Fractured & Formidable: The Sacred Hearts MC Book V (7 page)

Mandy…

I felt incredibly guilty. I’d programmed Zander’s number
into my contacts but I never called him or texted him and I hadn’t seen or
heard from him either. I had been so completely slammed the last three days,
what with the approaching holiday and now having to plan for the fundraiser and
make sure I had
enough
of everything, including the money it would take
to purchase ingredients… I’d figured out that I wouldn’t be doing
anything
fun for the next two, three months or so if I were going to make my penance for
my late church arrival doable.

I’d worked on Monday, my other day off, to make absolutely
sure that I was ahead of the holiday shoppers we were anticipating for Friday
and to plan all this church fundraiser business out. I wasn’t about to defer
the cost of my mistake to our business, however, I
was
going to make
this a prime free advertising venture by slathering every box of chocolates I
made with the shop’s name, address, phone number and logo in hopes of getting
something out of it.

Hopefully my scheme would go unnoticed by daddy and everyone
would win. He’d look good, Soul Fuel would look good, and the church would
receive the donations it was seeking for both itself and this year’s
fundraising cause, which I didn’t even know what it was this year, but it was
one thing my father let my mother do, so whatever it was, knowing my mom, it
was good. Last year it had gone to a local homeless shelter, the year before it
had been in the name of Saint Francis and had gone to the local animal shelter.

I had a couple of binders full of photos and descriptions of
different chocolates and packaging ideas, ranging from contemporary to fall to
Christmas holiday. I was hoping that my father would be in a good mood and I
could sit down with him and make him a part of things as Thanksgiving dinner
cooked. It was probably way too idealistic of me to think so, but stupidly, I
still held out hope that daddy and I would reach some sort of understanding on
something
that didn’t involve me, or my mother, getting cracked in the mouth and wound up
with us just doing whatever he told us to do in order to keep the illusion of
peace and harmony in place.

I pulled up to the curb in front of their house which was
lit from the inside by a deceptively cheery glow. The clouds hung low and gray
and threatened rain, the sky ominous and drear… or maybe it was just me. I
sighed. The older I’d become the worse my father became. Still, it was
Thanksgiving and while last year Everett had been here to cushion things a bit,
this year she was spending Thanksgiving with Dray and their motorcycle club
family. They had tried valiantly to talk me in to doing the same but I just
couldn’t leave my mom. Not for the holiday.

I went up to the door, one arm burdened with my purse and
two binders and knocked. It opened and my mother blinked at me, surprised.

“Mandy-girl! You don’t need to knock!” she cried and stood
aside. I smiled and glanced into the living room. My father was in his
recliner, the game on as always.

“Hi Daddy!” I called.

“Autumn,” he drawled. I sighed. My father always called me
by my first name and he sounded dour as he’d done it. I forged ahead anyways,

“I brought some sample photos and descriptions for the
fundraiser, packaging ideas and that sort of thing. I thought maybe while
dinner was cooking I could sit down with you and look things over.” I waited,
breath held but all he did was grunt noncommittally. I sighed and my mother
gave me a sympathetic look. We went into the kitchen together, the turkey
already in the oven and set about making a modest amount of sides for our
small, broken, family of three.

When everything was in the ovens and the dishes from cooking
caught up, washed, dried, and put away, I sat at the kitchen island on the high
kitchen stool with the binders and a notepad.

“Okay Baby, show me what you have.” My mother leaned on the
counter and I smiled. I showed her everything I made for the shop or planned to
make for the shop in the future. All of the recipes were her parents’, my
grandparents’ and my mother’s brown eyes shone with pride. She tucked some of
her graying chin length brown hair behind her ears and turned pages, pride
written clearly over her features, etched in her smile.

My mother, unlike me, was small. I think I got my father’s
genes when it came to build. I wasn’t
quite
as tall as him, but I was
certainly closer to him in build. We don’t know what recessive gene caused the ginger
in me. My dad’s hair was brown like my mother’s and his eyes a pale watery
blue. My mother had a light smattering of freckles but not like my riot of
them. I took after her in the looks department through and through. Same nose,
same ears, same shape of the face. We weren’t one hundred percent on where my
hazel eyes had come from either.

