Pipe Dream - Dark Shadows MC 3

I wish I could say when I stopped feeling like I was married, but it was a slippery feeling, one that eased through the cracks like smoke. One day, everything was crystal clear, a future set before us that was expected. Predictable. Safe.

And then it was erased. Eroded. Stolen.

“You heading out, Jesse?”

I startle at the voice, realizing I’d zoned out, staring into space, my sweatshirt rucked up halfway around my waist. I tug the hemline into place as I look over at Sam, the Director of Nursing at Willowbank’s only nursing home–and my boss.

Reaching back, I pull my honey brown hair out from where it’s tucked underneath my collar, giving her a close-mouthed smile. “Yeah, I need to head to the hospital.”

It’s not a leap to figure out why she’d seek me out after I just finished a grueling 10-hour shift, but I’m not about to preempt her as she shifts her weight, expression tightening. She tries to smile back, but it’s more of a grimace as she holds up her phone, shaking it. this story belongs to Mackenzie Madden. If you’re reading this anywhere but on Patreon or Inkitt, it’s been stolen.

“Camille just called in sick. Again.” She huffs, but the frustration is fair, because we both know the other CNA won’t be at home with a head cold.

Sam shoots me a pleading look, her eyes wide and unblinking. “I’ve got absolutely no one to cover her…” she trails off hopefully, waiting for me to leap at the offer. I don’t blame her for the assumption, because usually I’d take whatever hours I could, but–

“I’ve already pulled four doubles this week, Sam. I’m at the limit.”

She falters, surprise flashing across her face, but she regroups. “I could–” The company policy is firm on how many hours we pull in one week, so before she suggests something that could potentially put both our jobs at risk, I cut her off.

“And I’m headed to the hospital.”

“Oh, of course.” She deflates, defeat pinching at the corners of her mouth. A heavy pause fills the air between us, reluctance edging into her expression, but she’s going to ask me anyway, because it’s the expected, polite thing to do. “How is, um… how is Lorraine doing?”

And because it’s also expected that I don’t tell her to fuck right off, I plaster an artificial smile on my face–the kind where the tips of your lips twitch up, not even allowing a sliver of tooth to show. “She’s okay.”

Sam bobs her head up and down several times, flailing for something else to say, but I don’t help her out, too tired to play this game with her. Eventually, she jiggles her phone, taking a step back.

“Guess I’d better get on, huh? Gotta find cover for this shift from somewhere.” The laugh she lets escape is too abrupt, too loud, and then she’s gone, the echo of it lingering in the air.

I stare at the space she’d vacated, wondering how talking about someone dying could be such an uncomfortable subject when we work somewhere surrounded by death, but I suppose it’s different when the person you’re talking about is only fifty-two and was the picture of life two years ago. It reminded everyone of their own mortality, I guess, infusing them with fear that maybe their turn is next, as if knowing someone with cancer means they’re going to catch it just by thinking about them.

I knew better, but the unpredictable nature of the disease had taught me better a long time ago.

Feeling my thoughts turning dark, I drag myself out of the pit and grab my phone, checking the time. I curse, seeing more time had slipped by then I’d intended, and I only have thirty minutes to get to the hospital before visiting hours finish. My truck died over a week ago, and even though my feet ached like a bitch, I’d planned to walk over. Now, though, I can’t risk being late, not when every minute I lost with my mom was a minute I’d never ever get back.

The sounds of a ticking clock infiltrated my life months ago, and it’s so loud that it overshadows every single thought, even in my dreams.

I pull up the ride-share app and order a car, sighing heavily when I see the name of the driver. Willowbank is small, the kind of place where you know almost everyone. It wasn’t such a bad thing when I was younger, because it meant everyone knew me and they knew the people I had at my back. These days, though, I’m pretty damn isolated and everywhere I go, eyes were on me like I’m a bomb set to go off–the sad, exhausted woman with an absent husband, a dying mother and not much fucking else.

I grab my bag and head out to wait for my ride, which arrives within three minutes–another bonus to small towns. I slide into the front seat, sending Mrs. Mathews a small smile. “Hey, Mrs. M,” I greet. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Still haven’t got your truck fixed, honey?” she chirps, waiting for me to buckle up before pulling away from the curb. “Hasn’t Harry been able to fit you in? He’s gotten so busy since–” she cuts herself off abruptly, and I roll my lips between my teeth, keeping my eyes firmly out the windscreen, silently finishing her sentence.

Since the Dark Shadows left town.

Once upon a time, Drew would’ve taken my truck into Razor as soon as it made the first unhealthy rattling noise, but my world didn’t look like that, not anymore. And even with the money Drew kept depositing into my account, I couldn’t afford to fix the truck when the insurance wasn’t covering enough of the medical bills.

