Tethered Souls: A Nine Minutes Spin-Off Novel by Beth Flynn
I explained how it all started with an innocent comment from a girlfriend when I was a senior in high school. We’d been looking at pictures from an outing at the lake. There were about six of us, and a stranger offered to take a group photo. There I stood in my bathing suit next to the tallest, thinnest guy in the class. His name was Rodney, and he was the school’s star basketball player. Rodney was over six feet tall, and was extremely slender, to the point of looking gangly. My girlfriend said something to the effect that even though I wasn’t, I looked huge when standing next to him. She didn’t mean anything by it. She wasn’t a mean girl at all, but the comment stuck. I’d never been overly concerned about my weight. I’d always thought I looked okay, but that remark burrowed its way into my subconscious, and revealed itself again after I’d suffered a nasty stomach bug and lost six pounds in one week. My jeans felt a little loose, and I wondered how I would look in a smaller size. I knew what I had to do to achieve that. I knew it worked, so I gave it a shot.
I told Christian how I felt that I was in control, and I could stop binging and purging anytime I wanted. What I hadn’t realized was how my eating disorder manifested itself in a different way.
“Binging and purging?” he asked, obviously not familiar with the terminology.
“Eating whatever I want, as much as I want, and making myself throw it all up,” I explained, as I focused on the dark, callused hand that was holding mine tightly.
When he didn’t say anything, I cut my eyes back to his and I could tell by his crinkled forehead that he was trying to understand. Instead of attempting to explain the psychology behind why I would do this, which I wasn’t sure I even understood myself, I blurted out the excuse I used for continuing to do it.
I told Christian that my biological father, Grizz, was very much alive and living just over the border in North Carolina. Christian stared at me, the shock evident in his expression as the air between us crackled with unspoken tension.
“Grizz?” he asked, his chiseled jaw tightening. “The man you’ve been calling James and referring to as your stepfather? The one your mother left Florida to be with?”
I nodded.
Dropping my hand he stood up and looked down at me. “He didn’t die on death row?”
Tilting my head up to meet his eyes, I shook it.
“How?” He scratched at his chin, and let his eyes wander around the room. Was he concerned that Grizz might show up? I didn’t see fear in his eyes so I dismissed the thought.
Taking a deep breath, I told him, “When I asked Grizz the same thing, he said that anybody could be bought for the right price. I don’t need to tell you the kind of wealth he accumulated during his tenure as the leader of a powerful motorcycle club. When you consider that he lived in a run-down motel until he built a house for my mother, he had nowhere to spend his money. I can only assume he’s responsible for giving several people in the prison system an early, extremely comfortable retirement.”
I watched as he took it all in, his head slightly bobbing as the mental cartwheels found a place to land. Then his brow creased and he countered, “What does that have to do with you throwing up? Purging, right?"
Nodding, I blew out a long breath and looked at the floor. “I guess keeping Grizz's secret has had more of a negative effect than I let myself believe. When I had my accident, my father couldn’t visit me in the big city hospital that was an hour and a half away from our home. He wanted to, but my mom begged him not to. He won’t be coming to my college graduation. I would never be able to bring anyone home to meet my parents for fear he be recognized.” I looked up, and my voice rose an octave. “Look at the guy we met in Chicky's who knew him!” I slapped my hand on my knee.
I craned my head to look at the ceiling. “And what could I possibly have been thinking by dating a criminal justice major? That was just a disaster in the making.” I paused. “But Grizz isn’t responsible for my binging and purging. I found that when those things bothered me or I would dwell on my situation, I would stress eat. A lot of food. And weight gain wasn’t a concern because I knew how to expertly conceal what I was doing. I throw up in the shower when I don’t want to be heard. If something solid comes up, I ground it down into the drain.” Taking a deep breath, I quietly added, “It obviously didn’t make it down this drain thanks to the hair clog.”
