, and today appeared to be no exception. Very dark jeans, black shirt, shined boots, glittering chrome accents, and his cut. He looked downright sinister…until he grinned and said, “Hey.” Then he lookedwicked.
“Dude, you’re drooling,” Erin said, and Sam actually dabbed at her lips before she realized her sister was being a brat. Blushing, she shot Erin a stern look.
