but I had no idea where everyone was and I had a 100% chance of passing at least some people I knew either way so I took the outside stairs into the lounge. Evidently a lot of the other charter members hadn’t left yet. The lounge was crawling with bikers, old ladies, and hang-arounds. My father sat there, lounged on the couch, talking to Blow. Fork wasn’t in the space. Dad’s eyes bounced between me and Laura. I waved at Dad and headed to my room, getting in there and emptying my lungs of the breath I’d been holding.
***
It was Monday night, just after dinner, and I’d spent the whole day working in the kitchen of The Roadhouse. I was now in the garage, giving my car a tune-up.
Fucking Forker. He pulled up in his SUV, got out, headed into the open bay and then stopped dead when he realized it was me working in there.
“What’re you doin’?” he asked, looking around probably for one of my brothers.
“Giving my car a tune-up.”
“You are?” He gave his head a shake like I’d been speaking Greek.
I ignored him and went back to what I was doing.
“Deacon around?”
“Do you see him here?” I bit off, continuing the swap out of sparkplugs.
I heard him get in his ride and pull away.
I angrily continued with my task.
***
It was the following day and Dad had come into the Roadhouse kitchen and given me a searching look.
“Hey Dad.”
“You good?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Come to the office, Joelle.”
I abandoned my task of slicing tomatoes and washed my hands, then went into his office.
“Everything good?” he asked.
“Already said it was.”
“Wanna tell me what’s---”
“Nope.”
He frowned.
“Should I ask him?”
Was that supposed to be a threat?
“Do what you wanna do, like always, Dad. Now, can I get back to work?”
He stared at me a minute and I knew he was pulling his usual move of knowing that if he waited, there was a chance I’d start talking. Unfortunately for him, I knew this strategy. Finally, he waved his hand to dismiss me. I went back to the kitchen.
***
That night, upstairs, Dad knocked on my door.
I let him in.
“You heard?”
“Heard what?” I asked.
“He’s gone.”
“Who’s gone where?”
“Fork is.”
I tried to not show a reaction. Gone. Gone?
Dad waited. I waited for him to keep talking too.
He licked his teeth behind closed lips, which I knew was his tell for ‘foiled again’ and gave me a serious look.
“He’s gone underground for a bit. Some bastards took the boots to Nolan ‘n Speedy as they rode back after escortin’ him to work today and then there was a tussle on Fork’s lunch break at the coffee truck outside his shop. He pulled a gun to get them to leave and his boss told him to take a leave of absence. So, he’s gone underground for a few days.”
My heart was racing hard.
“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” Dad asked.
“Nothing. Nothing’s going on. You heard what he said. He laid it out.”
“He didn’t call you to tell you what happened today?”
“Why would he?”
“Oh, I don’t fuckin’ know, because something’s goin’ on with you two and you’re refusing to talk to me. He says there’s nothing, and---”
“There is nothing.”
“Right, well, he’ll be safe.”
I shrugged. “Whatever.”
Dad looked lost. He clearly couldn’t get a read on me and I wasn’t talking about it. He gave his head a shake and left.
I had won that round. Dad leading with “He’s gone.” And then saying nothing? Dad had waited for me to tip my hand with a reaction. I hadn’t. I’d learned from him years ago that the person that spoke first lost in a situation like that. I didn’t lose this time.
A dirty play, Dad.
But Dad was still using the strategies he used on me when I was twelve. I almost pointed that out to him but knowing Dad, he knew his repeated attempts were failing and he was likely working at coming up with a new “Handle Joelle” strategy.
Christian Forker didn’t want to get his head out of his ass. Part of me was telling me to be done crying over someone who was this hard to love. Maybe he was right; he was saving me a whole lot of hassle. But a bigger part of me urged me to hang in there a little longer. That part of me wanted to poke the grizzly just a little bit harder, thinking it would maybe be worth the tears I’d shed.
He was gone? I decided maybe I should get gone, too.
11
A Week