I shook my head.
“How long’s it been since you had an outbreak, Son?”
“Leave her alone,” I said.
“Or what?” he laughed. “You gonna toss another piece of chicken at me?”
Liv turned toward me and cleared her throat. “So it was a joke, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Did you forget how ornery he is?”
“I guess so,” she said.
Everyone had a laugh, and we continued to pick at our food until we were full. As we sat and exchanged glances, everyone too stuffed to move, Liv pushed her chair from the table slightly and peered toward my father.
“So,” Liv said. “Did Luke tell you he sold the shop?”
He coughed. “Come again?”
“The shop. He sold it. Got, what Luke?” She turned toward me. “Two hundred and fifty thousand?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand?” he howled. “For beach front property?”
He glared at me.
I shrugged. “I thought it was a good deal. Some guy had been pestering me about it, and Liv and I talked about it. We were going to tell you the other day, but we all ended up shittin’ our pants after that pork, and hell, I forgot.”
He glared at Liv.
“So,” she said. “We’re moving to South Dakota.”
“South Dakota? What in the absolute fuck is in South fucking Dakota?” he fumed.
“Snowmen. We can build snowmen.”
“Who wants to build snowmen?” he snapped back.
He alternated glances between Liv and me. Matt continued to pick at his salad, paying little attention to any of what was said.
“Luke and me,” she said. “It’ll make for great Christmas mornings with the kids.”
“What kids?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Your grandkids.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Are you fucking with me?”
“About South Dakota or the kids?” she asked.
He pressed his forearms against the edge of the table and leaned forward, keeping his eyes locked on her the entire time.
“Both,” he responded.
“Yes,” she said.
He glared at her for a moment, realized it was all a joke, and reached for the last remaining piece of chicken. Sans any announcement or warning, he tossed it directly at her chest.
She caught the chicken in mid-flight.
“Thanks,” she said.
And she took a bite.
I guess the martial arts lessons are paying off after all.
Together, Liv and I shared a love for the ocean, each other, family, and great sex. We may have lacked contrast, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Being in love with a woman who shared my interests, loves, and desires was priceless.
The only thing possible that could have made it any better would be to have her as my wife.
I snapped my fingers. “Dad?”
His eyes widened.
“It’s time,” I said.
He stood, walked around the edge of the table, and reached into his pocket. One of the many disadvantages of wearing board shorts, I had learned over the years, was the lack of pockets.
Liv wrinkled her nose and exchanged glances between us. “What are you two doing?”
I grinned. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?” she asked.
“Time for us to start having sex the legal way.” I chuckled.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
I lowered myself to one knee, reached for her hand, and licked my increasingly dry lips.
“Liv.” I gazed into her green eyes. “We’re lovers, best friends, and undoubtedly soul mates. But one thing we’re not, is married.”
She gazed down at me as she chewed against her bottom lip.
“Liv, will you marry me?”
“I will,” she blubbered.
I slipped the ring on her finger.
“Still have a spare bedroom.” My father laughed. “You’re welcome to use it.”
“Oh, we’ll use it,” Liv said as she shifted her eyes from the ring to my father. “You can bet on that. Do you have any restraints or a whip you’re not using?”
“I hope that’s a joke,” he said dryly.
A year prior, I never would have considered sleeping in my old room. But I had reached a point in my life where I truly felt I had recovered from my past.
As I picked her up from her seat and carried her down the hallway, I knew very little for certain.
But I knew one thing for sure.
We’d remain best friends until we died.
And all I could do was hope that when that day came, we were in each other’s arms.
EPILOGUE
I gazed toward the horizon and shaded my eyes.
“Your dad is an awesome surfer,” I said.
Matt turned toward me and grinned. “Always has been. Hell, he taught Luke.”
Inside the tube with his arms outstretched, the water barreled immediately behind him, almost catching his right shoulder as it cascaded down at his side.
He rode the wave, high on the shoulder, until it diminished to nothing.
A few moments later, as he paddled out to catch another, Luke got up on a nice wave. The off shore winds had been picking up, and with them came the good waves.
As Luke steadied himself on the board, he held his arm outstretched, dragging it along the edge of the wave as if taunting it to attempt to break him. I grinned, knowing Luke was too in tune with himself to allow any wave bring him down.
He carved back and forth, finding his perfect spot halfway up the face. As the wave reached its crest, the crowd began to stand and cheer.
Come on, Baby. You can do it.
It was undoubtedly the best wave of the day, and I wasn’t the only one who was seeing it.
“Come on, Luke!” Juan shouted.
He swatted at the lower part of the tube as the board carved to the right, slapping some of the whitewater to his side.