I don’t share that with one of the town’s biggest gossips, though.

“I’ve been working so much this past week, but I’ll get to it on my next day off. Anyway, who needs a truck when I have you to give me rides?”

She chuffs, pleased at that, but then frowns. “You shouldn’t be working so much,” she scolds. “I’m sure your mom would prefer you be at her bedside during a time like this.”

White-hot anger surges like lava through my body, but I battle it down, trying to convince myself that she means well. “I know, Mrs. M.”

“Especially with Andrew ducking out like he has.” She tuts her tongue disapprovingly. “You’re all that Lorraine has, and money isn’t the most important thing.”

My face goes tight and I bite my tongue, using the pain to shock my system so I don’t say something nasty. It’s not her fault, I remind myself. She doesn’t know. When I feel like I can speak without snapping, I murmur, “I know, Mrs. M. That’s why I’m headed there now.” I pat the bag on the floor at my feet. “I’m actually spending the night with Mom tonight.”

“That’s good.” Her disapproval fades away. “You’re a good girl, Jessica.”

I cringe at the name, but years of experience have taught me that correcting her will only have her digging her heels in further. I’m saved by the car pulling up to the front of the hospital, and I don’t linger, unbuckling and basically throwing myself from the car as soon as it stops moving.

“Thanks, Mrs. M. I’ll leave a tip on the app!” As much as her attitude bugs the shit out of me, I know she does this job because her pension doesn’t pay enough. Her husband died three years ago, and they hadn’t had any kids, so I guess she’s probably a little lonely, too.

Plus, what a great way for her to pick up gossip? I’d called for a ride when my truck turned into a lawn ornament and Gracie, another CNA, had greeted me with, “Told you that piece of junk was on its way out,” when I’d walked into work fifteen minutes later.

Shaking it off, I walk into the hospital and the security guard looks up. I’d gone to high school with Todd, but I hadn’t known him well–we’d hung out with very different crowds. Still, I give him a polite smile. “Evening.”

“Hey, Jesse,” he says back, looking at the clock. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you tonight.”

“Had to pull another double,” I say. “I figured I’d stay tonight to make up for the lost time.”

His frown is confused. “Won’t she be asleep?”

I shrug. “Better to be with her asleep then home by myself, I guess.” He nods like he understands, but I can see he doesn’t.

Someone walks in behind me, and his attention moves away, so I head for the bank of elevators. The hospital isn’t a big one–it doesn’t need to be to accommodate all of Willowbank–so it doesn’t take me long to reach her ward, waving at the nurses on shift as I pass by their station.

I open the door and head in, my mom’s head turning at the sound of my entrance. Mom’s resting back against her hospital bed, two pillows stacked behind her, and a bright headscarf tied around her head. She’s wearing a nasal cannula and my breath hitches, because that means it hasn’t been a good day.

“Hey, baby,” she greets warmly. She gives me a wan smile, her face too thin and the skin stretched too tight, but I smile back. “I didn’t think you were coming today.”

I drop my bag on the ground and tug the armchair as close as I can get to her bedside, reaching out to grab her cold hand in mine. “Of course I was coming,” I chide gently.

She watches me, hazel eyes that look just like mine. She lifts her other hand, her fingers trembling, and touches my cheek. “You look tired, Jesse. You’re working too hard.”

I press my hand against hers, closing my eyes. “I’m working just enough,” I counter.

“Have you called Dodger?” She bites her lips when I shoot her a dark look, my lips thinning. In the last couple of months, we’ve had an unspoken agreement that we don’t talk about my husband and the fact he hasn’t come home in months.

“He’s busy,” I tell her. “You know that Ash needs him right now. They’re just finished building the new clubhouse in Oakfield, and he promised to come home soon.”

Drew was the vice president in his MC, Dark Shadows, and Ash, the president, was his best friend. The club had always resided in Willowbank but Ash’s father, the previous president, had gotten the MC tangled up with dangerous crowds. When he’d gone to jail [two years] ago, Ash had taken over the mantle and started putting plans into motion to move the club out of town, start over somewhere fresh.

Oakfield was only three hours away, but on days like today, it might as well be on the moon for how far it felt.

“I’m sorry we didn’t follow them,” she tells me now, her voice pained. “I know Dodger found a nice house for us, but the idea of leaving the town where I’d grown up…” she shakes her head against the pillow, eyes moist. “Especially now.”

I squeeze my fingers around hers, my eyes welling up as well. “I don’t blame you, Mama, and we’re okay. You’re going to beat this, and then we’ll go.” I try to smile. “We can wait. We have time.”

Her expression is dubious, but she smiles anyway and pats my hand. “Yeah, baby. We have time.”

