7. Switch

7

SWITCH

" S o, who's the girl?" my mom asks before I've even sat down the following day. "And why didn't you introduce us before we left when the others arrived?"

"What girl?" I ask.

She waves her hand as if waving away my bullshit. Always could see through me and my brothers.

Dad laughs. He's wearing a vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt, jeans, and his biker boots, even though he's no longer officially affiliated with the club.

Mischief sparkles in Mom's eyes, even as tiredness keeps them bruised. Dad always said her eyes were the reason he was able to keep his dick in his pants, unlike a lot of the other bikers in his generation. Camelot, Uther's dad, drove his old lady to leave, even though he'd tell anyone who'd listen he still loved her. And both Cue Ball and Wrinkle were part of the old-school belief that old ladies and club girls should be equally sampled.

But my dad? He set the bar for what it meant to fall utterly in love with one woman and keep it that way. Mom says it's unconditional love between them. But I remember Dad telling me when I was around thirteen years old that it was unconditional support. He knew down to his soul that Mom had his back and encouraged him to be exactly who he wanted to be.

"The girls got back to the clubhouse in such a flurry yesterday, all full of how you were looking out for a young woman called Sophia."

"And the old ladies are a bunch of gossips who have nothing better to talk about," I say, taking the plastic container of treats my mom offers.

"How is she?" Mom asks. "I heard she fell or was knocked down or something."

"She's fine. Common hazard in this place." I pop the lid on the container. Mom's made me my favorites. White chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. I lift one out and take a bite.

Dad reaches over and steals one too. "What does Sophia do?"

"Nothing right now. She has no memory at all of her studies or what she did. Apparently, she was in real estate before her accident."

"Geez," Mom says. "Can you imagine? It's more than the ability to remember. You lose your connection to everyone and everything. At least you remember us. Your family. Your brothers. It would kill me if I thought you didn't remember me. Poor thing. Is she close to her family?"

I'm not sure how to address it. Even less sure that I want to get into it with my parents. "They come visit her quite often."

"I'm guessing she's a pretty little thing," Dad says.

I try to bite back a smile at the thought of her by stuffing my mouth with one of Mom's cookies.

"I saw that flicker of a smile," Mom says.

"Don't be getting ideas," I warn.

Mom purses her lips as she studies me. "You just turned thirty, and I'm not getting any younger waiting for grandkids."

I almost choke on the cookie. "Mom, you have three grandkids. Your other sons have already started."

She leans back in her seat. "So?"

Dad pats Mom's thigh. I grew up in a touchy-feely family. Not in a weird way. Just, we show affection for each other. "Your mom won't be happy until there's a houseful. Keeps telling me I need to install two sets of bunk beds in the back bedroom so we can fit ‘em all."

"Well, don't build ‘em because of me. And Sophia is here for the same reason as I am. We just…"

I find it hard to dismiss Sophia like I was about to.

And a wild idea pops into my head. The two of us, married. Visiting my parents. I'm going to have to speak to the doctor to see if the pain meds I take can cause hallucinations because marrying anyone right now feels like a bad idea.

"Leave the boy alone," Dad says, as if he didn't just hear Mom say I'm thirty.

"You and I both know it's a tradition for the men in your family to fall hard and fast," Mom says to him. "How long did it take you to ask me to marry you? Four days?"

Dad huffs. "Took you three months to say yes though."

Mom chuckles and looks back at me. "And your grandad proposed to your gran after sixteen days. Your brother said he'd fallen in love with Ziana by the end of their first class of their first semester together."

"Okay, I get the idea," I say, humorously exasperated by Mom's efforts. "Reavis men fall fast and hard, but I swear this is not one of those times."

Except…

"And I think you should tell him," Dad says finally.

"Tell me what?"

Mom looks at Dad, and I swear tears start to swim in both their eyes. The mood changes suddenly, and I don't like it.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Me and your mom need to head back to Florida for a bit. We need to check on the house. Pick up some of our colder weather clothes." He squeezes her leg.

"And I need surgery before I start chemo," she says.

"What? No. Why?" Why? I fucking know why. "Mom? Are you okay? No. You're not okay."

My heart pounds as my mom gets up and comes to sit next to me on the sofa. As soon as she does, I wrap her in my arms so tight, I swear I hear her back crack.

"It's alright, Teddy Bear," she says, using the nickname she gave me as a child. Embarrassing to admit she told me it was because I gave the best hugs, like a teddy bear, but now I want to give her as many fucking hugs as she needs.

