Page 5

Riley

I followed Havoc out through the back door. When I had first arrived, it was cool, and dew was still on the ground. The day was heating up now that the noonday sun was warming the concrete patio. It felt invigorating. The back parking lot was a mixture of motorcycles lined up neatly in the first row and, further back, cars and vans that had the name of the garage the club ran on the side.

I was slowly realizing that Zoe hadn’t been joking when she said Havoc was the most stubborn man alive. He was butt-hurt and embarrassed that Storm had leveraged him into working with me. I still didn’t get the feeling this man truly understood what a life coach was. It was my job to meet him where he was, instead of expecting him to be ready for all the things I had to offer.

We went to the grill, and the prospect we’d talked to in the kitchen was fixing our food. I could now see the patch on his vest—it said ‘Alvin’ . He gave us our sandwiches and fries, gesturing to a small table with cookies. When we settled down, I tried to jumpstart the conversation with small talk, hoping it would go better than my last effort.

“Your club has a really nice setup. The building looks new. How did I never know this place was here?”

He sighed without looking up from his food. “How much of my time are you planning to waste today?”

“As much as it takes for us to get on the same page,” I shot back, careful to moderate my voice so it didn’t sound as exasperated as I felt.

“I’ll give you however long it takes us to eat. How about that?”

A short silence spun out between us as I thought of ways to get through to him. Sitting there, looking across the table at him, I had to admit that Havoc was attractive in his own way. He had shaggy brown hair, a beard, chocolate-brown eyes, and was covered in ink. His neck was tattooed with an intricate design of a motorcycle with wings that wrapped around each side of his neck, with the word Born worked into the design on one side and the words To Ride worked into the other. It was an interesting design.

When I’d seen them in the cuts at the bar last week, I’d noticed they were all jacked like bodybuilders. At the time, I’d thought it was a coincidence—or maybe they ran together and liked working out. But when I came in that morning, I saw that all the guys there were built.

He was trying his level best to ignore me. I took a sip of my drink. It went down smooth and tasted both fruity and salty at the same time. The condensation on the glass was making my fingers wet, but I managed to hang onto it as I watched him shovel food into his mouth like it was his job.

He’d enjoyed flirting with the girl in the bar. He had been at ease and in control of the conversation. That told me he enjoyed talking to people and had decent social skills.

I told him quietly, “You’re not allocating us much time today, Havoc.”

He made a grunting sound and took another bite of his steak sandwich. It was impossible to determine if he was agreeing or not. I decided to give him time because there was a good chance no one had ever asked him to introspect this way. I dug into my food, surprised at how delicious it was. These prospects knew how to cook a good steak. I didn’t make it halfway through my meal before I was stuffed.

Havoc barely noticed I’d finished. I watched him take a few more bites because those prospects had piled his plate with a lot more food than mine.

After a few moments, he stated, “I’m not Ali. You know that, right?”

My eyes narrowed at him as I tried to figure out what he was getting at.

Finally, he threw down the last bit of his sandwich onto his plate and explained, “I’m not a woman, not young, didn’t just have a baby, nor am I getting overwhelmed. Zoe seems to think talking to you can help me the same way it did for her sister. We have vastly fuckin’ different problems.”

Catching on to what he was saying, I responded professionally, “I get that. I’ve helped people with a wide variety of issues set and attain goals for themselves.”

“I’m living my life already. I don’t need someone rooting through my fuckin’ personal affairs.”

I reassured him, “I told you I’m not a therapist. I don’t plan to meddle in your personal life. Not unless you tell me you need help.”

Just then, Storm and Zoe walked out the back door. Zoe went to grab food, but Storm stood there staring at us for a brief moment. I watched him mull the situation over. The big biker radiated authority. Then he made an exasperated gesture in my direction.

I murmured, “Your club president and club brothers want you to work out your problems so you can be an asset to your club. I think that deep down inside, you want that as well.”

Havoc said through gritted teeth, “Don’t act like you know me, ‘cause you don’t.”

