jump. I see a number but I don’t recognize it. When I pick up, I’m anxious.

Then I’m alarmed when I hear Tandi’s voice. “I’m in the precinct house, Jess.”

“What?”

“Can you come and get me?”

Chapter 15 Jessica

Big bikes are parked outside of Chug A Lug. Inside bar is mostly furnished with bare wood, low hanging lights and a couple of neon signs with beer logos. A jukebox in the far corner plays a mix of blues and heavy metal. Not a place I’d feel comfortable to visit alone.

When I walk in, a huge biker is hunched at the bar. I don’t see anyone behind it, though. I wait at the bar, for what certainly feels like a long time.

I perch on a stool to wait. Two more large bikers are playing pool at the far end of the room. A waitress in a skimpy outfit mingles with the half a dozen customers scattered about the big, dark room.

The biker at the corner of the bar raises his head. Looks me up and down. “Buy you a drink, gorgeous?”

“Kind of you,” I tell him, “but no. Thanks. I’m looking for someone–”

“Place like this, sweetbutt,” his heavy-lidded eyes are watching me through the darkness, “you might not want to introduce yourself by asking questions. Friendly advice.”

“It’s a friend of mine. To tell you the truth, I’m a little worried about him. I came here because I think he works here. Somebody told me he did. His name is Christian.”

The bikers expression changes. Softens. “Maybe you can leave a message.”

“I really want to see him.”

Just then, the sound from back behind the bar. When he steps out from the darkness at the far end, lurching with his shoulders hunched, moving slow, barely looking up, I feel like I got the best early Christmas present.

I’m so thrilled to see him in good shape. I slip off the stool and I’m hurrying towards him but he lifts a hand and lowers his eyelids. I stop.

“You don’t Wanna be around me. I’m bad news.” He tells me.

“You’re pretty good news to me, Christian.” I tell him. “I know what you did.”

“I can’t say more than that I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Are you kidding me?” I’m shaking from head to foot. I’m having to physically hold myself back from jumping over the bar and painting myself on him. My body is crying out for the touch of his.

“You got my sister sprang out of jail, when there was no chance of an appeal. You gave me Mimi back her momma. You want to be sorry for some of that?”

He looks up at me for the first time. His eyes are so dark and sad, I rush to press against the counter and lean toward him but he holds up his hand again.

“I fell off the wagon, Jessica. I fell hard.”

“Well,” my heart is aching for him. How can I show him with a twenty-four carat hero he is for me? How can I tell him he’s practically a saint? “I tell you what, you come and tell Tandi and Mimi what a heel you are. See if you can convince them.”

“I thought I’d beaten it, Jessica. But you never beat it. It never lets you go.”

I climb onto a barstool. As near to him as he’ll let me. I hand stretching over the bar, reaching for. He’s like a statue.

“It started with a couple of beers I had with the cop, McCleary.” He raises his head, like it’s made of iron and he needs a chain to pull it up. “Then a whiskey. And another. And I had bourbon with Jake.” The wells in his eyes are so deep I could dive in and be falling forever. I think I’m falling now. “

I want to hug him. Hold him and tell him it’s all right, but I have to let him speak. Let him open up, in his own time. Wait for him to come to me. I can nurse him. I can heal him. But he has to let me.

“That’s not all, either.”

It’s agonizing for me to watch. It feels like it will tear the heart out of me, but it has to be at his pace. He has to open up in his way. I know it.

“Jessica, on the way home,” he shakes his head. I don’t know the half of what happened that night, only what Tandi was able to find out. I can only imagine what a hell that whole night must have been.

He says, “On the way back, I stopped at a liquor store. Picked up a quart of bourbon. Drank the whole thing in the next, I don’t know, hour?” His head shakes slowly. He rubs his forehead with his hand. Then he looks up, pleading.

He balls up his fists. Clenches them. His eyes flash. “I’m no good, Jessica. Maybe once I was, but I can’t be healed, now.”

I can’t take it any more. I’m about to climb over the bar.

“Don’t.” His voice still has complete command of me. “Don’t, Jessica,” and his anguish is more than I can bear.

I stand in front of him. I’m shaking. “You are not broken. You’re not past repair. I look at you, Christian, I see one of the purest hearts I have ever known. You’ve done the best thing anyone could ever have done for my family, Christian.”

I’m breathing hard and I tell him, “Now you will let me heal you. You will let me do it, and you will come to me willingly.” My blood is rising, my muscles buzz, I feel my fists clench.

“You will let me take care of you, Christian, or I swear, I will knock you down and carry you myself.”

From the far end of the bar, there’s a slow, quiet clap.

The

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