The crowd, many of which stared through binoculars, went wild. On their feet cheering and shouting, most had come to see Luke, if even for one day.
He hadn’t gone pro, but had agreed to surf for a day with his father as a show, giving one hundred percent of whatever anyone wanted to donate to a foundation for abused children. Over a thousand people showed up, and News 8 was there, in hopes of him agreeing to go pro.
Matt, Juan, and me knew he never would, but it was funny to listen to the people beg him to.
A few moments after the wave washed ashore, a man approached us.
“Mrs. Luke Eagan?” he asked.
I shielded my eyes and glanced up. “Yes?”
“Mike Trell with Riptide. Any chance you could talk your husband into an interview after the show?”
I shook my head. “I doubt it.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Has the date been set for the next show? Rumor has it he’ll be doing another,” he asked.
Luke agreed to do another, but I really didn’t want to be bothered. I was hot, I was tired, and my back hurt.
“I have no idea.” I said, turning to face the horizon.
As he walked away, Matt turned to face me.
“When’s the big day?” he asked.
“For the next show? Or,” I paused and patted my hand against my stomach.
“I know when the show is,” he said. “For the baby.”
“Oh,” I said as I rubbed my hand against my stomach. “November 2nd.”
“Know the sex?” he asked.
I nodded my head. “I do. But sorry, we’re not telling.”
“Figures,” he said as he turned to face the beach.
As Luke carried his board up the beach, I stood and grinned, proud of him for what he had done for charity. In no time, our son would be learning to surf, spending his days and nights at the beach just like his father.
Luke stuck his board in the sand an
d ran toward us, waving off autographs and interviews along the way. There was no doubt in my mind that our baby would grow up to be just as stubborn, just as proud, and just as humble as Luke.
And I wouldn’t want him any other way.
THE END
Blurred Lines
Scott Hildreth
DEDICATION
This book, entirely, is dedicated to my PA, Katrina Chadwick Wofford.
She has a full-time job keeping me in line. And she never ceases to amaze me.
Kat, you’re the best.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
THIS BOOK IS A WORK OF FICTION.
All names, locations, club names, and incidents in this book are a figment of the author’s imagination, and are depicted in a work of fiction. Any likeness to fact is pure coincidence. The club depicted in this book does not exist; it was created for this book. Lastly, the colors depicted in the cover and described in this book are a creation of graphic artistry, and are not actually the colors for any Motorcycle Club known to exist by the author.
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.
Blurred Lines 1st Edition Copyright © 2015 by Scott Hildreth
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at designconceptswichi
[email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Cover design by Jessica www.creativebookconcepts.wordpress.com
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PROLOGUE
Dressed in khaki trousers, a neatly pressed long sleeve cotton shirt, and work boots, the man stood arrow straight on the porch of the modest home as he reached for the doorbell. After pressing the button once, he leaned back and waited. From his utility belt hung various tools, a leak detector, and a roll of duct tape.
In a matter of a few seconds, the front door opened a few inches.
Upon recognizing the man as an employee for the gas company, the woman opened the door a little wider. The man lifted his identification card with his right hand as he clutched his clipboard with his left.
“Kansas Gas and Electric, Ma’am. We have a report of a severe gas leak in the area, and we’ve narrowed it down to the homes on this side of the block. I’ve got a leak detector, and I’ll need to check your water heater and furnace for gas leaks. I should just be a few minutes,” he said.
She raised her hand to her mouth as she gasped. “Oh my.”
Still dressed in her robe and slippers, her reservation to allow him to enter the home was soon overcome by the fear of the unknown. She leaned forward and pressed her head between the door and the door frame.
“I’m sorry, I just woke up. The alarm…” She paused and gazed down at his boots. As she shifted her eyes upward, she continued. “I don’t know what happened. The leak? Is it safe?”
The man shook his head. “No Ma’am, the leak has the potential to cause a severe explosion. That’s why I’m here. We need to get this resolved, and quick. One spark could cause this entire block to be nothing more than a memory. I should just be a few minutes.”
“Oh, alright,” she said as she nervously pressed her hand against her unkempt hair.
The man removed the leak detector from his belt and raised it in front of him as he studied the small display screen.
“Come on in,” the woman said as she opened the door.
Normally, she would be home alone this time of day. The alarm hadn’t gone off, and the morning sun through the east window caused her husband to rise from his sleep, one hour later than normal. In the basement her child still lay asleep, unaware kindergarten class had long since started.
The man entered the home, quickly surveyed the room, and cautiously began to proceed walking toward the basement steps on his right side.
“I’ll need you to show me where the water heater is,” he said over his shoulder. “I assume it’s here in the basement?”
“Yes, it’s in the utility room,” she responded. “I’m sorry but it’s a mess down there.”
