by Hazel Parker
“Nathaniel Ingles.”
“Nathaniel Ingles…” he repeated, softly repeating his name.
There was something he wasn’t saying, and I strongly suspected it had to do with his own story. While I hadn’t pressed before, I only felt that it was fair that I do so now, especially since he had my background. I needed to know—if we were going to make us work, we both had to push each other a little bit.
“What about you?” I said. “You’re around Alyssa a lot. But where’s her mom?”
“Oh, geez,” Vance said with a nervous laugh.
I did my best to withhold judgment, but the way Vance laughed made me wonder if the breakup had been amicable. I promised to keep an open mind—
“She’s like your husband,” he said. “Gone.”
Oh. Oh, no…
“This is really hard for me to confess,” he said. “And I’ll tell you why at the end.”
He took a profound breath, bit his lip, and shook his head. I scooted over to him and put my arm around him. If anyone could empathize with him, it was me.
I’d been in that spot far too many times, needing to say what happened to my husband and just becoming too emotional about it. I knew what it felt like to be overwhelmed with grief, especially since Nathaniel’s death had happened in the relatively recent past.
“It’s OK,” I said. “You don’t have to talk about it now.”
“No, I do, I do,” I said. “Because… ah, fuck!”
I swore that he sniffled and tried to wipe away a tear, but he turned away when he did so, making it virtually impossible for me to see if he had. All I could do at that moment was comfort, because it was all I knew how to do.
I just hoped it was enough.
“Shit… damnit. OK, fuck,” he said. “I was the reason my wife died fourteen years ago.”
“What?”
It was more the force that he spoke with, the way he practically slammed the words on my lap, that had me surprised and recoiling a bit.
“It was an accident,” he said, but his words were more measured now. It was like he’d gotten the hardest part out, and since I was still here, he was able to continue. “We were driving on my bike; she was about seven or eight months pregnant. Obviously, that was just a dumb, dumb mistake. But up ahead, we had a stop sign. I didn’t see anyone coming, and so I decided to just gun past it.”
He muttered some more swears under his breath at himself. I wasn’t going to condone what he did, obviously, but he didn’t need me to tell him he’d made a mistake. He just needed someone to show him compassion right now.
“Unfortunately, someone else had the same idea, but they were going slower, so maybe I just missed them entirely,” he said. “We hit and… we had to run to the hospital. Emergency surgery was done to save Alyssa, but nothing could be done for Olivia. She died because of me.”
His body seemed to melt into mine.
“And you know, the worst part of it? I told everyone that I wasn’t at fault. Even Alyssa doesn’t know the truth. I’m so terrified to show her that her father is imperfect, that her father killed her mother, that… well, I just tell her the other driver hit us and that it was an accident, yes, but I’m blameless.”
He stood up, putting his hands behind his back.
“You’re the first person I’ve told this story to, Courtney, and I’m sorry you got burdened with it. Maybe because we’re just meeting each other and you don’t know my friends? I know you know Alyssa, but you didn’t know that. But… this was inappropriate, I’m sorry, I’ve just been reaching a breaking point with needing to tell this story, and now you have it, and—”
“Hey,” I said.
I stood up, held his hands, and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.
“It’s OK,” I said. “We all have our secrets, and we all have our things we don’t want to tell people. I understand.”
Admittedly, pulled away from the situation and detached, it did seem a little odd that Vance would have confessed such a thing on a second date… except for the fact that, moments before, I had confessed my alcoholism and the death of Nathaniel in rather emotional terms as well. If we were odd, we were being odd together.
I’m not sure such a level of transparency could have worked with anyone else, but then again, I’m not sure either of us would have been in a position to see anyone else. We were not boyfriend and girlfriend yet by any means, and it would take some time before we got to that point, but we were the right people for each other at that time. We were the people we needed to be to help us get through some emotionally turbulent times, and this was exactly what was needed.
“Thank you for sharing that,” I said. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”
“Yeah… yeah,” Vance said, taking a seat back down. “I can’t say that I planned our second date starting this way.”
I started laughing as he continued to explain all the things he wanted the date to be—a stroll through the park, a picnic, more ice cream, maybe some bowling. It was sweet and adorable, but really, this was better than anything else could have been.
“You’re fine,” I said. “I want to know the person I’m dating.”
“I do too,” he said. “I just didn’t want to put you in a spot where you felt uncomfortable and forced to admit things you weren’t ready to.”
“Well,” I said, hands on my hips as I looked down at him with a smirk. “I don’t think I would have if I weren’t, now would I?”
Vance, realizing he hadn’t forced me to do anything, smiled and patted the bench next to me, encouraging me to take a seat. I did, and he put my arms around me.
“You were saying, though, that you were struggling to tell Alyssa?”
“Yeaaaaaah,” Vance said, stretching the word out. “She loves me and has always been a daddy’s girl. Kind of has to be since she hasn’t had any girlfriends or even friends around to be the mother figure to her. I’m just terrified about telling her the truth and her saying she hates me.”