“When we stopped on our way home from Chicky’s…”
“I went in the bathroom to throw up my dinner. Seeing someone who knew my father unnerved me.”
“So you don’t do it all the time?” he asked, sounding somewhat relieved. He leaned his back against the beam where he’d left me shackled just days before and crossed his arms.
“No.” I shook my head. “But I’m always prepared just in case.”
“How?” He cocked his head to the right, and his long hair covered Abby's name tattooed on his bicep.
“The orange Cheetos. The red licorice. I usually eat them, and other brightly colored foods, as a marker.”
He shook his head, not understanding. “A marker?”
“I ate the red licorice on the way to the restaurant, before I ate the wings. That way, if I chose to vomit later—and by later I mean within thirty minutes of the meal—I have a way to know when I’ve completely emptied my stomach. I kept puking until I saw red.”
I waited for his reaction, not sure if I could bear to see disdain in his eyes. He hacked a guy’s arm off. Cut yourself some slack, Mimi. I sat up a little straighter.
Christian noticed the change in my posture, and a hint of a smile formed at the corner of his mouth. “Is that it, Mimi?” Pushing off the beam he walked toward me, extending his hand. “A father who’s not really dead and an eating disorder?” He softly yanked me up from the couch.
Releasing a long breath, I shook my head. “There’s one more thing you should know.”
Christian handled my last and final confession with words of comfort and reassurance, and then asked me again, “Is that all of it?”
“Isn’t that enough?” I cried, trying to avoid his eyes. I thought he was going to pull me into his arms, but he didn’t. Instead, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and lightly held my face between his hands.
Kissing the tip of my nose, he said, “I’m not going to pretend to understand the eating disorder thing, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. And I’m assuming you can get some help with it?”
I blinked and gave him a slight nod. “Yes, there are therapists who specialize in it, but I’ve never seen one.”
“We’ll make sure you do.” He gave me a wide smile. “Your undead father and the last thing you mentioned don’t change my feelings either. As a matter of fact, I can’t think of anything you could tell me that would cause me to not love you or think less of you.”
The relief must’ve shown on my face because he added, “If anything, I’m sorta glad.”
I stepped back, my eyes wide. “Glad?”
“Not glad like you think. I’m just glad you aren’t flawless, Mimi. I need you to not be perfect. Thinking that you didn’t have any faults kind of nagged at me.”
“I think I get that,” I admitted. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything,” he replied.
“Don’t keep an eye on me or what I eat. I won’t be able to handle you thinking you can do something to fix it. I already feel stronger after telling you about Grizz. That was a heavy load to carry. Thank you for not freaking out.”
“I got you, Mimi,” he said, pulling me into the warmth of his rock-hard chest. “I’ll always have you.”
Chapter 30
Pumpkin Rest, South Carolina 2007
We ate our pancakes and wandered downstairs to the basement. I'd never played pool and Christian decided he would teach me. We ended up making love on the pool table instead. I didn't complain, but had to finally admit that I was starting to get tender.
We were putting our clothes back on when he asked me, "So you said something before about not coming when
I stiffened, embarrassed. "Yeah, what about it?"
"But you had come before, right? Just not like that?"
I whirled around to face him. He was buckling his belt. "Yes, I've come before, Christian. I know what an orgasm is. You don't go as long as I have without sex, and not figure out a way to compensate for it." I rolled my eyes and yanked up my jeans.
"So do you use your fingers or something with batteries?" he teased.
I busted out laughing. I’d already put on my jeans and was reaching for my bra when I inquired, “This is turning you on, isn't it?"
"Everything about you turns me on, Mimi. I want to watch you make yourself come."
"Now?" I asked, incredulously.
He shook his head. "Nope. I'm gonna save it for our honeymoon." His smile was like a flash of blinding sunshine.
I may have been sore, but just the thought of what he wanted to watch me do caused a rush of heat that hit me right between my thighs. "Aren't we kind of already on our honeymoon?" I asked, as I slowly removed my jeans and panties and kicked them to the side.