“Hey Daddy, did you want to see these!?” I called.

“I’m watching the game!” he called back tersely. My mother
and I exchanged a look and I rolled my eyes. She put a hand over her mouth and
suppressed a laugh. I set the table before the appointed time could arrive and
couldn’t help but feel sad that it was only three places I set. I sighed
silently, and wondered what Zander was doing for Thanksgiving, and realized he
was with the MC along with Evy and Dray. I didn’t think he had any other
family. At least I’d never heard of any.

My mother had put together a beautiful centerpiece of
candles and colored leaves to reflect the holiday. The candles were unscented
and off white with just a hint of a golden hue. It made me think of almonds for
some reason. I dug around in the kitchen junk drawer and found a lighter for
the three candles of varying height, lighting them as my mother brought the
Turkey out of the oven. I helped her get the bird onto the serving platter and
the sides out to the table.

“Daddy! Dinner!” I called and smiled, suffused with a quiet
pride at my mother’s accomplishment. The television clicked off in the living
room and my father, who was a big man, tall with broad shoulders, lumbered into
the living room. He was dressed comfortably in a blue button down shirt and
khaki pants. My mother wore a gray pair of slacks and a cream colored blouse. I
wore a comfortable pair of fitted jeans and a thick, cream colored cable knit
sweater that fell to just above my knees. I’d completed the outfit with a brown
belt and brown riding boots and added a brown suede headband to hold back my
copper corkscrew curls. I thought I looked quite fashionable for the holiday.
Leave it to my father…

“Jeans? You couldn’t dress appropriately for the holiday?
It’s Thanksgiving Autumn.” He was both demanding and chiding in equal measure
and I stared at him a moment, wide eyed. My mother, as always tried to draw his
fire.

“Oh goodness Jim, let her be comfortable! I think she looks
lovely!” my mother said and plastered a false smile on to her face. It didn’t
keep the worry or the fear out of her eyes though. I held my breath to see how
he would respond… fifty-fifty as always.

“Nice spread this year Melinda. You’ve outdone yourself,” he
grunted.

Hallelujah!
He picked up the carving knife and fork
and my mother and I took our seats and let him portion out the Turkey.

“Light or dark meat Dear?” he asked my mother.

“A little of both please?” she smiled up at him with
affection and I felt a wistful pang and wondered how on Earth she could do it,
after all these years and just… everything. But there it was, she still loved
my father.

“Autumn?” he asked.

“Light please,” I smiled and asked if he wanted some green
bean casserole. He chuckled, actually chuckled and said of course like I knew
he would. My mother’s green bean casserole was his favorite. I had ever
climbing hopes that this was actually going to be a pleasant experience this
time. I mean they
did
happen, they had just become rare as of late. We
made it through the mealtime prayer without any snide or cutting remarks and
began to eat our meal.

“Oh! Mandy! You absolutely
must
show your father your
ideas for the fundraiser packaging! Jim, our daughter has really outdone
herself with her new business. You should really be proud of her!” My mother
glowed with enthusiasm but it was the wrong choice of words.

“Woman, you don’t tell me what I should and should not be
proud of.” Mom and I both paused.

“I… I’m sorry…” my mother stammered caught off guard. I
closed my eyes. His fist came down on the table.

“What did I tell you!?” he demanded.
We apologize in this
house. We don’t say we’re sorry.
I’d heard it a million times growing up.
My mother and I never understood why my father had something against the phrase
I’m sorry
but we were almost always corrected to say ‘I apologize’
instead. It was a mark of how flustered my mother was that she’d forgotten such
a detail.

