by Bourne, Lena
But that’s it. All I want from you is an explanation, nothing more.
I don’t add those two things, I’m only thinking them. It’s impossible to say them, because he’s looking at me with those bright eyes, transferring the sparkles into my chest, and I can only speak the truth when he looks at me like that.
I love him and I want him back.
But what you want is not always what’s best for you. That’s old wisdom, and Ink and me are a great example of how true it is in modern times too.
Him leaving very nearly destroyed me. I will not let that happen again.
4
Julie
I tried to lead him to a take-out coffee place, so we could have this conversation on a bench by the marina, in private, but he insisted on going somewhere where he can get a beer, so now we’re sitting at Paddy’s By The Docks, and I’m going over my father’s and brother’s schedules in my mind, because they sometimes come here after work. But no. Not today. They’re both golfing today, I’m fairly certain of it.
He’s just looking at me, and I know I could read everything I want to hear in his eyes, but I refuse to. He already said everything I dreamed about him saying on the day he finally came back to me, and it’s hard enough pretending that’s not the case.
“So talk,” I say and take a sip of my beer. I ended up getting one too, even though I haven’t had a drink in months. I need something to calm my nerves.
He studies me with those deep forest green eyes of his and I can literally feel myself getting pulled into the calm, peaceful serenity I see in them, back to the way it was between us, back to a time when there was no telling where he ended and I began. I spent the better part of this past year disengaging from him. I’m not getting sucked back in. Especially not in the space of ten minutes.
“I can’t tell you everything,” he says.
“Then what the hell are we doing here?” I ask too loudly, slamming my beer bottle onto the table, which makes foam come out at the top.
“We’re here because I can’t live without you,” he says. “And I was hoping you’d give me a second chance.”
Simple. Effective even, because I’m already seeing that second chance play out in my mind, and it looks exactly like the first chance did. Perfect.
He reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away, almost knocking over my bottle in the process.
“Why did you leave me?” I ask.
It’s the question he never answered back then. The question that kept me tied to what we had for almost a year before I could finally cut myself free. Well, free-ish.
His eyes turn dark, like a storm descended on that magical forest that I normally see in them. A bad and scary storm. The stuff of nightmares.
“You knew it was never gonna be simple for us. Your family was against us, for one thing,” he says then clears his throat like he left something unsaid. “Leaving town and disappearing on the road like we planned to do, like I really wanted to do, wasn’t gonna solve it. I didn’t have much of a choice. I had to leave.”
I know he means it. I know he wanted to spend the rest of his life lost in the world with me. I didn’t doubt it then and I don’t doubt it now. I didn’t even really doubt it while he was gone. But it’s not enough. He left me. He was gone for a year.
“You’re usually a much better talker than this, Ink,” I say sarcastically. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
“It was a matter of life and death,” he says and I can’t help but scoff.
“You ran away to save your own life?” I ask mockingly. “But I thought you couldn’t live without me?”
I shouldn’t be mocking him like this. It makes what we had—what I had in him—so cheap. But I was so angry for so long, and somehow I’m only just now realizing how black and rotten my anger towards him turned while he was gone. I’m realizing another thing too and it gets clearer the longer we’re sitting here, across from each other. I truly never stopped loving him. I’m still as attracted to him as I was on the last day we spoke. I still want him to embrace me and kiss me and whisper loving things in my ear as he holds me, as I did on the day he left me. No matter how many times I said I was over him, it was never the truth. I’m still just faking that, I never made it. And now I’m afraid for my sanity again.
I wish he’d say something to make me hate him, but he’s just looking at me, kinda sorrowfully, and not answering my question.
“You don’t wanna hear this truth, Julie. Trust me,” he finally says and I really, really like it when he calls me by my name like this. It never fails to make me feel like I’m floating in caring softness.
“I do want to hear the truth,” I say sharply, in an effort to dispel this stupid lightheadedness and serenity that’s filling my chest.
He just keeps looking at me, his eyes pulling me in, deeper and deeper, until the fear that I’ll never claw my way out of loving him with every ounce of my soul gets unbearable.
“I want to know,” I mutter.
“Fine,” he says and looks away. The feeling that accompanies the simple gesture is exactly like having the rug swept from under my feet. I know this feeling. I felt it once before, when he told me we were through.
“It would have been easier if your father was just run-of-the-mill against the two of us being together,” he says. “As in, if he’d just disowned you and let us all live in peace with that.”
I gasp, can’t help it. “I know these are just fancy words you’re using, Ink, but you’re talking about me losing my family.”
“You didn’t, but I lost mine,” he says and leaves it at that. I know what he’s talking about, and yet, somehow, it feels like I don’t know at all.
“I’m sorry about your father,” I say, no sharpness in my voice. “I went to the funeral. It was a lovely service.”
I hoped you’d be there.
I don’t say that, but I think he heard it anyway. His eyes are sharp now, not inviting at all. I think he wanted to be there too.