After another round of exploratory lovemaking we went upstairs and found that the light veil of snow had already melted away and the noon sun was shining bright and warm.
"The snow is gone." Christian looked down at me, bewilderment in his expression.
"It's not that unusual," I explained. "Besides, we didn't get as much as they predicted. I'm sure other places got slammed but we got barely a dusting."
"But snow in spring is normal?"
"It's technically not spring. Yeah, I'm on spring break, but this is still a winter month."
"You were wearing shorts yesterday, it snowed last night, and it's already warming up."
I nodded. "Yeah, it took a while for me to get used to it, but we're in a southern state yet still at a high elevation. The forecast isn't always accurate. We've had predictions of a dusting and we get twelve inches. Last night they were saying to expect almost six inches, and we got barely a flake." I shrugged my shoulders. "And the temperature is supposed to dip again tonight."
He nodded before asking me, "Wanna ride?" He scratched his chin. "It feels warm enough."
"Ride what?"
"I brought a motorcycle."
"You brought your bike with you? Here?" I knew I sounded skeptical.
"Yeah. Um, no. It's not my bike." He gave me a wicked grin.
"Whose bike is it?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Some idiot in Georgia who didn't have the smarts to lock the damn thing."
I tried not to smile as he continued with his explanation.
"It was sitting in the middle of nowhere with a for sale sign on it. I'm driving my buddy's truck and it's the kind with the extended bed. And he happened to have a piece of wood in the back."
"Happened to have a piece of wood in the back?" I interrupted. "Why do I get the impression your buddy has it there for a reason?"
"Because he probably does," he answered in a flash. "Anyway, I stopped and rolled the motorcycle right up into the bed." He waved toward the rear of the house. "It's around back."
I put my hands on my hips and tried to look stern. "So, you want to take me for a ride on a motorcycle that you stole in another state?"
"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up."
"Give me time to pack us a lunch," I laughed as I headed for the kitchen.
* * *
I was grateful that South Carolina didn't have a helmet requirement. It would've given law enforcement a reason to stop us should they have seen us. I cautioned Christian on the roads.
"I know the snow has melted off, but we should be careful anyway," I warned. My parents would be having a fit if they knew I was on the back of a bike without a helmet, but since South Carolina didn't have a helmet law, I wasn't too concerned.
I clung to Christian, not because I was concerned with how he was handling the road, but because I wanted to. Just like being in his arms and in his bed felt right, so did being on the back of his stolen ride. There was no denying it. Being with Christian was where I belonged.
With my arms wrapped tightly around him, I pressed my cheek against his back and inhaled the scent of his hair, his jacket, him. Like the proverbial son who finally found his way home, I knew I'd found my way. Back to my soul mate. Back to Christian Bear.
We rode for almost an hour when he finally pulled over and asked if I wanted to find a picnic table somewhere outside.
"You sure you’re warm?" he asked.
"The sun feels glorious!" I shouted. "Besides, I feel like I'm hugging a space heater. I'm almost too warm," I laughed over his shoulder.
"That sign a few miles back said we're coming up on a state park. I was gonna say we could turn around and head back to that diner if you want to."
"The park," was my response, and he pulled back onto the road.
We found a secluded spot and sat down at a table that was in the sun. I took out the lunch I packed, and silently thanked the bike's owner for having saddlebags.
"Are you keeping the motorcycle?" I asked, giving Christian a sideways glance as I unwrapped our sandwiches.
He was fiddling with his phone and answered, "Nah. I don't need a bike. When I saw it I imagined you on the back of it and took advantage of the opportunity." His eyes cut to mine and he added, "But I'm not returning it. I'll leave it somewhere so it can be found."
"I was just curious," I admitted. "I wasn't trying to give my opinion on what you should do with it." I sat down in front of him. "I just don't want you to get caught with it."