My dad cut into his turkey, sawing into the tender white
meat savagely, all the while an endless insulting diatribe issued forth out of
his mouth against my mother. My mother, an impossibly sweet woman who despite
what an utter
asshole
my father was, still loved him, still stayed with
him and still put up with him. I clenched my teeth as a seething anger took
hold, lighting me up from the inside out. My hands, which I kept clenched in my
lap, shook with how hard I gripped them and I kept my eyes fixed on my half
eaten plate.

My mother sat across from me meek, and I raised my eyes to
meet hers. She shook her head imperceptibly a pleading look in her soulful
brown eyes and something inside me just snapped. I stood up abruptly, chair
scraping back against the hardwood floor.

“Sit down!” my father barked and I stared down at him for
several heartbeats. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to scream at my mother,
I wanted to shake them both and demand of them did they not see how
broken
this was? How sick and just twisted and
wrong
our family had become?

I marched into the kitchen and swept my purse, binders and
keys into my arms. My mother and father rose and he reached out to grab my arm
as I went for the front door. I wasn’t going to do this, not today! This was
utterly ridiculous!

I didn’t know exactly what had gotten into me. Maybe it was
Dray’s talk the last time I had come home from my parent’s. Maybe it was how
hard he and Everett both had tried to convince me to spend Thanksgiving with
them rather than here. Maybe it was even a little of Zander. It felt like he’d
disappeared on me again, and even though I had to admit that he’d left me his
number and I hadn’t exactly reached out to him either… Gah! I just bottled all
of it up in the same god forsaken bottle and for whatever reason this, now,
today
was the time and place that particular cork decided to go flying.

I ripped open the front door, and started down the walkway,
my parents hot on my heels.

“Autumn Amanda Price!” my father shouted and I froze. I
turned just in time for him to grab me, shaking me by the shoulders.

“Get your hands off me!” I shouted at the same time he was
screaming something about me being ungrateful and disrespectful. I shouted
back, giving no quarter.

“Me disrespectful! How about
you!?
Up there preaching
God’s word every Sunday but do you actually practice
anything
that you…”
his hand flashed out of nowhere in a wicked open handed backhand that caught me
right in the mouth. I let my head snap to the side with the blow. You went with
it and it typically left just a red handprint, it’s when you braced against it
you got bruised.

“Jim!” my mother cried, dismayed and jumped back, her eyes
fixed over my shoulder. My dad looked up and he turned several shades darker
red than he’d already been and I turned too, to see
Zander
striding up
the sidewalk and across our grass the devil’s own fire in his eyes, his car
parked down the block, driver’s door swinging wide.

“Zander no!” I cried dropping my binders to the walk,
abandoning them to the grass, I put both hands to his chest and pushed but it
was like trying to stop a juggernaut. Once it was in motion… he stopped though,
chest heaving and stared my dad down for a minute over my shoulder before turning
his eyes on me. My expression must have been frozen into one of sheer
desperation because his look softened.

“Red, you okay Baby?” He cradled my face in his hands, his
thumb gently grazing my lip, I jolted at the raw sting of it and his expression
darkened. He pointed at my dad.

“You touch her again I will
fucking break you
!”
Zander snarled. My dad drew himself up to his full height which was taller than
Zander, of course, but then again
I
was taller than Zander. I blinked.
Zander
was here. On my parent’s front lawn.

It dawned on me just then and I found myself blurting
“Zander! What are you
doing
here!?”

He returned those warm brown eyes to mine and his mouth
compressed into a thin line. He pulled me into the shelter of his arms, my
hands still pressed flat to the slick leather of his motorcycle vest, the name
patch that read ‘Revelator’ rough beneath my fingers.

“I told you, Red, not disappearing on you again.” He gave me
a watery version of that devilish grin, the chip in his tooth both endearing and
menacing at the same time but he’d lost some of the tightly coiled rage when
he’d taken me into his arms.

“Just who are you!?” my father demanded, Zander turned a
rough look in his direction.

“I’m the guy who’s gonna fuck up your entire world if you
ever
lay a hand on your kid or your wife again,” he said. My father gave him an
imperious look and looked me straight in the eyes before he said: