Unfinished Heroes: Sebring Part 73

"What?" he asked.

She looked down at her books, turned her pencil in her hand and tapped the eraser end to her notepad before repeating, "I need to get back to it."

"You don't want company," he surmised.

"Um...I have two tests. I have a lot of work to do."

Shy nodded then asked, "You come here a lot?"

That sweet, pink tongue came out to touch her upper lip, the burn in his chest magnified before her tongue disappeared and she answered, "No, just trying out places where I can get my studying groove on. It gets a little insane at home."

"The boys," Shy guessed. She had two new brothers: Rider, who just turned three, and Cutter, who was one, meant home was not where she could get that particular groove on.

"Yeah, they're little kids but they're also Allens, so things can get rowdy," she muttered.

He heard Tex banging on the espresso machine, and he knew Fortnum's could get a little insane too.

Thinking that, thinking that it was cool Tabby was finally focused on the right things, and trying not to think about how much or why he'd like her at his place, he offered, "You need s.p.a.ce, babe, I got an apartment. I'm never in it. Can't say it's clean but it is quiet."

"Thanks, but I'm good."

He pushed up from the chair, righting it at the table, saying, "Anytime, Tab, you need it, it's yours. Just give me a call."

She nodded, swallowed then mumbled, "Later," to his shoulder before she looked back down to her books, curling in her chair, slouching back to her elbow, hand back in her hair.

It was the swallow, the mumbling, and the talking to his shoulder that drove Shy to round the table, lift a hand, and pull her hair away from her face.

Her head jerked back as her eyes shot to him.

"We good?" he asked.

"Sure," she answered, too quickly.

"You sure about that?" he pressed.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked back, too casually.

"Babe, the last time I saw you was extreme." His eyes went to the table then back to her. "I see you got my point but it'd be cool to know we're good."

"We're good," she a.s.sured him, again, quickly.

He studied her face. It was carefully vacant.

He didn't know her all that well, but he'd been around her often enough to know Tabitha Allen was never expressionless.

f.u.c.k.

He let it go and reiterated, "You need my place, babe, just yell."

"I'll do that, Shy," she replied quietly.

He jerked up his chin.

She turned so her back was to him and slouched back over her books.

Shy walked out of Fortnum's feeling that familiar burn. Except it wasn't in his gut this time.

It was around his heart.

She never called to use his s.p.a.ce.

She never called at all.

And he never again saw her at Fortnum's.

Six months later...

Shy sat outside the Compound on top of one of the picnic tables, feet on the seat, legs spread, elbows to his thighs, bottle of beer held loosely in his hands, watching.

Tabby was on Chaos for the first time in nearly a year. She was walking out of the office and down the steps, Rider's hand in hers as she steadied him while he struggled to get his little legs to negotiate the stairs. She had Cut on her hip, and Shy could see Cut was slamming his little fist into her cheek as she walked.

She got them safely to the bottom of the stairs but stopped, and Shy watched as she turned her head, jerked it forward, and captured Cut's fist in her mouth.

He squealed. Tabby let his little fist go, and her peel of musical laughter shot across the forecourt and hit him straight in the gut so hard it was a f.u.c.king miracle he didn't grunt.

Then it happened.

Rider tripped and Tabby bent to right him and on her way up, her eyes moved through the forecourt, across the Compound, straight through him.

Through him.

Like he was f.u.c.king invisible.

Jesus.

f.u.c.k.

Jesus.

There was a time, he caught sight of her, her eyes would shift away quickly and he knew she was watching him. Anytime she'd been around before he did what he did that night, if he saw her, her eyes were on him.

Now he was invisible. It was like he didn't exist.

She moved the kids to her car and strapped them in the car seats in the back, and Shy kept watching, his gut tight, that burn searing his heart.

She had a great ride. Her dad gave it to her when she was sixteen, and she took care of it like it was one of her little brothers. Its electric blue paint gleamed, clean and pristine, in the August sun.

Sweet ride but Tabby, wearing one of those flowy, flowery, loose dresses that went all the way to her feet, so much f.u.c.king material, you couldn't begin to guess what lay underneath it, didn't look like she belonged to that car. The dress was saved by being strapless, the top essentially an elasticized tube top covering her t.i.ts, but still.

It wasn't cutoff short-shorts and rocker shirts like she used to wear.

And her hair wasn't down and wild. It was braided in thick plaits close to her skull on either side to flare out in a ma.s.s of hair at her nape that only hinted at the dense, glossy mane Tack's good genes had bestowed on her.

Yeah, he'd made his point.

f.u.c.k yeah, a year ago, he'd really f.u.c.king made his point.

She got the kids strapped in and Big Petey exited the office, lumbered down the stairs, and Shy watched Pete and Tabby engage in a playful argument he couldn't hear. Tab lost, and she faked being p.i.s.sed as she handed over her keys and stomped around the car.

Pete had one child, his daughter, now under dirt. When he came back after her funeral, he was shattered. The man was not young, but after he lost his daughter and returned to the brotherhood, he looked a thousand years old.

