Bared:Dirty Cruisers MC(9)

By: Brook Wilder

Stop being an asshole, that little voice said again and he tried to ignore it. But he couldn’t ignore the twinge of guilt that had brought him to where he was now, standing on Elle’s doorstep in front of her brightly painted, cheerful yellow door. He didn’t know why that would surprise him. It suited her.

Finally, he raised his hand again and knocked, spurred on not as much by the need to apologize as the other need that boiled through him. The need to see her. To just…be around her. He’d never felt that for another woman before and it made his skin itch, it made him shift uncomfortably on the pristine step waiting for her to answer.

He waited. And waited some more. He looked towards the driveway in confusion but her car was parked there, the little white and red compact thing that couldn’t go more than forty miles an hour by the looks of it. With growing impatience, he knocked again. But still no answer.

With a sigh, he started to turn around but stopped himself. Fuck it. He hadn’t driven all the way out here just to walk away when there was a little hitch in the plan. Resolved, Honey spun himself back around and grabbed the door knob. It turned with the slightest pressure and his eyes widened in surprise as the door swung open, unlocked.

He shook his head again. What was she thinking leaving the damned thing open? Anyone could walk in. A criminal. A murderer! Silently fuming he walked inside, closing the door softly behind him and throwing the lock with a scowl. He’d have to teach her how to look after herself better. With the intent set in his mind he took a step forward, and froze once more.

He was stopped in his tracks as he looked around wide-eyed at her house. It was exactly as he would have imagined it: warm, inviting, with the smell of freshly baked cookies and spice permeating the air. To his left was a small kitchen with tidy white cabinets and a small bar height table that looked like it would only fit one. Everything was neat. Everything was in its place. It all screamed of her.

He scanned to his right, into a small living room area and walked closer as something caught his eye. It was a small framed photograph hanging on the wall. It was the only photo that he could see in the whole house and he leaned close to get a better look.

It was her, Elle. She must have been only six or seven when the photo was taken. The little girl in the picture was standing proudly in between a beaming couple holding what looked to be a 2nd place ribbon. He realized then how little he knew about her. The couple in the photo must be Elle’s parents. He wondered why she didn’t have any more pictures out. He wondered why she never mentioned them.

Not that you’ve been particularly forthcoming about your own past, that soft inner voice whispered and he shrugged it off. She didn’t want to hear about the twisted, troubled path that had lead him to where he was, and she sure as hell didn’t need to know about just how fucked up his life had been before the Dirty Cruisers, and Joel, had saved him.

He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with his train of thought. Slowly, he turned around, opening his mouth to speak, to call out for her, but just then the most beautiful sound fell on his ear. It was soft, almost ethereal, as if he was dreaming it but it drew him forward, his feet moving almost of their own accord as he searched for the source of the music.

Honey halted once more as he reached the back room. The walls were plastered with sheet music and posters from old concerts, and in the very middle stood a large, glossy black piano that hid him from view as he stopped just inside the doorway. He eased around slowly, softly, so as not to disturb the magnificent music coming from the instrument and stopped once more when he could finally see her.

His warm eyes widened slightly in surprise to see Elle, her eyes closed in rapture as her fine boned fingers flew across the keys as if by magic. Sitting next to her on the long piano bench was a small boy, probably no more than nine or ten and he stared at her with awe shining in his eyes.

Honey knew exactly how he felt. That same awe swept over him, carried by the crash and wave of the music as it reached its crescendo, drawing him into another place, another time. And for a brief moment as he watched her, he felt transformed as well. His eyes traced over her, drinking her in, and he was lost.


Lightness. That’s all Elle felt as her fingers moved from memory over the keys of her most prized possession. It was the piano that her parents had given her after she’d won a piano competition. The last gift they ever gave her. Sometimes she hated the thing, and the painful memories it drew up. But other times, like now, it felt like a pure extension of her.

As the music flew from her fingertips, her eyes closed tight as the last few notes of ‘Clare De Lune’ fell softly into the air like feathers. Slowly, she blinked them open, taking a moment to readjust to the world around her again, the real world, as she nodded down at the small boy sitting next to her.