“Could happen,” I said, although I kind of felt like I was talking out of my ass a bit. I didn’t have kids, and I was an only child. I also came from a relatively stable house, although my father also liked to drink excessively. With that, though, it was perhaps the most peaceful alcoholism ever; he never hit anyone, never cussed anyone out, and never prevented anyone from doing what they needed to do.
Maybe that was why none of us did anything until it was too late. We saw him as a functioning alcoholic, not realizing—or not particularly worrying—that he was slowly dying until it was impossible to reverse everything.
“But I find you more attractive and vulnerable because you chose to reveal all that to me,” I said. “I really do find you a compelling man, Vance. Maybe she will appreciate you more as a father.”
“One can hope so,” Vance said.
I thought that I had more words, had more to say at the moment about what Vance had just revealed. But I quickly realized that to add anything else would be redundant; all of the wounds and scars had been laid bare, and to repeat them right now would do nothing more than keep them open.
So, instead, I sat on that bench with him, his arm around me, as we watched the Green Hills afternoon slowly go by.
Chapter 11: Sensei
I’m not sure how long Courtney and I spent on that bench.
But it was long enough for me to realize that our budding relationship could be summed up in two words.
Inevitably tragic.
In all but one way, we were perfect for each other. She had a background similar to mine and could empathize with me about the loss of a significant other; she put me at such ease that she was the first person I ever confessed the truth to. Part of that was because she didn’t have fourteen years of a lie built up in her head, but part of that was just because she had such a kind and gentle soul—while also battle-hardened in the arena of life—that I felt comfortable admitting it all to her.
But the “one way” was enormous, and especially after last night, it
loomed dangerously large.
She hated the Savage Saints. I was the current president of the Savage Saints. Even when Trace came back and I receded to the background, I was still going to be a member of the Savage Saints.
Nothing was going to change that.
The one thing that gave me a glimmer of hope was her saying how her husband had died. It seemed so unlike us to engage in a public shootout; I strongly suspected the Mercs had caused some trouble and we had come to help, only to fail to protect the lives of civilians. I could even somewhat remember what incident she was referring to, although the actions of Diablo were so frequent and grim that I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what she was talking about.
I asked her husband’s name mostly because I wanted to do some research on it. If I could prove that the Saints were innocent—or perhaps even had gone so far as trying to protect her husband—then maybe her mood would soften.
But that still didn’t erase the fact that I hadn’t admitted to her I was a member of the Savage Saints, and a high-ranking member at that. That was something that was going to be really painful to discuss, and I had a feeling that it would ultimately be our downfall.
That’s why I called it inevitably tragic. I didn’t see any way around the issue short of a miracle—even if Courtney forgave the Saints, I doubted she could look past the hiding—that we would last, despite everything good that we had going for us and how great we were for each other.
Inevitably tragic.
Let’s just hope that’s not the case for everything else.
Eventually, both of us grew bored of sitting on that park bench, although we definitely spent more time than I ever would have guessed. I may have been called Sensei, but I was not someone who meditated or took quiet time like this a lot. It was certainly something I would have to do in the future.
“So,” I said at some point. “You know, I did have all of those activities that I wanted to do.”
Courtney laughed, the sudden stakes of our conversation having dropped pretty dramatically from where we had been just minutes before.
“You mentioned so much!” she said. “You want to do all of it?”
“Why not?” I said. “We have all day. I mean, I do.”
Courtney looked like she didn’t want to admit that she had kept the entire day open for me as well. It was very adorable the way she was squirming not to look like she had no plans, and it made me kiss her on the cheek.
“Well, I think we’ve gotten our park fill, wouldn’t you say?” she said. “And we already did ice cream. I’ll take you up on the offer to bowl, though. Provided we get some bumper lanes. I’m not very good at it.”
“Oh, well, in that case, let me take my high score of one hundred and show you up,” I said, thinking it might not have been the best idea to say that my high score was actually in the low two hundreds. “Let’s go. Would you mind if I had a drink while we did?”
“Oh, God no,” Courtney said. “I’m not one of those people who sees someone having a drink and just melts on the spot. I’m not that weak.”
“Alright, good deal. I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t want me to drink, though. For how tired I am, may not be the worst thing in the world!”
Courtney wouldn’t let me off the hook so easily, though, and we headed to the parking lot. A thought crossed my mind as my bike came into view, something that seemed a bit audacious, but something that I thought was at least worth putting out there.
Would it help her move forward from her hatred of bikes if she rode one?
“Courtney,” I said, shouting across the parking lot. I motioned for her to come to me with a wag of her finger, which she did so with a curious expression. “I’m going to make you an offer that I know might not be welcomed, but understand it comes from a place of trying to put you into my world.”
“OK,” she said, her arms crossed.
Get right to it.
“The bowling alley is about six minutes away, not very far,” I said, which was true. “I would like to take you on my bike. You’re welcome to say no, and I’ll fully understand if you do. I just think it might be nice for you to ride with a gentleman, especially since bikes matter to me.”