Tears sting my eyes. "Fuck, Mom. What happened?"

She puts her palms on my chest and pushes gently. "Just before King called to tell us about the accident, I got some test results back that I have pancreatic cancer. King said the club would pay for me to have private treatment. So, I need to go back for that."

She's already onto logistics while I'm still processing that she has a disease that kills indiscriminately. I can't fight it for her. I can't ride with my club to battle it. I can't protect her from it. It's my mom facing the odds.

Perhaps logistics are her way of coping with this conversation, and that's the most important thing right now. I can process later.

"Then you shouldn't…be here. Go. Fuck…treatment. Words, shit." When I'm stressed, I find it even harder to find the right words. "Whatever it is... I'll come. Leave here."

Mom shakes her head. "I won't go if you threaten to follow. I need to know you're here. Getting the best treatment. I wanted to be right by your side while you go through this." A tear falls over her lashes, and it breaks my fucking heart.

My dad looks utterly devastated.

"You've been hiding it…from me."

Dad huffs. "Mom insisted. I figured she deserves to have her say at the moment."

She looks over at him and smiles. "Who knew it would take cancer for you to listen to me?"

"Don't joke," I say. My head is spinning with more questions and an overwhelming frustration that verbalizing them all will be a fucking nightmare. Instead, I hug my mom again.

If I'd paid more attention, I would have realized how thin and frail she felt in my arms.

"Mom. You've always been…my rock. I'm thankful you were here. If there's…a problem, I… I'll call. And I'll stay…if that's what you want."

"It's what I need, Teddy. I don't want to go. A mom's place is by her children's side when they need her. I'd hate for you to leave the best place for you so I can be in the best place for me."

Dad nods. "I've been trying to persuade her to leave for the past week."

"Then you should go. Come back at Christmas, maybe."

Mom tears up. "But I don't want to leave my baby when he's?—"

"I'm hardly a baby. And I'm doing…fine. Please, Mom. It's…been great seeing you both, and…" Fucking words. I need this to be smooth. I need to convince her to do what's best for her. I'll survive this. I need her to survive what she's facing too. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. "I'm grateful. You moved into my…house to look after it for me and make the hour drive to come see me all the time. But…you should—" I gesture away with my hand because I can't think of the word. "You need to go."

Mom studies my face the way she always did when I was a kid. She could tell when I was lying from fifty feet.

Whatever she sees there reassures her. "Okay. Fine. But maybe do me a favor, just in case. Hurry up and marry her and make me grandbabies so I can see it."

Dad shakes his head. "You're going to be here to see it, whenever it happens. Refuse to believe anything different, woman."

We talk a little more about Mom's treatment. What it will take. Her options.

And I tell her about Sophia. What I know, at least. Do I oversell it a little? Maybe. But I feel like it's the little piece of happiness Mom is looking for. And when they finally leave, I'm exhausted and desperate for a cigarette.

How can it be fair that my mom has cancer when I've lost the last decade of memories with her? What are the chances I won't be able to make any more with her? The thought pierces my heart and strips me bare.

I take the cookies to my room and pick up my packet and lighter.

I'm almost at the rear exit when I hear a voice behind me.

"Trying to escape?" Sophia asks.

The sight of her eases the tight band around my chest. "No. Because I'm a grown-up who does whatever the fuck he wants."

She cocks her head to one side. "Looks like sneaking to me."

"I need a cigarette. I'm going outside to smoke one. Coming?"

She nods gleefully. "Yes."

I'm not sure what makes me take her hand and lead her through the corridors, out of a rear exit I found my second week here, and to my secret smoking spot. But it's a comfort to the turmoil I feel in my gut.

"Can I try one?" she asks as I tip one out of the packet and light it.

"No."

She looks up at me. "Why the hell not?"

"Because they're bad for you."

"Perhaps I already smoked. For all you know, I might have one of those superlong cigarette holders and smoke while drinking brandy."

"Happy to give you different experiences, Sparrow, but wrecking your lungs is not one of them." The gravel of the path crunches beneath our feet as we walk.

"Why do you smoke then? I thought you were a medic."

I shrug. "Just always been something I've done."

She tucks her hands in the sleeves of her sweater, then folds her arms across her chest. It's cold, even by early-November standards.

"I think you should stop," she says.

"I think you don't get a say in what I do."

