Madeline Sheehan - Unattainable

My stomach seized and my tears spilled over.

“Let her go!” my mother cried.

“Dammit!” Eva yelled, trying to pry Deuce off of me. “You’re hurting her! Let her go!”

“Is there a problem here?” Both detectives had joined the fray and were both frowning heavily at Deuce.

“You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he barked in their direction. “My kid is who the fuck knows where with holes in him and you pantsuit-wearin’ motherfucks are askin’ me if there’s a motherfuckin’ problem?”

Again, the two detectives glanced at each other.

“Cole West,” the male said, his voice flat, his expression clearly repulsed.

“Yeah,” he snarled. “You wanna fuckin’ autograph?”

“Either you release Ms. Matthews,” the female warned, “or I will arrest you for assault.”

“Baby,” Eva said softly, running her hand up his arm and gripping his bicep. “This isn’t Tegen’s fault and even if it was, this isn’t helping Cage at all.”

Nostrils flaring, glaring down at me, Deuce yanked me roughly forward and up onto my tiptoes.

“Get the fuck outta this hospital,” he gritted out. “Stay the fuck away from my boy and my fuckin’ club. I see you, Tegen, I fuckin’ so much as smell you, I will crack your fuckin’ skull wide open.”

With a hard shove, he sent me stumbling sideways into my mother.

“Let’s go,” she whispered loudly, gripping tightly to my middle. “Right now, baby.”

“Don’t leave town, Ms. Matthews,” the male detective called out.

Shaking, I turned my body into my mother and let her guide me toward the elevators.

“I mean it, D,” Deuce bellowed from behind us. “I see her anywhere near—”

My mother skidded to a stop and whirled around. “You’ll never see her again!” she spat angrily. “You’ll never see me or my kids again!

“And if this is anyone’s fault,” she continued. “It’s mine for bringing an innocent little girl around a criminal motorcycle club full of self-important assholes who think with their dicks and their guns instead of their brains!”

On our way to the elevators, we passed by Danny, Ripper, Cox, and Jase, and I turned back toward my mother, refusing to meet their eyes.

“D!” Jase called out.

My mother picked up her pace.

“D, what the fuck!”

Stopping again, she spun around to face Jase as he quickly approached us, and pointed her index finger at him. “Don’t say a fucking word,” she hissed. “I’m not married to you, I don’t share a child with you, I have absolutely nothing in this world tying me to you.”

Jase’s eyes widened. “But you said we could talk.”

“I said that before my daughter was forced to experience yet another violent result of your club, and then publicly humiliated and shunned by the only family she’s ever had because of it!”

“D,” he whispered, raising his arm and holding out his hand. “Don’t do this.”

Setting me aside, my mother stepped forward and slapped Jase’s hand away.

“Come near me again,” she spat, her features twisting with disgust and hatred. “And I will kill you.”

One year later…

Time passes differently when you’re stuck in emotional limbo. It’s slower. Hours go by at a snail’s pace, your feet drag through the days, the weeks; years take forever to come and go. You don’t see things as they are but instead you see them as the way you feel. Things are dark, heavy, even the air feels weighted down. People aren’t smiling at you, they’re whispering about you, they’re laughing.

Not even the sunniest day can overcome the shield of gray skies you’ve built around yourself.

I spent nearly all my life stuck inside an emotional limbo of my own making, constantly waiting for my life to begin, yet completely unaware that with each passing year, I’d remained cemented in the same frame of mind, unable to break free from my own binds.

But once you’ve broken free, the world speeds back up, the days fly by too fast and the nights even faster. You see things differently, in color as opposed to Technicolor. The sun begins to peek out from behind the clouds and suddenly you can see again; you notice people, places, and things you’ve never noticed before. Even the stupid stuff, unimportant in the bigger scheme yet utterly important in that one single, solitary moment, but only because you noticed it and it affected you in a way that made you feel something.

You see a smile for what it really is.

You see people for who they really are.

You know love for the first time.