To Courtney’s credit, she didn’t immediately say no or look at me like I was stupid. Her eyes drifted down to the bike as she eyed it for several seconds, trying to decide if it was something that she wanted to risk. It was about as safe a ride as we could have asked for—the fastest that we would go would have been thirty-five miles per hour, and even that would have been for short spurts. In most areas, we’d be going no faster than a scooter would.
“I appreciate the offer,” she said, but not with the tone of someone who was uninterested.
I stood there in silence for several seconds as she weighed the pros and cons of it.
“And you promise you’ll be safe?”
“Won’t go a mile per hour over the speed limit,” I said.
She grimaced.
“I don’t know, that thing is just… whenever I see it, I always think of the Saints and Nathaniel,” she said. “But, on the other hand, it might be nice to make some new memories with it, make some new associations with it. You know?”
I nodded, again trying to stay silent so she could make the best decision for her.
“I don’t think I can.”
I was mildly disappointed, but not so much in Courtney as in the circumstances of her life. I was of the opinion that everyone needed to ride a motorcycle in their life at least once, either riding or driving, so they could get the sensation of being on something so powerful and magnificent, something which was almost an extension of themselves.
“I’m sorry; don’t be mad.”
“Not in the slightest!” I said. “I would like for you to try it at some point, but after our big conversations, I’m not mad at all.”
“OK, thanks,” she said.
She didn’t seem particularly pleased with her decision, though. She very much seemed like she had made the decision as a default, not as something that she had completely agreed to.
That didn’t mean I was going to push her, though. That would have given her all the reasons she needed to say no then.
“I’ll see you at the bowling alley, then,” I said, reaching for my helmet and buckling the straps.
She nodded… but she didn’t leave my side. I swung my leg over the bike, prepared to rev the engine, and looked at her. My bike was making the put-put-put sound right now, but she still hadn’t walked away.
“Courtney?” I shouted over the machine beneath my legs.
“I kind of want to get on it,” she said, a smile forming on her lips. “But… I’m scared.”
I’d heard that line before, and it wasn’t wrong for some of our other riders. Not surprisingly, Krispy and Mafia were some of our most notorious speeders and riders; one had to make sure they were at the back of a run to make sure they didn’t get out of control.
“You have my word that I will not speed and that I will not let you get hurt,” I said. “I will stop at every red light and stop sign. I’m not going to let anything happen to you or anyone else.”
Courtney still needed some convincing, but I wasn’t going to do it for her. That was convincing she’d have to do for herself.
“You did drive Alyssa to school on your bike, and she seemed completely fine…”
She went back into her head.
“You do have an extra helmet, right?”
“Yep,” I said, turning the bike off and then reaching into the compartment for another helmet.
I handed it to her and she cradled it in her hand, as if holding an object of great significance. She then slowly slid it on, buckling the chin strap and moving her hair behind her head. She took a deep breath.
“Am I actually going to do this?” she asked.
“Look, I’m not going to lie, it’s going to feel scary for a little bit,” I said. “But just hold on tight to me and you won’t get hurt.”
&nbs
p; “I know, I know,” she said. “I just have to make sure I can emotionally handle it.”
She wasn’t just referring to the fact that she associated bikes with her last husband: that much was obvious. She also needed to have the courage to try something new. She, like me, had fallen into a certain pattern over the last few years since her husband died, and it wasn’t just the bike specifically—it was the idea of trying something risky again, of putting yourself in a challenging spot, that was probably a little scary.
For me, that was telling the truth to Alyssa and club members. For her, it was getting on the bike. The underlying challenge, though, was the same.
“Fuck,” she said. “Swear you’ll be safe. Swear on your life to me you’ll be safe.”
“I swear it,” I said, extending my hand.
She took it, and I shook more firmly than I normally would have for her. It was to make it clear—there could be little doubt about my commitment to ensuring her safety. She sighed, nodded, and got on the bike.
It was of no surprise that her arms wrapped around me before I had even started the engine.
“Wow,” she said.
“What’s up?”
“Your body,” she said. “Damn. It’s hard.”
I laughed before I turned on the bike. I certainly liked Courtney for much more than her looks, and I knew the reverse was true, but that was nice to hear.
It also got my head in the mindset of what might happen later. Probably not on this date, but at some point, it seemed like an inevitability of some kind. And not a tragic one, at that. A good one, actually.
I roared the engine to life, and her arms clenched tighter around me. I felt her head bury into my shoulder, and while there would come a time when I would encourage her to lift up so she could take the drive in, that moment was not right now. I would let her just get used to the feeling of the bike between her legs.
I drove out of the parking lot, going slowly as I felt her arms tighten around me. She was clearly a nervous wreck, but just being on this bike was a huge moment for her. I couldn’t even begin to express my appreciation for her—I just hoped she had some of that in the tank for when she found out my connection to the Saints. Don’t think about that right now. Just enjoy the moment. When it comes, it comes.