Chapter Seven - Veronica

 

“I’ve never seen this costume before,” Rook says as she points to the framed picture on Spencer’s large walnut desk. It’s the magical one of me in the atrium.

I open my mouth to respond, but I stop before she realizes. It feels like a secret. Like that’s a special place that only Spencer and I even know exists. The entire day was like a dream. A fantastical dream. That was the best day of my life. And even though I understood back then that it was gonna rank up there as far as memories go, three years later it is so much more.

I have no idea if Spencer ever brought another girl to his gran’s atrium, but I doubt it. And just knowing that makes me feel special and sick at the same time. Like—why? How? How did we go from those perfect days during senior year to this?

My chest heaves with a sob and I turn and walk out before Rook catches on to my grief. The light flicks off as she exits behind me, and then I gather myself and wait for her at the top of the basement stairs.

She’s got a pouty face on when she catches up with me. “You’re sad?”

All I can do is nod, because if I speak right now, I’m gonna lose it and cry like a baby. Rook nods at me as she scoots past, then I follow her downstairs. When she opens the door, I brush past her hurriedly and flop down on her couch. We spent a lot of time together down here in her farm apartment. After she outed all those assholes involved in a human trafficking ring back in Chicago she was relentlessly followed by the media. And the weirdos. Like those awful people who picket the homes of dead soldiers. They marched around town with giant signs, declaring her a slave-trading whore.

And yeah, Rook was involved in some pretty insane shit back in Chicago. But she was just a kid who got caught up with an abusive man. He beat the shit out of her for years. You can hardly blame a homeless sixteen-year-old for being susceptible to a ring of powerful and abusive slave traders.

“OK, Ronnie,” Rook says as she plops down on the couch next to me. “Spill, bitch. What’s going on with you?”

I think it over for a few seconds, trying to find a good place to start. “You know how you said—” I stop, because it’s unfair to drag her down into my wallowing bog of pity.

“Said what? Come on, just talk.”

I take a deep breath. “All that stuff about Ashleigh. About being sorta jealous. Well… I feel like that too. About you and her. Because you guys both have what I want.”

I feel terrible for admitting that, but it’s true.

“Ronnie, I have nothing but Ronin. And I know this sounds flippant because believe me, I understand what it’s like to have no money. But that money means nothing to me. It’s just… there. I know I’ll never be homeless and I’m not gonna starve. And if I wanted to run away again, I could. But that’s all that money means to me. I have nothing but Ronin.”

I look up at her and frown. “I don’t even have Spencer to make it all OK. I’m just so lonely without him. I feel like fate is telling me to give up. Just let him go, because he’ll never change. He’s not the guy I thought he was. He’s this… this… stranger. He’s not the guy I fell in love with. I love that guy I met back in college. This guy he is now, I don’t get it. And what makes it worse is that every once in a while, that other guy comes through.”

I’m thinking about Spencer that night he was in my apartment. When he said he was guilty. He said, ‘I am this guy,’ meaning that guy who committed those crimes he was accused of.

But he didn’t wait around for me to tell him what I thought of his confession. Because it was a huge relief.

That criminal who got kicked out of school, who got off a murder charge on a technicality—that’s the guy I fell in love with.

This guy today? This one who’s all cold and distant and leaves me hanging in a back alley and treats me like trash? I don’t like that guy. I’ll take the killer over that guy any day.

Rook and I stare at each other for a few seconds and then she shakes her head and breaks away. “Shit, Ronnie, we are a couple of whiners, you know that?”

I nod. “I know that. I do. It’s wrong to have so much and be so unappreciative. It’s wrong, I get it. But I can’t help it, Rook, I’m not fulfilled. I’m… unsatisfied.”

“Holy fuck, that’s the perfect word.” Her eyes get wide and she puffs up her cheeks with air. “That’s the perfect way to describe it. Time out from your pity party, I’m throwing one too. So last week when I was spending some time with Ashleigh before we did that—” She stops, like she caught herself saying something she shouldn’t.