I stand at the window of the hospital room, my eyes on the playground across the street. From here, I can see the little girl slipping onto the swing, her little legs working furiously, but the seat barely moves. She turns her head, calling out to someone, and I watch as a woman heads in her direction, a gentle smile on her face.

“What’re you looking at?” Mom’s thready voice asks, and I turn around, heading to her side.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” I chide gently, adjusting her blankets, and her laugh is weak, ending in a brittle cough.

“I’ll have plenty of time to sleep later,” she whispers, sending me a grateful look when I grab a cup of icy water, holding the straw to her lips. “Especially soon.”

I shake my head, my lips wobbling. “Mama.”

She smiles at the scolding note in my voice, looking pleased with herself. “I’m not gonna get many opportunities to joke about this, so I’ll take my chances when I can.” She leans back against the pillows, shaking her head when I offer her more water. “You didn’t answer me.” Her eyes flick to the window. “What’s happening outside?”

I sit down in the chair that has basically become an imprint of my ass. “Just a little girl on the swings.”

Awareness swirls through her eyes, her mouth turning down. “You hold onto that hurt like a shield, baby. You’ve gotta let it go.”

I look away. “I don’t think I can let it go,” I whisper brokenly. “Especially now.”

I can feel her eyes on me, her cold fingers reaching out to grip mine tightly. “Jesse,” she whispers. “I need to know you’ll be okay when I’m gone.”

I don’t look at her. “And I need to know what you’re not just giving up. That you’re gonna keep fighting.”

She doesn’t answer for the longest time, but I still don’t look, knowing that all it’ll take is one look from her and I’ll break into pieces. She’s always been my safe place, the one I can let it all go with, but it doesn’t feel like I can do that right now.

I don’t want to put my feelings on her, not when she’s already dealing with so much.

“Jesse.” Her tone turns insistent and, reluctantly, I turn to look at her, my eyes immediately burning with unshed tears. “One of the nurses was sitting with me the other day.”

I blink, surprised by the change in subject. It’s enough to cut off the waterworks before they have a chance to leak down my face. “That was nice of her,” I say, voice lilting up in a question.

“She was showing me some videos on her phone, just passing the time. There was one with this mother, just talking to the camera. She was talking about how she told her family that when she died, they needed to bury her in comfortable clothes.”

My mouth opens and closes. “That’s… Okay, but why?”

She stares at me, her expression gentle, and uneasiness crawls through my veins. “She’d had a miscarriage years earlier, a baby she very much wanted. So, she said that she needed to be buried in comfortable clothes with her shoes tied, because she had an overdue playdate.”

My head drops to my chest, my shoulders heaving with the effort of trying to bottle everything down. “Mama—”

“But you don’t need to worry about that now, Jesse, because I’ll be there, looking after that little baby.” She sits up, her breath coming out in short pants with the effort, her skinny arms wrapping around me and pulling me in close. Underneath the scent of sickness and hospital, she still smells like my mother—the one person that’s always been there for me, even through the worst of it—and the sobs finally break free.

“Mama,” I cry out brokenly. “I can’t do this without you.”

“You won’t be alone,” she whispers, her breath coasting over my hair. “You have Drew. And you’ll always have me. But I need you to know that I’m going to be okay. Just like you will be.”

I make a small, wet noise of agreement, unwilling to get into a discussion about my missing husband. She knows he’s been absent, but even though she doesn’t wholly believe me, I’ve insisted he’s just been busy with the club.

It’s not a complete lie, he is busy. I saw Hawk, the club’s road captain, a while ago. He told me some of what was happening in Oakfield with the Dark Shadows, and even though I wished it’d been my husband telling me, I understood.

Well, I was trying to understand, but with each day that passed with only silence from Drew…that was getting harder and harder to do.

“I remember the day Drew moved in next door,” Mom says softly, stroking her hand down my back. “I knew straight away that he’d be someone important to us. To you.”

“How did you know?” I whisper, my voice cracking.

She pulls away, lying down on her side, patting the firm mattress next to her. I shake my head, but her expression grows stubborn and I sigh, but lie down next to her. She wraps her arms around me, pressing a kiss to my temple, and, suddenly, I feel like I’m a little girl, clinging to her mother after a nightmare, instead of a 30-year–old woman.

“It was the way he looked at you” she says into my ear, her voice distant, like she’s lost in her memories, and I let my own wash over me, taking me back to a time that was simpler.

***

JESSE

age 8

I got out of the backseat, my hands clutching my favorite teddy, as I stared up the house in front of us. Mom had come to stand next to me, her hand touching my shoulder, and while I didn’t understand much about what was happening, I knew she wasn’t happy.

She hadn’t been happy since my dad had left, not even taking his suitcase with him. No one could tell me where he’d gone or how long he’d be, but it’d been so long now that I couldn’t remember what was happening in the story he’d been reading to me at bedtime.