Now, Shy saw, he was grinning as he folded his huge beer belly behind the wheel of Tab's car and adjusted the seat.

Tab did that. Tab brought him back. Tabby put together those pieces and gave Pete something to grin about.

The Tab who looked right through Shy like he didn't exist.

Petey pulled out and he, Tab, Rider, and Cut took off, where, Shy had no clue. Shy'd heard Cherry and Tack talking about it enough to know that Rider and Cut's big sister doted on them and spoiled their a.s.ses rotten. So he figured ice cream, park, but whatever it was, it was filled with their sister's love.

He watched the car until he couldn't see it anymore.

Then he jumped off the picnic table and walked inside.

In the cool dark of the Compound, he stopped in the common room and stood, staring at the Chaos flag mounted on the wall at the back of the room.

Cool and dark while his gut still twisted and his heart burned.

He lifted his bottle and with his arm slicing through the air in a sidearm throw, he sent the bottle sailing across the room to smash in a foamy explosion of beer and brown gla.s.s on the wall opposite the door by the Club flag.

"Jesus, brother, what the f.u.c.k?" he heard rumbled from the side of the room. He turned and looked to see High sitting on a stool at the bar with Snapper behind it.

Shy didn't answer. He prowled behind the bar and nabbed a bottle of tequila.

On his way back around the bar, heading to his room, he ordered Snapper, "Clean that s.h.i.t up."

Then he disappeared into his room.

Seven months later...

He rolled his truck to a stop behind the electric blue car on the side of the road.

Shy had gotten his first Tabby Callout in eighteen months.

She wasn't out on the prowl.

She had a flat.

She was standing, jean-clad hips against the side of her car, thermal-covered arms crossed over the poofy vest she was wearing, low-heeled booted feet crossed at the ankles, head turned to him, eyes hidden behind a pair of mirrored, wire-rimmed shades, face vacant.

He'd seen her once since she took off with Petey and her brothers, and that was at the Chaos Christmas blowout at the Compound. He'd shown with a woman on his arm. She'd left fifteen minutes later.

That was it.

Now, as he angled out of his truck and moved toward her, she didn't twitch. Just watched him.

When he got close, even though he hadn't spoken a word to her since they saw each other at Fortnum's over a year ago, she announced sharply, "I know how to change a flat, but I can't get the lug nuts to move."

He stopped a half a foot away from her, looked through his shades down his nose at her and growled, "I'm doin' f.u.c.kin' great, babe. Thanks for askin'. How the f.u.c.k are you?"

Her head jerked and her shoulders straightened like a steel rod had been jammed down her spine. "Pardon?" she asked.

"Nothin," he muttered. "Do me a favor, step away from the car. Don't need it sliding off the jack while I'm dealin' with your tire because your a.s.s is leaned into it."

She pushed away from the car and Shy headed to the flat. She'd pulled out the spare, had the car jacked up and the lug wrench lying on the tarmac. Shy crouched to it and was grabbing the wrench when she spoke.

"Roscoe phoned. He's ten minutes away. If this is biting into your schedule, he said he'd be able to help out."

"Take me ten minutes. Then you can disappear again," he muttered, putting the wrench to the nut and finding she was not wrong. Those b.i.t.c.hes were on there tight.

Tabby fell silent. Shy worked.

He switched the tire with her spare, dumped the flat into her trunk, and was slamming it closed when he stated, "Get to the garage. You got time, now would be good. Don't drive too far on that spare."

"I may be a girl, but my dad's a biker and a mechanic. I think I know enough not to ride around on a spare," she returned. "Though," she went on when his eyes cut to her, "you've given me an idea. All those silly women out there who don't know better, I could give a helping hand, design some leaflets. Pa.s.s them out all around Denver. Explain about spare usage. How dangerous it is. I'll be sure to put a bunch of b.u.t.terflies on it and douse it with glitter so I can keep their attention while they're reading it."

He felt his eyes narrow as his mouth asked, "What the f.u.c.k?"

"Nothin'," she muttered, then he felt his gut tighten when she asked, "Is a b.l.o.w.j.o.b acceptable payment for a tire change or does the headboard need to rock?"

Seriously.

He hadn't seen the b.i.t.c.h in months, he hadn't spoken to her in over a year, what was with the f.u.c.king att.i.tude?

He was too G.o.dd.a.m.ned incensed to ask her that, all he could force out was a repeated, "What the f.u.c.k?"

"Payback, Shy. I certainly wouldn't want to put you out of your way for nothing," she explained, and he felt his jaw go tight before he forced it loose in order to respond.

"Give me five minutes, baby, hauled a.s.s out here to take care of you, my truck's old, the heat isn't what it used to be. She warms up, a b.l.o.w.j.o.b in the cab would be just fine."

"Is it necessary for me to call a friend or will just me do?" she shot back.

"Hard for two b.i.t.c.hes to get their mouths wrapped around my c.o.c.k, but if you've got a way, sugar, I'm up for the experience."

"Oh, you'll be up," she hissed, leaning in slightly.