Refusing to give up, I told him, “I like to think that I can get the ball rolling with an educated guess.”

“If you knew me, maybe. But you don’t know shit about me, so don’t waste your time tryin’ to get inside my head.”

Instead of threatening to give a negative report on him to Storm, I tried a softer approach. “In order for this to work, we need to talk about goals. If you don’t want to do this, that’s okay too. I’m not here to force you to do things you don’t want to do. Tell it to me straight—do you want my help or not?”

“Fucking fine, we’ll do this, but on my terms.”

I nodded, staying calm. “In order for this to work, we need to talk about goals and what you think is holding you back from accomplishing them. You said you want to do this on your terms. Tell me more about that.”

“First of all, I want some fuckin’ time to think. Storm dropped this on me out of the blue, and you’re so fucking eager to pick my brain that it’s all pissing me the hell off.”

I pulled out my phone and opened my calendar. “Okay, that sounds more than reasonable. When do you want to meet with me again?”

“How about whenever I feel like it.” He gave me a little smirk that looked all kinds of sexy on him. “Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

“I’m sorry, but being called like a dog isn’t going to work for me. You’re not my only client. We can either schedule something, or I’m going to have to make more productive use of my time.”

The smirk fell right off his handsome face. I was pretty sure this man was used to having his way with women. It was about time he learned that not all women were pushovers.

“What do you have open?” he said, looking all kinds of put out.

“Weekday mornings are good for me.”

“No. I have to be at work. I’m about to let my crew run wild on my construction site.”

So, he was some kind of construction supervisor. I filed that away for future reference. “We need to look at evenings or weekends then, right?”

“I spend my weekends with my club, particularly Saturday.”

“Would you prefer to meet up on Sunday or a weeknight?”

“I’d prefer not to meet up at all, but since I promised Storm that I’d give this a shot, I’m gonna say a weeknight. There’s no sense spoiling the weekend with this shit.”

I wasn’t about to let this big, surly biker knock me off my game. I said, “How about Wednesday night? That’ll give you a few days to think about your goals and maybe come up with some things that you think might be holding you back from accomplishing those goals.”

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke, his voice was exasperated. “Lady, if I knew what the fuck was holding me back, I wouldn’t need you.”

“Well, maybe we can figure that out together. I’m not a therapist, but I’m a good listener. If something’s worrying you or weighing you down, we can talk about it. Maybe between the two of us, we can figure out a way to change it up.”

He looked at me, and I saw the moment his gaze turned calculating. I felt like he was trying to decide if I could really help him or if I was full of shit. I let the silence spin out between us, once more giving him time to think it over. He shifted in his seat and took a drink of his whiskey.

Finally, he asked, “Do you ride a bike?”

I immediately shook my head, wondering where he was going with this.

He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck before asking, “You ever dated a biker?”

“No,” I snapped. “Why do you ask?”

“You don’t know one single fucking thing about my world, but you think you can help me sort my shit out. Is that about the size of it?”

Pushing down my irritation, I told him primly, “I don’t have to understand the intricacies of your world in order to help you.”

“That’s some high-speed bullshit you’re peddling there, girl.”

“I know you didn’t choose to work with me. I get that it feels like being put between a rock and a hard place. But here’s the thing—at some point, you’re going to have to decide for yourself if this is something you want. If not, I think it’s only fair that you explain your reasoning to Storm.”

“Tired of dealing with me already, are ya?” His tone wasn’t condescending. It was strangely hollow, like he was conflicted between not wanting to work with me but also feeling like there was a decent chance I could help him, and he felt like it was slipping from his grasp.

I leaned forward in my seat and looked him in the eye. “I’m confident in my ability to make progress with you on moving your life forward in the direction you want. But it’s time for you to piss or get off the pot because I’m not going to waste my time on someone who can’t stop throwing himself a pity party because he got roped into a situation he wasn’t anticipating.”

His expression hardened, so I wrapped it up by saying, “This isn’t the man that I saw take charge at the Neon Vibes bar last week. You rallied the prospects and, unless I miss my guess, you saw that Slater was harassing me and intervened. I remember when all of you moved between us, you gestured for me to get away from him. You gave me a chance to make a clean getaway, and I gratefully took it.”