“I left you so no one would die, Julie,” he says. “It didn’t quite work, since my dad did die, but it was close enough.”
“What are you telling me, Ink?” I ask breathlessly. I think I know, but I don’t want to be right.
“I’m telling you it’d be better if your father had just given you up. But instead, he threatened my family to keep you in his. I didn’t really have much of a choice. Break it off with you and leave town, or watch the people I love die. Both of those choices were wrong.”
There’s only a deep darkness in his eyes now. The stuff of the worst nightmares.
“My father didn’t…he wouldn’t…” I start sputtering, but do I know that? The man’s ruthless in business, always was. He’s ruthless in all things. But killing people? I had hoped he drew the line at that.
“He would and he did, Julie,” Ink says. “You wanted the truth. Here it is.”
Not this truth. I didn’t want to hear this. Never. I don’t know what to do with it.
“What’s different now?” I hear myself ask.
“I told you, I can’t live without you. I made the wrong choice. I shouldn’t have left you. You’re my family too. Not my blood family, but my soul family.”
“I…I…” I can’t form a sentence. I don’t even know what to believe, what to trust, or how I feel. “I need some air.”
Then I just bolt out, can’t see anything clearly, the whole world just a blur, both the one outside, and the one I thought I had all figured out inside my head.
He’s standing next to me.
“I know this is a shock,” he says. “You want me to leave?”
No! I want you to hold me!
But the voice saying that is buried very deep beneath the logical, clear one telling me he could be lying, that he could be making this up, that his father’s death had nothing to do with me or my family.
“I need to be alone right now,” I say.
He nods and hands me a napkin with a phone numbe
r written on it. “Call me.”
I take it, squeeze it tight in my fist and walk away. He doesn’t follow. He would always give me my space when I asked for it. That’s just one of the million things I loved about him.
He’s not wrong.
He’s my soul family and I’m his.
We were meant to be together. That’s why it never made any damn sense that he left me.
* * *
Ink
Well, then…I’m not sure how to describe how that went. Me at a loss for a bunch of flowery words? It never happens. My ability to spew out flowery descriptions is how I got my name all those years ago. I could always be counted on to turn a phrase well, and say the most colorful and poetic thing in any situation, and since I couldn’t call myself Poet, because that’s too girly, I became Ink. That gift failed me today though. Then again, Julie was always able to see right through that shit to the heart of the matter, to the heart of me, so there was never a need for it anyway.
It didn’t go perfectly, that’s for sure. I should’ve planned this conversation better. I had all day to do it, since I arrived early this morning then spent the day sleeping on a secluded beach where we used to come to be alone. But I wasted most of that time thinking about her naked and willing in my arms, and not about the shit she’d have to face once we met again.
I knew I’d have to tell her about her father’s role in my disappearance from her life, but I was gonna tell her in small installments that she could process easily, not dump it all on her like I did. Of course she bolted, who the fuck wouldn’t? I hope she at least knows I don’t blame her for any of it. If we’re in this together, then we’re in this together all the way. I wish I had been able to think this way back then, before I left her behind like she meant nothing to me, like she was someone I could just discard. That’s how she took it, and I had to look into her eyes and face that today. It wasn’t easy.
I did hold a lot of the truth back though. Despite her insistence that she’s ready for the whole truth, I know she can’t take all of it at once. Hell, I’m still struggling with it. I should’ve told her everything back then. I should’ve gone to her first, and I shouldn’t have listened to my uncle and all the rest who convinced me leaving town and disappearing was the only solution to the problem her father posed. Back then, I could be sure of her reaction to this truth. She’d pack up, tell her father to go to hell, and leave with me.
But now, I have no idea what she’s gonna do with this knowledge. Hopefully something good. For both of us. She was always so good at making me feel good. Just watching her and listening to her speak always did it for me. Today was no different, despite everything else.
A part of my mind is still stuck in that fantasy that kept growing brighter and richer in my mind while we spoke—the perfectly formed image of the two of us together in a room, in bed, naked, together. It was so vivid I could taste her skin, even though she didn’t let me touch her.
She’ll call. And if not, I’ll go see her again.
She missed me, that much was written all over her face and especially in her eyes. It was all over that initial angry outburst of hers too. I hardly heard the words, but I heard that she missed me clearly. Damn I missed being with her. I didn’t even know how much until she was right there. I especially missed her looking at me. Sure, her eyes were angry today, but underneath that lay all those calm pools of honey filled with the love we used to share so perfectly.
She’ll call. She’ll take me back. There’s really no other way for us. I was a damn fool to think there was. But now we’ll deal with the obstacles in our way together, the way it should’ve been from the start.
I got some obstacles of my own to deal with first though. I’m starting with my uncle and brother.
