Page 66 of Rest In Pieces
“I broke both my legs, my pelvis, four ribs, and my left wrist. I dislocated my right shoulder and fractured my skull. The worst part was that I was pinned in place by a piece of metal. I lost a lot of blood and suffered several internal injuries, including a ruptured ovary and lacerations to my liver and one of my kidneys. They did what they could, but there were too many complications, and I ended up having to have a hysterectomy.”
I swallow hard, realizing just how close she came to dying. “I can’t even imagine…” My voice trails off because what the fuck can I say to that?
She gives me a sad smile and continues, “The first month, I spent mainly in a medically induced coma and then drugged up on morphine. It wasn’t until later that I realized everything I’dlost—my mom, my ability to have children, my career. Even if I healed, my body would never be the same, and gymnastics isn’t the kind of sport you can just take a break from. I would’ve had to start all over. And… I don’t know. I guess the fight I had with my mom before the crash kept replaying in my head. It killed my passion for the sport and left me with nothing but guilt and shame.”
“I get it. Sometimes, what you feel doesn’t fit with what’s logical.”
“I know, especially after all the therapy I’ve had. But at the time, there was no room in my head for logic.”
“Who did you live with when you got out of the hospital? Your dad?”
“No dad. Mom was a little wild and wasn’t sure who he was. It was always just the two of us, but I never felt like I was missing out. In a way, I think that made it harder. She was everything to me, and then she was gone.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “But to answer your question, I turned eighteen while I was in the hospital. So when I was discharged, I went home.”
She pauses, and I let go of her hand as our food is placed in front of us.
“There ya go. Now, can I get you anything else?”
“No, we’re good,” I say, and we thank the waitress before she leaves.
“I was lucky Nevaeh lived next door. She was my rock, and honestly, I don’t know what I would have done without her. Still, it was hard living alone with just my memories, so I started working out. And it helped. When I was working out, I wasn’t thinking about anything else. So I signed up for anything and everything I could think of—martial arts, boxing, Krav Maga, running—before I fell into parkour.”
She takes a piece of melon from her fruit salad and pops it in her mouth as I pick up my fork and knife.
“It was purely by chance that I ended up doing what I do now,” she says, popping another piece of fruit into her mouth. “I saw an ad for a movie extra and thought it sounded like fun. When I was on set, I watched the stunt team work their magic and knew that’s what I wanted to do. They got hurt a lot but always got back up, dusted themselves off, and did it again. Something about their resilience resonated with me. And the rest is history.” She smiles and picks up her fork.
I take a bite of my sausage as I try to find the right words to say to her. I want to tell her how proud of her I am, because I am, but would it come off as genuine? I don’t know what it is about this woman that makes me question everything I say and think, but the thought of hurting her feelings makes me feel sick. If that makes me pussy whipped then so be it.
I don’t know anyone who could have done what she’s done. She could have easily let what happened to her destroy her. Instead she took that pain and let it fuel her, finding strength when she was at her weakest and look at her now? She built new dreams for herself and she’s thriving.
If I were a weaker man, I’d be intimidated by her strength. But I’m not. Only strong women survive in the MC world, and Amity Hollis might be stronger than most.
“You’re pretty fucking amazing. You know that, right?”
She shrugs, taking a bite of her omelet and looking a bit embarrassed, which seems unusual for her. “And I’d bet my bike your mom’s up there, feeling pretty fucking proud of the amazing woman she gave birth to.”
She points her fork at me. “If you make me cry, I will stab you.”
My lips twitch as I stab a home fry with my fork. “Noted.”
16
AMITY
We finished breakfast, and thankfully, even though I brought the mood down when I gave G a rundown of my past, he quickly lifted it again, making sure I didn’t regret sharing my story.
I don’t hide what happened to me. It’s hard to explain how I got into stunt work without mentioning it. Same with answering questions about my family or my scars. Everything’s tied together in one ball of tragedy.
Maybe it was how understanding he was—the way his gaze met mine with sorrow and horror, but never pity. Or maybe it’s because he never reacted to my scars when he saw them in the RV, and even when I mentioned them today, he never asked about them with morbid curiosity like others have in the past. Whatever it was, when he suggested going back to the Raven Souls clubhouse to give them a second chance at making a better impression, I agreed.
Now, as we pull through the gates and into the warehouse, I can’t help but wonder if this was the right choice or if I’m just a glutton for punishment.
He waits for me to climb off before getting off himself, taking the helmet from me and setting it on the seat next to his. Then he takes my hand and leads me outside and toward the clubhouse.
“I know we didn’t make the best first impression, but I swear we’re all good guys. I know a lot of MC’s have a bad rep and with good reason, but we spent a lot of time turning shit around. Our main source of income now is made through protection and security. When shit hits the fan, these are the guys you want at your back.”
“And the prospect?” Because that guy’s definitely not a good guy, and if G disagrees, then that’ll tell me all I need to know.
“You don’t have to worry about him anymore. He was kicked out of the club, and I reminded him exactly what we do to assholes that pull shit like that.”