But most importantly, you can see yourself through the eyes of an unbiased mind and you realized that all that self-loathing, that wishing and wanting, the years spent trying to become someone, anyone else than who you were, was never necessary because there had been nothing wrong with you in the first place. All you’d ended up doing by running and hiding was hurting yourself and everyone else around you.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that, Tegen?” Christopher asked.

My smile grew. “I’m so proud of you,” I told him as I rolled over on our picnic blanket and reached out to tickle his belly.

Giggling, he swatted my hand away. “Mommy’s proud of me too,” he said.

“Everyone is proud of you,” I teased. “Mister, I started kindergarten this week.”

“I miss being home with Mommy.”

“Aww,” I cooed, lifting my hand to ruffle through his long red hair. “I miss being home with her too. I was little once too, you know.”

“You lived inside her tummy, too?”

I nodded. “I did.”

Christopher wrinkled up his little button nose. “But you’re so big!”

I burst out laughing. “Watch it,” I said. “Girls don’t like it when boys say stuff like that.”

I wasn’t big, not at all, but I had put on quite a bit of weight in the last year, thanks to my mother’s round-the-clock cooking.

Christopher went back to playing with his Legos and, knowing I’d been dismissed, with a sigh I rolled back over and squinted up at the sunny California sky.

This was how life should have been from the get-go for my mother and me. Not that I would trade my brother for all the time travel in the world, but even at my age, living with my mother again, I knew peace for what it truly was.

We had a small apartment in downtown San Francisco with only two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a kitchenette. We were living off only my salary and my mother’s disability checks, but we made it work.

And it did.

In fact, the first few months aside, the past year had been one of the most peaceful ones I’d ever had. The three of us did everything together; my mother and Christopher even walked with me to work most days. We always had something to do—trips to the farmer’s market, walks around the city, movies at night, picnics in the park.

And once a month Hawk would ride into town to see Christopher. He’d sleep on the living room couch, spend a week, sometimes less, and then just as quickly was gone. He never spoke of the club, of Deuce or Cage, and neither of us ever asked. Things were quiet and, after everything that had happened, I wanted to keep it that way.

The first few days after Cage had gotten shot were a painful blur to me. My apartment was a crime scene; I was questioned repeatedly by police detectives, and then later by the FBI and the ATF. Everyone wanted to get in on the action; apparently when one brick fell within the confines of a criminal organization, it was expected that all four walls would eventually crumble.

But the Hell’s Horsemen’s walls stood strong, despite it all. Mouths stayed shut, secrets stayed hidden, and the club stayed as strong as ever.

Even so, the entire disaster had made national news, and slowly but surely Hell’s Horsemen and Silver Demons from all over the country began invading San Francisco. The city was crawling with bikers, small riots broke out, and many arrests were made.

They’d come from all corners to show their support for Deuce’s son, a fellow brother. They sat vigils outside the hospital, they revved their engines in unison, a chrome and leather prayer for one of their own.

Cage made it through surgery, but not yet able to breathe on his own, was immediately placed on a ventilator. For a few weeks it was touch and go, and no one knew if he were going to live or die.

And he did die. Twice, actually. Both times doctors were able to restart his heart, and both times Deuce was arrested for assault on hospital staff.

I knew very little of this firsthand as I hadn’t done much but sleep and try to eat for those first few weeks, wishing I could go to the hospital to see Cage, just to touch him, to tell him I loved him…to tell him how sorry I was.

To just be by his side.

It never happened.

When he was well enough to be flown home, that was the last I knew of Cage. My mother eventually asked Eva to stop calling, and Eva respected her wishes.

As far as I knew, ZZ had never been found. Every so often I would get a phone call from the government asking if he’d made contact with me. I’d say no, they’d give me a number to call in case he ever did, and that was that.

Was I happy? No, not really. But I was at peace.

I could honestly say that despite the guilt, the regret, and the space of emptiness inside me that would always be reserved for Cage, I was at peace. I was with my mother again. She’d come clean to me, informing me that most of her memories had been restored, and I had a happy, healthy, beautiful little brother. Life, for the first time ever, was simple.