He flashed his pearly whites at me, and I thought I felt butterflies in my stomach, but it ended up being more of a lion instead. When my stomach growled, he chuckled, and took a bite of his sandwich. After a few more bites he asked, "What is this?"
"It's a veggie sandwich. What? You don't like it?"
"It doesn't have any meat on it?"
"That would be the definition of a veggie sandwich." I wasn't being sarcastic, just goofy. "We were out of almost everything. Do you have to have meat?" I took a swig of my bottled water.
"The last time you saw me naked I had testicles, right?" he scoffed.
I spit out my water, laughing. "So where you come from, meat and testicles are synonymous. Got it."
After we cleaned up our mess, I reached for my phone. "Did any messages or calls come through on yours?"
He shook his head. "Not anything new." He proceeded to answer my unspoken questions by offering up details as to how he'd managed to avoid having his phone traced in the event someone knew what he was up to. "And I called my mom yesterday when we stopped on the way home from Chicky's."
"And she didn't suspect anything?"
"Nope." He downed the last of his water. "Any more messages from Lucas?"
"Yes, but nothing from Bettina about Josh." I'd already shared with Christian that even though Lucas wasn't expecting me to reply, he'd been sending me daily texts about how much he missed me. If I'd had even the slightest guilt concerning Lucas, Christian's revelation had squelched it. But Lucas wasn't my concern. I'd explained to Christian over breakfast that in addition to Josh's illness, my bigger worry was my parents’ friend, Bill Petty. When we left Florida, he was the man who'd assumed responsibility for scanning the internet and detecting any searches or inquiries on me and my family.
I nervously fiddled with the cross on my necklace and looked at Christian. "I'm still a little shocked that your friend searched the internet to find me and it didn't alert Bill."
"Maybe it did." His answer was casual, like he didn't have a care in the world.
I shook my head. "No. My mother would've immediately called or texted. She doesn't know."
Our conversation somehow circled back to my parents, and then zeroed in on my father's former motorcycle club. I was surprised when Christian admitted that he'd been riding with my father's old gang, until his arrest and subsequent prison time. I should've been shocked when he told me wha
"Are you still a member or did they kick you out for getting arrested?"
He threw his head back and laughed. "Are you kidding me? I was their inside guy in prison while I did my time. So I guess I'm still a member, but I haven't seen them. Besides, it was a condition of my probation." He waited for me to say something and when I didn't he continued, "And before you say anything, this is different."
I cocked my head to the side and asked, "Leaving the state and kidnapping isn't a condition of your probation?” He didn’t reply so I added, “Not to mention the stolen motorcycle. I guess it’s a good thing we’re in another state. I highly doubt they’re looking for it here.”
His answer was a mischievous wink.
He filled me in on some details about the gang, which I'd thought had disbanded when Grizz supposedly died.
"They floundered for awhile. Especially after Grizz gave Blue a pass to leave, which is unheard of in the biker community. But too many people respected your father to hold Blue accountable. Besides, he's back. He's been their prez for a few years now."
Shocked, my ears perked up and I sat up straight.
"I didn't know he was back with the gang. I wonder if my father knows?" Before Christian could reply, I added, "My mom ran into Blue right before Christmas."
It was Christian's turn to be shocked. Without any prompting I continued, "To make a long story short, my mother and her sister, who she only met for the first time a few years ago, took a trip to Florida. My father wasn't thrilled with the idea, but he understood that my aunt Jodi, who'd never known her real mother, wanted some type of connection to the past." I tapped my fingers on the picnic table. "It was only a two-day trip where my mother promised to avoid familiar neighborhoods and old hangouts. She was planning on showing Aunt Jodi the house she lived in, her school, where their mother worked. Stuff like that. Mom happened to drive by Razors, and mentioned to Jodi that Grizz used to own it."
"It's not a biker bar anymore," Christian interrupted. "It's like a bistro or cafe or something, and Blue owns it now."