“Yeah,” he said as he took another drink. “I got in a lot of trouble with my club for that.”

“Well, I’ll tell you a little secret. I think Detective Slater was pissed that I turned him down, and his plan was to arrest me and put me in a cell where he could get to me anytime he wanted.”

“Or scare the fuck outta you, so you’d agree to whatever the hell he wanted moving forward.”

“You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. My point is that you were a hero that night.”

“Yeah, I know. It seems that I can never leave well enough alone when I see a woman in danger.”

I reached out and took his hand in mine. “What the hell happened between that night and now?”

He looked down at our joined hands and swallowed thickly. I could tell because his Adam’s apple moved up and down. “I don’t rightly know. Maybe I got tired of fucking up and getting called out for it. It’s frustrating and puts me in a pissy mood.”

I finished his thought for him. “That dressing down Storm gave you hurt your pride. You’re sick of your life and ready to give up. You hide it well, but I know all the signs.”

“What the fuck does it matter? Someone close to me once said, ‘Once a fuckup, always a fuckup’ and I don’t think he was wrong about that.”

“He was wrong alright, though. If people couldn’t change, people like me would be out of a job. Not only is change possible, but I believe you’re ready for it in a big way, Havoc. Deep down inside, you know that what I’m saying is true.”

“Yeah,” he said before downing the rest of his drink. He came to his feet and looked down at me. “New plan. From now on, we meet here at the clubhouse three nights a week. You’ll stay and get to know my world. Otherwise, you won’t know enough about me to give me what I really need. Are you in or are you out?”

Scrambling to get my head around this new curveball, I told him, “I’m in. What three days do you want?”

“You pick.” Pulling a business card out of his pocket, he tossed it down on the table. “Whatever you choose is fine, just text me. We meet here at seven and leave when it stops being fun. How about that?”

“Wait. What are you talking about? Working together is not supposed to be fun for me. This isn’t a date. It’s a professional relationship.”

“Yeah, I get that. You’re uptight, like a schoolmarm. Do you know that? You need to loosen up a bit.”

A memory of Slater telling me I needed to loosen up on the dance floor came to mind. I felt my expression change to an unhappy one. And Havoc noticed. I could tell because he rushed to apologize.

“Sorry about the schoolmarm comment. I’m just saying there’s no reason you can’t have some fun while learning about club life. I need you to understand my life if you’re going to help me.”

I nodded, wiping the hurt expression from my face. “Yeah, I get that. Why don’t we say Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for an hour minimum?”

His expression closed down, and he mumbled, “Sure. That’ll be just fine. Since today’s Sunday, I guess I’ll see you on Friday. Do you need me to walk you out?”

I shook my head, realizing this man was going to be way more than I’d bargained for. We hadn’t known each other a full two hours, and I already needed to decompress because he was exhausting.

“No,” I told him. “I know the way out. It’s the same as when I came in, only in reverse.”

I saw a hint of a smile ghost across his face. “Alright then, I’ll see you on Friday.”

I reached my hand out to shake, and when his big hand caught mine, it made my skin prickle. He gave my hand a single pump and let it go. It made me remember when we’d shaken earlier, and he’d kept holding my hand. I did an about-face and walked through the back door.

Once I was inside the building, I fast walked to the front door. When I pushed the heavy door open and felt the sunshine on my face, I was finally able to let go of the anxiety twisting in my gut.

As I drove home, I replayed the conversation I’d had with Havoc in my mind. I didn’t get the feeling he was particularly toxic—more like he was suffering from some kind of trauma. If so, he wouldn’t be the first client I’d referred for therapy. Something about Havoc pulled at my heartstrings. Maybe my unconscious mind was picking up on something I wasn’t fully aware of. Whatever was happening, I needed to shut it down hard. Being a big old softie when this stubborn biker clearly needed tough love simply wouldn’t come close to meeting his needs.