Steel Me Away by Vivian Lux Page A

when he opened his eyes, his breath flooded out.  Like the man standing sorrowfully in front of him had punched him in the gut with his presence.
    "Jerry."
    Six years had made him stockier.  There was no trace of the skinny, punk ass kid who wanted to be a bad ass.  The man in front of him wore a yellow polo shirt tucked aggressively into khakis.  He looked like a banker.  Or a golfer.  J. got the vague notion that he had dressed up for the occasion. 
    J. tried to find his words, but all he could say was, "No one calls me Jerry anymore."  He shook his head.  "I always hated that name.  You know that."  He paused. "Knew that."
    "What should I call you then?" Randall's voice was soft and even, like he was coaxing a wild animal.  It was pissing J. off.
    "How about we cut the shit, Randy." J. chewed on the new name and spat it back out again. 
    "Jeremiah!" His mother suddenly appeared in kitchen doorway.  "Language!"
    Emmy jumped a little, and Janelle ducked her head like she was the one being chastised.  The rage was coming, like a freight train going too fast to brake in time.  The collision was imminent.
    He slid out from under Emmy, carefully depositing her on the couch, before drawing himself up to his full height.  Randall shrank back, and it made J. feel good to know what he saw.  J. had six inches on him, and at least thirty more pounds of muscle.  He knew the leather jacket was intimidating, even without his cut.  He knew the bike, the tattoos, the time he spent in prison, that all gave him a reputation.  And when it came to Randall, that reputation was fucking well deserved. 
    "I don't give a fuck about my language."  He stepped forward until his face was inches from Randall's.  The smaller man was trying to stand firm and not squirm under J.'s fury.  "I wanna hear what you have to say to me."
    Randall's voice caught.  "I'm sorry, J."  He opened his mouth further and J. waited for the rest.  Waited to hear the excuses.  But the words didn't come.  Randall only made a short gasping noise and ducked his head.
    Janelle was at his arm in an instant, threading her arm through his as if she was afraid he might fall without her support.  She whirled at J. her nostrils flaring in a perfect imitation of their mother's indignant rage.  "There, he said it.  What else do you want from him J.?"
    "I want my life back.  He fucking stole it from me, and I want it back."  He sank his fingers into Randall's chest, poking him as hard as he could, wishing it were a punch. "Can you do that, Randy?   Can you?"
    "I can't," Randall's voice was choked with remorse, but J. didn't give a shit. 
    "I want it back," he repeated to the room.  To his mother and his sister.  His family.
    But they weren't looking at him.  All their attention was on Randall as slow tears trailed down his face.  Janelle made soothing sounds as she rubbed his arm up and down.  His mother busily made to wet a paper towel and handed it to Janelle, who dabbed his face and neck.   Then she flopped into her easy chair and muttered darkly about her heart.
    There was nothing for him here.

Chapter 12
     
    Emmy
     
    I was a ghost.
    I fluttered at the edges of rooms, hovering inconsequential and unnoticed. 
    Aside from the cold greeting, J.'s family didn't acknowledge me.
    And once Randall entered the room, J. didn't acknowledge me either. 
    I watched numbly as the man I loved morphed into the living embodiment of hatred.  I did not know this man.   I did not know the depths of the pain of his past.  I did not understand the fathoms of his rage.  I couldn't.  I saw his family standoff against him, aligning themselves with the man who had ruined his life.  I watched them very clearly choose sides.  And they were against him.
    And then he left. 
    Without me.
    I was forced to pick myself primly up from the sofa and creep quietly to the front door.  The Johnsons ignored my exit. 
    I stepped out onto the porch to hear the bike roar