"Then I think you don't get a say in what I do, and you should just hand one over." The way she challenges me makes me think of Mom, and something snaps in my chest.

We reach my spot. Before breakfast, Irv had whispered that he'd found two outdoors chairs and put them just in front of the screens that hide the dumpsters near the parking lot. Guess I owe him some more cookies.

When we sit, Sophia puts out her hand. "At least let me take a drag. I saw a movie the other night, and it sort of suggested that smoking behind the school was a rebellious thing to do. I feel like smoking behind the brain-trauma rehab has the same vibe."

I can't help but laugh and hand her my cigarette.

"Any tips before I do this?" she asks.

"Fuck knows. Maybe suck on it but don't inhale first. See if you like the taste in your mouth. Then inhale second. It's gonna burn either way because these are not starter cigarettes."

"Okay. No inhale. Then inhale." She takes a couple of deep breaths. Tentatively, she places the cigarette to her lips and purses her lips around it. Her cheeks hollow, and then she moves the cigarette away, holding her breath for a second, before she blows smoke into the air.

"You're cute," I say as I watch her.

"Do I look cool doing it?" she asks.

"Wish I could say you did, Sparrow."

She laughs at that. "Okay, round two. The inhale."

"Keep it small."

Sophia blows out a breath, then tries to inhale. Immediately, she begins coughing and spluttering. In between, she sticks out her tongue and looks like she's going to gag. Her eye waters. Then she sneaks a finger to wipe beneath her eye patch. I guess eyelids surrounding prosthetic eyes still water.

Laughing, I take the cigarette from her and rub circles on her back. "Easy, Sparrow. Breathe through your nose."

"I'm trying, but I think…I just burned out…my windpipe."

I take a draw on my cigarette while she composes herself.

"That was gross," she says. "How can you suck that into your lungs?"

"Pretty certain they've adapted at this point."

She leans back in her chair and lifts her face to the weak fall sun. "You should bring me a blanket."

"Or next time you should bring a coat."

"We could ask Irv for a fire pit. I bet he'd find one."

I agree. "He probably would. But I'm pretty certain the smell of something burning would send people looking for us, Sparrow."

"Oh, wait. I said yesterday to Saint and Briar that I wish I had a cool nickname, and I do. Sparrow."

"Don't read too much into it," I say. Yet I can't help but crack a smile.

"You know what's wild?" she asks.

"What's that?"

"I have this yearning to go run through a forest. I mean, I've read about them, and seen them in movies. But I have no idea whether forests are as cool as they look." She repositions her foot by lifting her knee with her hands. "Might be a while before I can run through them. Maybe more of a leisurely stroll. A saunter, maybe."

"You don't strike me as a forest girl. Did your family tell you if you ever went camping? Hiking?"

She shakes her head. "I was more a champagne and parties kinda girl, apparently."

I glance at her. "Now that I can see."

"Strange thing is that the idea of a party is my worst nightmare now. Did Dr. Polunin give you the whole spiel about the Welsh woman who woke up with an American accent?"

I nod. "She did." Along with a whole list of ways in which people were never the same person again after a coma or amnesia.

Sophia leans back on the chair and tilts her face to the sun. "I think I'm a forest girl now."

"Maybe I'll take you when we're both out of here. Don't like the idea of you getting lost."

She smiles softly. "I think that would be a really lovely idea."

We sit in silence beyond the occasional car coming and going from the parking lot. The gutsy roar of a sports car gets louder and parks on the other side of our fence screen. Two doors open and close with a slam.

"Don't you feel even a bit bad for her? Sophia's been through a lot," a man says.

Sophia tilts her head in the direction of the speaker. It must be one of her brothers.

"She'll forgive us eventually," another says.

"That's what Alessio said this morning. But she doesn't know her own mind."

There are lines on her forehead as she listens. And I remember the conversation I heard before I had trouble with the stairs. My head hurts like someone just drove an icepick into it.

"Remember our family code. La mia famiglia prima di tutto . We all win once she's married. Even her."

Sophia lurches to stand, but I grab her and press my finger to my lips.

The other huffs. "It's a marriage of convenience to strengthen the family. Would you want to be married to someone fifteen years older than you?"

"He's a billionaire. You know how she likes to spend money."

"How she liked to spend money. She's not the same as she was, and she's still not going to forgive us."

There's a pause, then the beep and click of the car doors being locked. "Then at least we'll know we're secure. Don Consolo is the capo famiglia . By Soph marrying his son, no one will be able to touch us."