A few feet before the stairway, he stopped and tilted his head to the side. The faint sound of the shower in the back bedroom was the only noise in the otherwise silent home. After a short pause, he turned to face the woman and cleared his throat.
“Is there water running?” he asked.
“Yes. My husband is taking a shower. He’s late for work,” she responded.
The man nodded his head and slowly turned around. He knew there was no place in his intricate scheme for a man. There was no turning back now. A small kink in his plan, but not one he wouldn’t be able to overcome as long as he made quick decisions.
With lightning speed, he slid the lanyard of the detector along his forearm and swung his open right hand over the woman’s mouth.
Her silence was crucial to his complete success. Failure, in his mind, was not an option. Although the husband’s presence wasn’t by design, he realized it would allow him to reach his goal in a more expeditious manner.
As he dragged the woman toward the back bedroom, his mouth curled into a shallow grin.
After taping the woman’s mouth and binding her hands he walked confidently to the closed door which led to the master bathroom and positioned himself beside it. As the sound of the running water stopped, he held his hands at chest height and waited. He grinned and raised his hands slightly as he heard footsteps approaching the doorway.
They never should have denied my promotion to detective. I’m smarter and more cunning than any of them, he thought.
As the woman’s husband stepped through the doorway and into the room, he gasped at what he saw.
And that was the last sound he would ever make.
RILEY
I pulled my car to the curb and stopped a hundred yards from the entrance, being careful to park in a location where no one inside could see what I was driving. I wasn’t ashamed of my car, and in fact, quite the opposite was true; but it wasn’t every twenty-one year old girl who drove an eighty thousand dollar car. It seemed as soon as someone realized what I drove, I was quickly labeled as a gold digger or a spoiled little rich girl, neither of which were true.
My former boyfriend gave me the car as a gift, and as much as he probably expected me to return it after we broke up, I didn’t even consider it as an option. Putting a price on his abusive behavior would be impossible, but if I did, the car was a small price for him to pay for what he did to me over the four-year period we were together.
Each time he touched me he later swore it would be his last, and for whatever reason any woman believes what her abusive boyfriend promises, I believed him. At first, I suspect it was because I was young, immature, and filled with false hope regarding what he would offer me long-term. At the time he was protective of me - sometimes overly so - but it was comforting to have someone care enough to be conscious of where I was going and who I was seeing. Over the next few years, I matured slowly, and his abusive behavior continued. When my level of maturity rose to a level which allowed me to question his behavior as abusive, I quickly did so.
Mentally, I drew a line in the sand on my twenty-first birthday, saying if the abuse continued, I would leave. He gave me the car as a birthday gift, and six months later slapped me so hard he knocked me to the floor.
The next morning, I was gone.
The car did remind me of him, but forgetting Stephen entirel
y was close to impossible, as his face was plastered all over billboards throughout the city. My best option for forgetting him was changing where I spent my time, who I spent it with, and getting a much needed tattoo depicting my newfound intention of flying solo for a long, long while. My first six months of single life was easy, and I hoped the future remained just as simple.
There was very little risk in encountering anyone meaningful at ten o’clock in the morning at a tattoo parlor other than the overweight former sailor who I expected would tattoo the Latin phrase on my shoulder. As far as I was concerned, I should be able to go get a tattoo without exposing myself to anyone who would tempt me to be in another relationship. Although a relationship wasn’t something I was afraid of or opposed to, I felt it was something I needed to proceed slowly with.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Although my preference was to wear contact lenses, a severe scratch on my right eye - the result of his most recent slap - prevented me from doing so for at least another month. I removed my glasses, placed them on the passenger seat, and gazed into the mirror as I tossed my hair into a cute little mess.
Not knowing for sure how long the tattoo might take, I chose my most comfortable jeans, an open neck tee, sports bra, and my Chuck’s. From what I had read on the internet, being comfortable was the most important thing about getting my first tattoo.
I walked along the rows of shops, peering curiously into the windows of each one as I passed. Living under Stephen’s thumb for the last four years prevented me from seeing certain parts of the city; he preferred the more glamorous and glitzy east side to the artistic regions of down town.
With the early morning sun shining directly into my face, I walked along the sidewalk and toward the tattoo shop. As the warmth of the sun combined with my nervous stomach began to make me feel slightly uncomfortable, the flashing neon sign in the window to my immediate right caught my attention.
Blurred Lines.
A quick glance through the window and into the shop revealed the back of someone’s head who was seemingly preoccupied with whatever he was studying. Having made my appointment over the phone and not knowing for sure what Blake looked like, I leaned into the door with little expectation of him being anything but a talented tattoo artist.