“Mama?”

She looked down, peering down at me with wet eyes.

“How will Daddy find us at this new house?” I asked, my lip trembling. “How will he know where we’ve gone when he comes back?”

Mama closed her eyes, biting her bottom lip, and I felt bad, because I knew she was sad…but I missed my daddy. She swooped down, wrapping her arms around me so tightly that I squeaked, making her laugh, just like it always did.

“Darling Jesse,” she whispered into my hair. “Daddy, he’s…” she blinked lots of times, her lashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. She cleared her throat, giving me a small smile. “He’ll find us. He’s clever like that, isn’t he?”

We didn’t talk about it again, but when I turned to look back at the house, I caught sight of the boy next door, watching us with a serious look. When his blue eyes met mine, he furrowed his brow, looking like an adult in a scraggly kid’s body. He’s got dirty blond hair that’s flopping over into his eyes and dirt smudged onto his cheek.

Mama followed my stare, catching sight of him, and nudging my shoulder. “Go say hello,” she whispered. “He’s our new neighbor.”

I shoot her a glance, but she shakes her head, pushing me a little firmer, and I stumble forward. When I look back over at him, he’s smiling a little, and I feel my cheeks go hot, trying to hide my teddy behind my leg. If he sees it, he’ll think I’m a baby.

As I draw closer, he kicks a rock near his toes. “Hey.”

I duck my head, hiding behind my hair and glad I didn’t tie it up like Mama asked me to. “Hi. I’m Jesse.”

His nose scrunches. “Jesse? Isn’t that a boy’s name?”

My dark hair flies around my face when I shake my head. “Lotsa of girls are named Jesse. My name’s actually Jessica, but…” I scowl. “No one calls me that, even Mama. And I won’t like it if you do.”

He looks startled, like he didn’t expect that, and then he smiles, flashing a gap–toothed smile at me. “Jesse. My name’s Andrew, but if you call me anything but Drew, I won’t like it.”

I blink. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Neither of us says anything for a long moment, scoping each other out. “How old are you?”

“Eight.”

“Cool. I’m ten.”

“Cool,” I echo, like I say that all the time.

A loud rumble comes from down the street, getting louder and louder as it approaches us. I look over, catching sight of a huge motorbike, gleaming black and silver. It pulls into Drew’s driveway, and he turns to watch as a big man climbs off it, dressed in black and leather.

“Get inside, boy!” The man yells out roughly, barely giving me a cursory glance before he’s stomping up the path to the front door and slamming it open.

Drew sighs heavily, sounding a lot older than ten. “I gotta go.”

He looks like he can’t think of anything worse, and I blurt, “Is that your dad?”

He looks back at me, something terribly sad about his blue eyes. “Yeah.”

“My dad’s gone,” I tell him. “I don’t know where.”

He watches me for a moment, his mouth softening slightly. “I don’t have a mom,” he says factually. “I don’t know where she is, either. She’s not dead, I don’t think. But she didn’t want to be here.”

Something about that sinks into my skin, feeling hot and cold all at the same time. I think of the instructions my teacher hands out at school, with a smiley face that has a light bulb above its head. Because that’s what I feel like–that smiley face, but with less smiles.

I check over my shoulder, watching as Mama grabs a suitcase from the trunk of the car and heaves it up the path to the front door. I wait until I’m sure she won’t hear me and then turn back to Drew.

“I don’t think Daddy wanted to be here, either.” It’s a confession, an admission, and an understanding all at once, filled with pain and questions, wondering if I’m the reason he didn’t want to be here.

Drew considers me seriously, and then he steps closer, reaching out as if he might touch me before his hand falls away. “I want you here,” he decides.

My heart lightens, just a little, like the sun peeking out from behind a dark cloud. I open my mouth but before any words can come out, the door to his house slams open. The man from earlier steps back out, glaring over at us.

“Boy, I said get your ass inside. Now!”

Drew’s shoulders slump and then he turns on his heel and walks away, heading inside after his dad, giving me one last look before the door shuts behind him. I watch for a moment, hoping he might come back out, but then Mama calls my name and I turn away, heading back where she’s standing at the car, holding my purple backpack.

“Who was that, baby?” she asks as she gives me the bag and I shrug it on, carefully threading my teddy through the strap so I don’t have to let him go.this story belongs to Mackenzie Madden. If you’re reading this anywhere but on Patreon or Inkitt, it’s been stolen.

“His name’s Drew,” I tell her. “Not Andrew.”

She smiles brightly, but it’s not her real smile. It’s the one she’s been doing ever since Daddy left. “Well, Drew-Not-Andrew seems nice,” she teases. “I told you this was gonna work out. And now you already have a friend!”

I look back at the house next door, feeling a little bit of hope.

I want you here.

“Yeah, I think I do.”