And this is when I realize that Rook is part of it. She’s part of that shit the guys do. I let my head sink in my hands, totally defeated.

“Well… I was gonna take care of Kate for a few hours last week, so I went over to their house to meet her properly. She and Ford just got back the day before, so even though I saw her that night for the party—” Rook winces this time, realizing this mistake was even more damaging than the last.

God, that hurts. Because I wasn’t invited to the Welcome Home Ford and Family Party.

“—and I was in their living room, looking around. Apparently that Pam is a whiz, because Ford and Ash’s house looked like it came out of a magazine. Anyway.” Rook shakes herself out of that thought and continues. “I’m sitting there just making chit-chat, right? Just, you know, feeling her out, getting to know her. So she tells me she was in grad school, like she’s just about done with her master’s degree in psychology, right? She’s one research paper away from graduation. She’s done all her studies, wrote like two hundred pages of notes, and it’s some fancy-sounding topic—brainwave patterns of emotionally compromised children or some shit like that. Way, way over my head. So I ask her, ‘You gonna go back and finish? Get that piece of paper?’ And she’s all… just as casually as you can imagine… ‘No, probably not.’”

“Really?” I ask. “Master’s degree—that’s like a shitload of school.”

“Yeah,” Rook replies. “That’s what I said. I’m all, ‘Isn’t it a waste of time and money to not finish when you’re so close?’ and she’s all, ‘Yeah, probably. But I’m satisfied. So I’m not going back.’ And I tell you what, Ronnie Vaughn, I was so filled with jealousy for this woman, I could barely function for like thirty minutes. I mean, she’s not really that pretty. She’s cute, she’s got a curvy body, her hair and skin are beautiful. And she’s got big eyes and full pouty lips. So yeah, she’s easy on the eyes. But she’s not stunning, ya know? Not like the pets I’ve seen Ford with every once in a while before he got rid of them. Ashleigh never wears makeup, and her wardrobe—I’m sorry if this sounds catty, I’m just making an observation—but her wardrobe reminds me of my homeless days.”

I laugh, I can’t help it. It’s all true. Ashleigh walks around this town with her mean-ass dogs, pushing a stroller, wearing t-shirts and leggings, with bright pink running shoes on her feet like she owns the fucking place. She could care less what people think about her. Like at all.

“And I’m seriously not saying this to be a bitch, OK? I like her, I love that baby. But she makes me feel so fucking inadequate.”

I’m stunned, because in my mind, Rook—she’s perfect. In just about every way. “Why?”

“Because she has everything I want.”

“Aww,” I say, leaning in to hug her. “I’m sorry, Gidget.” That makes her chuckle but I know she’s crying now. “Finish your thought, Rook, just get it out, bitch.”

Rook sniffs and laughs again. “And it’s not Ford, OK? I do love him as a friend. I still talk to him like four times a week on the phone and we’ve run the Poudre River trail a bunch of times since he’s been back from New Zealand. I’m jealous because she’s on the cusp of everything, ya know? Like, if she wanted to be a career mom, it’s like six months of work, a licensing exam, and bam, she’s a counselor. But she wants to stay home and be a mother instead. And my whole life I’ve watched girls get stuck at home with kids they couldn’t afford and maybe even didn’t want. They got left behind by the men who helped create that situation. So I spent all my teenage years pushing that away. And when I got pregnant with Jon, I was not happy. Not for a long time. But then the idea that I could relax and be a mother sorta grew on me.”

I lean in and rub her back. Because what happened to her sucks. You should not have to lose a child like that when you’re barely eighteen years old.

“And now I’m thinking I was wrong, Ronnie. Because Ash said something else after that. She said, ‘I can go back any time I want. But I’m never gonna be this person again. Every day the baby grows bigger, my love for Ford changes in small subtle ways, my life gets better or worse, or more chaotic or less stressful. Nothing stays the same and I can’t stop that. So I’m gonna enjoy what I have right now and not worry about tomorrow.’”

“Is that why you’re taking your implant out today?”