"He called her ‘damaged goods,' Luca, for fuck's sake."

"And Dad's made some bad business decisions in the past year. It's only Alessio working behind the scenes that has us holding on by a thread. It's a fair trade to align our families and have Alessio take over some of Don Consolo's holdings here."

Something in my gut flips. Sophia looks at me, terror etched in her features.

The sharp crunch of their footsteps and their voices trail away, just as the first tear spills over her lashes and runs down her cheek.

"I…" She flounders for what to say next, and I stand before tugging her into my arms.

"Stop crying," I say firmly.

She looks up at me like I'm heartless. "Did you not hear my brothers?"

I drag my thumbs beneath her eyes, skirting beneath her eye patch like I'd seen her do earlier. "Yes. I heard them. And every single thing we do next could inform them of what we know. So, the first thing is to dry your tears. You're going to need to act."

"What do I do?" she says. "Did they try to make me marry some guy and I tried to run? Is that why I was in that car?"

"It sounds like it, but we can't assume anything yet. Let's just get through their visit. Under no circumstances go anywhere other than the visitors' area. Make up an excuse. Your hip hurts too badly to climb the stairs, the cleaning staff is in your room, anything. I'm going to keep an eye on you; you might not see me. But trust me, I'll be there, Soph."

"They told me they were going to take me to Sicily with them. They made it sound like they were doing me a favor. Like it was a holiday. They were going to give me to a man. What if?—?"

"Soph," I say, cutting her off. "Focus. Tell them you've been outside. You slipped on the wet pavement and hurt your hip, which made you cry. You're fine, but you don't want to walk. We need to listen. Learn everything. Ask as many questions as you feel like you can. Go, and trust me."

We hurry back into the building, and I try to take my own advice. We can process what it all means when we've dealt with her brothers' visit. But one thing is clear: her family is connected.

I take her hand as we walk, trying to reassure her she's not on her own in this.

I'm not sure where the fierce protective urge to look after her is coming from. Guess I'll process that later too.

Along with the way her hand fits so perfectly in mine.

When we get inside, I stop and place my hands on her biceps. "Go ahead. I'll be watching, Sparrow. They will not be able to do anything to you. I promise."

I thought when my memories came back, it would be like a switch. One day I would remember nothing; the next, everything. But the truth is, my memories are like a developing Polaroid picture.

Some things are just more in focus…more instinctual.

Like setting up a perimeter to secure Sophia. Or why I even feel like I need to set up a perimeter at all. I know Irv has the front, and if I alerted him, I know he'd react quickly and lock the front door.

I close the fire door behind me that leads to the pool corridor. There's a small nook with glass walls that faces out onto the gardens. There are tall plants flanking the entrance to it, and I tuck myself behind one of them. I can see Sophia limp toward her brothers.

When they reach her, they gesture upstairs, but she stands her ground and leads them into the visitors' area.

"Good girl," I mutter quietly.

"Is everything okay, Theo?" When I turn, Dr. Polunin eyes me carefully.

I glance down the corridor. I really don't want to take my eyes off the door opening to the family room.

"I'm fine."

"I saw the record of your incident in the hallway. Are you feeling better?"

"I'm fine," I repeat impatiently.

"Theo. Do you know where you are?" She speaks softly, but I can see the concern in her eyes. She probably thinks I'm in the middle of a mental health episode.

"I was in the military. My day job, which I hope to return to, is personal security." It's a lie, but on the fly, it's a good one. "Just running through some drills. Thinking through the building, escape routes, how to find cover versus concealment."

"Do you see any enemy combatants?" she asks.

I glance down the hallway to where Sophia's brothers are attempting to marry her off to some guy in Sicily, which was frightening enough that she likely took off in a car at full speed.

"Don't worry, Doc. I'm not in the middle of some kind of psychotic break or brain injury-related delusion. I know there is no one here who shouldn't be. And I'm definitely aware I'm not under attack. Just playing a bit of a game with myself to relieve the boredom."

She studies me for an extra second. "Do you realize you spoke freely then? You didn't have to search for words?"

I hadn't.

But now she pointed it out… "You think that's progress?"

"Most definitely. Your brain is recovering every day. There is a chance that the enhanced activity, despite the headaches and dizziness, may bring with it further improvement."

"From your lips to God's ears, Doc."

"It's doctor."

"I know."