fuck I want. I want to find my daughter. That is what I want. That’s why I came to Woodstock and that is what I am going to do. And I’m not going to let him or anyone else get in my way.
“So, how was painting today, Star?” River interrupts before I have the chance to tell Chrome off. He tries to smile, but it just comes off looking forced and painful.
“It was great. When I finally got around to it. I ended up getting interrupted by some ass when I went up to the mining road. So I came back to town and painted on the steps of the old ice cream shop. Stop by the room tonight; I'll show you.” I give him a genuinely warm smile. Talking about painting is probably the highlight of my day, besides the act itself.
“You paint, Miss Star?” Scarlett's face lights up; she is full of childlike curiosity. She really is a pretty little girl. Now that I look, I can see the resemblance between her and Chrome. She is almost a carbon copy of him, minus her bright green eyes.
“I do. I just started again after not painting for a really long time. When I was your age, I loved it. How old are you?”
She immediately sits up straight and replies.
“I am ten! Just turned ten on September 11th.”
I can't help but smile, a big toothy grin. Her happiness is absolutely fucking infectious. The men at the table sit smiling and watching our conversation without saying a word.
“I was about ten years old when I first started to paint. Maybe one day we can do some painting together?” The offer is genuine. Even if I want to stab her Dad in the fucking eye with a toothpick.
“Can we do it tomorrow? I don't have school tomorrow. It's Saturday. There isn't any school on the weekend. We can paint tomorrow, and Sunday!” Her words spill out of her mouth a mile a minute. She is bursting at the seams with excitement. I know it would break her heart, and a piece of her soul, if I told her no. I can't be that person.
“Of course. Maybe one of these guys can bring you to the art shop on Main Street to meet me tomorrow? We will get you some supplies and paint downtown.” I look between the men and Chrome nods.
“We’ll talk about it after dinner. I have to talk to Miss Star in private first, okay, Scarlett?” Chrome speaks so sweetly to the little girl. She nods at him, but the smile doesn't fade. She must know how much of a pushover he is for her. I can tell just by the way he looked at her when she started rambling on about painting together tomorrow.
The conversation flows over dinner, mainly led by a ten-year-old version of what I imagine I would have been, had Blue never gotten his hands on me and fucked up my bright spirit. I don't know what it is about her, but I just want to scoop her up and protect her from the world. Maybe it’s my past, and the fact that I craved someone to protect me from him for all those years. But it is more than clear that she doesn't need anyone protecting her, because the two men sitting at this table would clearly give their lives for her.
I watch Chrome's interactions with her, and one of the walls I put up to keep him out crumbles. Underneath that badass biker persona is a caring human. I guess all those biker stereotypes about pieces of shit really don't give an accurate depiction of the people they really are under the motorcycle club emblems and obscene amounts of leather.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Chrome says as he makes his way for the door of Maggie's. I don't watch or pay attention to anything he is doing. I try to tell myself I don't care, even though I am genuinely curious. I try and talk myself out of it, but I end up watching him walk out the door, while continuing to pay attention to River and Scarlett.
The waitress makes her last round, distributing the bill, and when I reach for my purse, it isn't in the booth next to me. I could have sworn I brought it in with me, but it is nowhere to be found.
“I gotta run out to my car. I think I left my bag there.” River nods,
“So, how was painting today, Star?” River interrupts before I have the chance to tell Chrome off. He tries to smile, but it just comes off looking forced and painful.
“It was great. When I finally got around to it. I ended up getting interrupted by some ass when I went up to the mining road. So I came back to town and painted on the steps of the old ice cream shop. Stop by the room tonight; I'll show you.” I give him a genuinely warm smile. Talking about painting is probably the highlight of my day, besides the act itself.
“You paint, Miss Star?” Scarlett's face lights up; she is full of childlike curiosity. She really is a pretty little girl. Now that I look, I can see the resemblance between her and Chrome. She is almost a carbon copy of him, minus her bright green eyes.
“I do. I just started again after not painting for a really long time. When I was your age, I loved it. How old are you?”
She immediately sits up straight and replies.
“I am ten! Just turned ten on September 11th.”
I can't help but smile, a big toothy grin. Her happiness is absolutely fucking infectious. The men at the table sit smiling and watching our conversation without saying a word.
“I was about ten years old when I first started to paint. Maybe one day we can do some painting together?” The offer is genuine. Even if I want to stab her Dad in the fucking eye with a toothpick.
“Can we do it tomorrow? I don't have school tomorrow. It's Saturday. There isn't any school on the weekend. We can paint tomorrow, and Sunday!” Her words spill out of her mouth a mile a minute. She is bursting at the seams with excitement. I know it would break her heart, and a piece of her soul, if I told her no. I can't be that person.
“Of course. Maybe one of these guys can bring you to the art shop on Main Street to meet me tomorrow? We will get you some supplies and paint downtown.” I look between the men and Chrome nods.
“We’ll talk about it after dinner. I have to talk to Miss Star in private first, okay, Scarlett?” Chrome speaks so sweetly to the little girl. She nods at him, but the smile doesn't fade. She must know how much of a pushover he is for her. I can tell just by the way he looked at her when she started rambling on about painting together tomorrow.
The conversation flows over dinner, mainly led by a ten-year-old version of what I imagine I would have been, had Blue never gotten his hands on me and fucked up my bright spirit. I don't know what it is about her, but I just want to scoop her up and protect her from the world. Maybe it’s my past, and the fact that I craved someone to protect me from him for all those years. But it is more than clear that she doesn't need anyone protecting her, because the two men sitting at this table would clearly give their lives for her.
I watch Chrome's interactions with her, and one of the walls I put up to keep him out crumbles. Underneath that badass biker persona is a caring human. I guess all those biker stereotypes about pieces of shit really don't give an accurate depiction of the people they really are under the motorcycle club emblems and obscene amounts of leather.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Chrome says as he makes his way for the door of Maggie's. I don't watch or pay attention to anything he is doing. I try to tell myself I don't care, even though I am genuinely curious. I try and talk myself out of it, but I end up watching him walk out the door, while continuing to pay attention to River and Scarlett.
The waitress makes her last round, distributing the bill, and when I reach for my purse, it isn't in the booth next to me. I could have sworn I brought it in with me, but it is nowhere to be found.
“I gotta run out to my car. I think I left my bag there.” River nods,
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