Rook nods. “Yeah. Because you know what? Ronin rocks my fucking world. He’s everything to me. And I guess it took me seeing it from another perspective to realize it. Because you know, Ford might be weird and a total dick to almost everyone. But he’s a very black-and-white guy. He married Ashleigh and there’s nothing in this world that will tear them apart from his point of view. Nothing but death. Because when Ford goes in, he goes all in.

“And I think all three of these guys are like that. I think Ronin’s all in too. I just never noticed it or never accepted it before. And last year I had all these doubts about him. Who is he? Is he good? Is he bad? Will he hurt me? Will he leave me? But if I were Ronin, I’d be asking myself all those questions about me. Because I’ve been pushing him away since we met.”

She stops and looks hard at me.

“And I’m so stupid to never have recognized it before. So I think from now on, I’m gonna pull him towards me instead. I’m gonna finish out this semester. Then I’ll have a year of college under me and no one can ever take that away. So if I want to go back, I can. But I’m gonna stop thinking about what’s next. I’m gonna stop and be satisfied with what I have for a while.”

And now it’s my turn to be jealous. I slump back against the couch cushions and pull my knees up to my chest. “I wish I was anyone but me right now, Rook. Spencer’s not like Ford and Ronin. He doesn’t seem to want any of the same things as me. Like, at all. And who the fuck, ya know? Who the fuck would’ve thought that Ford Aston would be married with kids before me?”

“Spencer loves you, Bomb.”

I laugh at the nickname. I can’t help it. It’s so derogatory and sexist. But it makes me so happy to hear it. To know that’s what he calls me, and only me.

“He loves you, it’s just… he can’t be with you right now.”

I sit up immediately. “Why, Rook? Tell me why? You know something, I know you do. I want to know this. Rook, I need to know this. Why can’t he be with me?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t say, Ronnie.”

“So much for hoes before bros.”

“Ron, come on. It’s about the trials, you know I can’t say anything. It’s too dangerous. I have to testify next week. And once that’s over, things will be different.”

Will they? I don’t say it out loud, though. They all believe it will be different. Even Spencer said as much. So did Ford when he brought me here on Christmas Eve to show me Spencer’s office. But different doesn’t imply better.

“He told me he was guilty,” I add quickly to see if she’ll take the bait.

But she just shrugs. “I have no idea what that might even mean, Ronnie. Sorry.”

I stand up. “Fine,” I say amicably, but really I’m sorta pissed. I mean we are like BFF’s. Sure, she says Ford is her real BFF, but you can’t be BFF’s with a dude like you can with your bitches. She should trust me. They should all trust me. I’m not a liability. I’m strong. I can fight. I can shoot. I’m a tattoo artist for fuck’s sake. I’m sorta badass. Plus, I’ve been around for years. Ashleigh and Rook are brand new to this shit. I watched it all happen in real time.

But I’m not in the mood to fight with her right now. I just want to move forward at this point. “You said I can borrow a helmet? I’m going to the Harley shop down in Broomfield soon to pick up my own gear, so I’ll bring it back when I’m done.”

She stands and goes back to her bedroom, leaving me to wait. It pisses me off that everyone seems to know Spencer better than I do. Just plain pisses me off.

But I take a deep breath and tuck my annoyance away just as Rook comes back and hands me a black helmet with a full face shield. We walk back up the way we came and end up in the carport where her custom Shrike Bike sits under a blue tarp. She unfastens the bungee cords holding the tarp down and then pulls it off with a whoosh.

I sigh with happiness. I’ve seen this bike a million times, but it’s never looked so beautiful. Rook said she picked this bike out on a whim, way back when she first met Spencer. Back before the STURGIS contract, before season one. Back when she was modeling for the TRAGIC stuff with Ronin.

But it’s strange that she chose this bike, of all the bikes he had in the showroom back then.

Because this is the Shrike Blackbird.

The very bike he drew in my sketchbook.

The very bike I tattooed on his back.

The very first bike Spencer Shrike ever made.

And now it’s mine.