They’ll probably both be at the clubhouse now, and I’ll pay them a visit wearing my new MCs cut. I’ve made that decision earlier, but I’m still not sure if it’s a good one. I was a prospect at my uncle’s MC, since I was old enough to ride, but then never joined, which didn’t sit well with a lot of them. If I show up wearing a cut from a different MC, they’re gonna be ruffled by it. Then again, I made a huge sacrifice for them all, the sacrifice of a lifetime. I earned the right to just walk in, wearing whatever the fuck I want, even if most of them don’t see it that way. The only person I’m really worried about is my brother. I know he wanted me to come back one day and join his MC, so we could ride together. That was our dream since we understood what it meant.
It’s never gonna happen now. He’s with the Knights and I’m with Devil’s Nightmare MC. They’re all gonna find that out sooner or later, if I stay in town while I win Julie back. Which I will. So they might as well find out sooner. A small voice in the back of my head is asking whether I can even call myself a member of Devil’s Nightmare MC anymore after I disobeyed Cross, but I ignore it. Handling this homecoming one problem at a time is all I can do.
5
Julie
After I left Ink in front of the bar, I didn’t go home and I didn’t go back to the office either. I just walked around aimlessly until I regained control of my thoughts. Under control might be an exaggeration, but at least they’re not all spinning around in my head like a whirlwind, pulling me in deeper and deeper into the darkness I don’t want to face.
The darkness of believing Ink did actually tell me the truth and that my father is the monster he described.
Ink never lied to me. And I always knew he couldn’t just leave me, I knew that deep inside my heart, and even when he did leave me, I still knew it. I knew it the whole time he was gone. That’s why I couldn’t let go of him.
And it’s not like I can pretend that what he told me couldn’t possibly be true.
My father, and his father and grandfather before him, didn’t exactly use only honesty and integrity to get the company to where it is today. Hell, speaking for my father, honesty and integrity don’t have much to do with his everyday life in general.
What Ink told me could be true.
As much as that thought—the thought of my dad being a murderer—makes me unable to breathe, I know I need answers. And I know where to find those answers.
I guess my feet figured that out before my brain did, because I’m standing near the side entrance to our office building, and I don’t remember deciding to come here before just now.
It’s empty and cool inside. Everyone’s left for the day, and the cleaning staff doesn’t come in until 8 PM. I have plenty of time to find the answers undisturbed.
But do I want to find them?
I want the answer to be no, but there’s no turning back now. Either I find the truth, or not knowing eats away at me for the rest of my life. It’s an easy choice.
I know where to start searching too. My dad’s office. The archives room is attached to it, and it contains rows and rows of shelves full of binders and boxes filled with all the important documents relating to the business, stretching back to the 1930s, when the company was founded. It’s my job to get all of this on a computer and into a cloud, but it’s a daunting task, and I’ve only completed about one third of it since I started working here.
I let myself into my dad’s office, closing the door softly because I’m sneaking, and not because anyone can hear me.
Luckily, the document binders are arranged chronologically, and I start with the year Ink left me, working backwards. An hour later my hands and my throat are dry, and I’m nauseous from the dust and old paper smell. I haven’t found much that proves the truth of Ink’s words. But whole months are unaccounted for. Like June when he left me. July’s there, but August, September and November are gone. It could just be that there was nothing to file in those months, but I doubt it. There’s always something to file. If nothing else, then something to do with Euphoria, the family project that’s become an obsession in the decades since my great-grandfather, whose big dream it was originally, died before he could even get started on it. Strangely enough, there are no papers on Euphoria at
all in the binder I’m checking.
But that doesn’t mean anything and besides, I’m being an idiot.
If my dad had someone killed, he’d never file evidence of it away anywhere. Unless there’s some kind of trail of it on his computer.
I have the password to it, so that’s where I check next.
Two hours go by, but all I have to show for my time is weak proof of a couple of shady deals. None of it has to do with Ink’s dad or the two of us.
I did find the combination to the office safe, jotted down in a text document filled with all of my dad’s passwords. I saved it on a flash drive, along with some other proof of questionable dealings, which could make it easier for me to run away from him and the family business. I should’ve thought of doing that earlier.
I’ll check the safe and then I’m out of here. I’m driving to San Diego tomorrow and disappearing from there. Maybe I’ll see Ink one last time before I go. Maybe I’ll take him with me. Maybe I’ll leave him behind forever along with everything and everyone else. I still don’t have my thoughts under enough control to decide that.
The safe is behind a very old oil painting of the bay before the marina was built. I think my great-grandfather’s sister painted it back in the day, but I’m not sure.
The combination works and my stomach is clenched to the point of nausea as I slide open the door, since I’m doing a very backhanded thing by going through my father’s safe. He’d never stand for it if he knew, but I’ve come this far, so I might as well go all the way.
The safe is nearly empty. All it contains is a steel incased hard drive, a few velvet boxes housing gold coins, and a stack of papers, the bottom ones yellow with age and the top ones fresh like they haven’t existed for more than a couple of months.
About a year, as it turns out. Among them are the missing pages from the binders—the June, August and July ones.