by Max Henry
I look around the room, and back to my boy, working through every argument, disagreement, and bickering we had together. One thing stands out. One simple word that neither of us ever said afterward, but that I needed to say most for what I put him through.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s all it would have taken,” he mumbles.
We eye each other, silently finding our way through this new ground. A dynamic has shifted, a key element changed, but neither of us has been here before. Both of us are in as much of an uncharted area as the other. Feeling the intense need to do something, anything, I step forward and offer my hand. Alice locks his fist in mine, and we pull each other into an awkward clinch.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
He responds no differently than I would have expected; we’ve both reached our limit. “Like a beer?”
I shake my head and laugh. Perhaps things have a chance after all.
CALLUM, KING and I sit in the waiting area of the hospital ER. Bruiser’s been in surgery for the last four hours, and we’re all on tenterhooks awaiting the outcome. I feel sick to my stomach, trapped in not only the nightmare of finding him like that, but of how closely it resembled my final minutes with Mike.
“Has anyone told Ramona?” I ask, breaking the silence.
King stares at his hands hanging between his knees. “I don’t think she’d be up for that right now, do you?”
“She’s gonna find out sooner or later,” Callum points out.
“Maybe I should call her,” I offer. “Go and see her even. It might be better if I tell her face to face.” Give me a distraction I so desperately need.
“No,” King snaps.
“Why the hell not?” I can’t explain why, but tears are ready to burst forth at being denied the freedom to visit whom I choose. What the hell is going on up there, girl?
“Because for all I know, Carlos has people watching the place, waiting for Sawyer to come home.”
“And you left Ramona there on her own, with Mack?”
“She’s not home right now,” Callum says.
“Right now . . .” I repeat, wondering how he knows that.
“Exactly.” King nods. “Besides, I’m keepin’ tabs on it.”
“Why the fuck is Carlos even watching the place?” The name is familiar from the few things Mike used to tell me. I know he’s a cartel boss across state, and that he’d pretty darn ruthless when it comes to protecting what’s his . . . monetary-wise.
King sighs at my question. Club women aren’t allowed to know about club business, and right now I’m treading the line of even being a club woman without Mike there.
“I can’t say, Sonya, you know that.”
Ire fires my response. “Yeah, I forgot about your fuckin’ archaic rules.” I cross my arms and lean back in the chair, trying to stop the constant shake in my limbs that’s been with me since I found Bruiser. “It’s worse than being married to a freemason.”
“The rules are there for your security,” King retorts, “and you best remember that the fuckin’ club you’ve got your knickers in a twist about is the same one that looked after you not so long ago.”
“I’m sure I could have done it on my own,” I snap.
I know I couldn’t have. King had pulled me from a sticky situation, and was my biggest advocator besides Apex. He was the one who ensured I had a roof over my head when everyone else was ready to throw me out with the trash. Still, the stupid fucking rule that women aren’t allowed to know squat about what goes on under their noses pisses me off no end. I live there, too, and I think I have a bloody right to know if there’s trouble brewing.
King eyes me from his peripheral. “Are you finished with your tantrum yet?”
I poke my tongue out and flip him my middle finger, shaky as it is.
Callum sighs and stands, stretching his long legs out. “I think I’m going to find a coffee machine. Anyone want one?”
King and I raise our hands.
He chuckles, and heads off down the hall in pursuit of some caffeine relief. I hold my hands out before me, watching them jiggle and will them to stop.
Nothing.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” King asks quietly.
I nod, not entirely sure I am, though. Finding Bruiser like that ran far too parallel to memories I’ve tried so hard to forget. My eyes glass over, and I stare at the floor in a haze as I remember that night.
“Baby, put your helmet on,” I plead with Mike.
He shakes his head at me, smiling. “It’s too hot tonight, sweetheart. I hate having sweaty hair.”
“You won’t have a head for that hair if you don’t protect it from the road. Put the helmet on.”
“Is my baby tryin’ to tell me what to do?”
I cede defeat as he kisses me, and pats my backside. “Get on the bike, woman.”
“I asked if you’re with me?”
I snap out of my daze, and look up to find Callum holding out a coffee.
“Sorry, bud. Thanks.” Cradling the cup in my hands, I thank the heavens the damn thing has a lid. Shake, shake, twitch.
“They must know something by now,” King complains, leaning forward and rubbing his hands over his head. He rests them on the back of his neck, elbows braced on his knees, and sighs. “How long do we have to wait?”
“As long as it takes for them to put him back together,” I reply.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall . . .
“I can’t believe he did it,” Callum muses. “I didn’t pick him as having those kinds of issues.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t take much,” I say. “One rejection too many, one mistake too often.”
A doctor walks up to us, still in scrubs. He assesses the three of us and settles on King. “Are you the people who brought Mr Delaware in?”
“Yeah,” King replies, standing.
“Are his family here?” the doctor asks.
“Not yet.” King rubs his palms over the legs of his jeans. “They’ll be a while yet.”
“If you could come with me, please?” The doc holds his hand out, gesturing up the hall.
Callum and I exchange glances and shrug.
King leaves with the doc, and we go back to waiting, like the well-practiced pros we are by now.
Fifteen minutes later, King returns. His eyes are dull and heavy. “Idiot didn’t make it.”
I release the sigh I’d held and close my eyes briefly. Sleep well, precious boy.
“They said he was so drunk, and his blood so thin that he lost too much. His heart went into attack on the table, trying to keep up with the stress of surgery, and they couldn’t resuscitate him.”
I nod, saddened by the news and wondering why the fuck I’m not crying when these two giants look as if they could shed a tear. “I just didn’t see it coming.”
“How could you have, darl? You can’t read minds,” Callum offers.
“He was upset. I just didn’t think, I had to go and . . . I just didn’t think.” My hands escalate from a tremor to a full on shudder.
My entire arms shake uncontrollably as King takes me by the elbow. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.”
I nod, eyes glazed. I know that there was no possible way for me to have known what was about to happen, but regardless, I feel responsible. I was the last person with him, and I didn’t see how much he needed the help. I listened to his heartbreak about Ramona, but was so caught up in my own that I left him alone, just to make yet another pointless phone-call.
I let him down.
And he died.
My legs go weak, and I lean into King as we walk from the hospital. I barely register him telling Callum about Bruiser’s family and when they’ll arrive. My head is a mess of suppressed emotion. After Mike, I grieved, but I never took stock of what happened that night—the shock, the trauma, and the lasting effects it had on me.
Seeing Bruiser bleed out like that scratched the wound, brought the memories to the surface like blo
od bubbling from the scar. Having him die thrust a knife into the raw flesh, and then twisted it so now I can’t feel anything but the same pain.
I sit in the back of Callum’s car and let my limbs go, let the shock work through my system on the journey home. Eyes closed, I fall asleep and dream . . .
. . . of final rides, and blood on the tarmac.
• • • • •
“SHE’S STILL shaking, boss.”
Callum lifts me from the car and carries me inside the clubhouse.
King moves ahead of us, bellowing at the hang-arounds, prospects and whores to get out of the common room.
Callum sets me down on the sofa, and I let frustrated tears slide over my cheeks onto the worn fabric.
“I . . . I can’t st . . . stop it.”
“You’re in shock, darl.” Callum kneels down before me and swipes the tears away.
“I . . . I kn . . . know.”
I’ve been in shock before, I know what happens, but it doesn’t ease the panic I have that it didn’t last this long last time.
King returns from wherever he went and sets a glass of water down on the table beside me. “Lie here, and rest. I want you to have a day off after this passes. No work, nothin’. Any of the boys give you grief, get Callum to sort them out.”
I nod, too tired to be bothered trying to talk again.
“Callum, stick with her until this stops, and if she needs anything, you’re it.”
“Where you going?” he asks King.
“Business to take care of. I’ll stop by and check on Ramona on the way, break the news to her.”
I reach out a shaky hand and take his in my grasp. He looks down at the union, and across to my face. I give him a smile and a gentle squeeze before letting go. Making him club president was the best thing these boys could have done after Apex passed. He’s fiercely loyal—like a rabid dog when you cross him—but also puts the welfare of the members first. Something Apex wasn’t so good at.
King leaves the room, and I turn my attention to Callum. He’s already tapping on his phone, perched on the edge of the sofa by my feet.
Aware I’m watching him, he pauses and looks up to give me a warm smile. “You’ll be okay, Sonya. You’ve got this.”
I smile and close my eyes, succumbing once more to sleep as my body shakes to the point of utter exhaustion.
I SCOOP the last of the spaghetti sauce off my plate with a bread roll as my phone comes to life in my pocket. Shoving the bread in my mouth, I pull it out and check the display.
King.
About fuckin’ time somebody called to explain.
I gulp back my mouthful. “Yeah?”
“Fuckin’ as amicable as ever.”
“Wouldn’t be me otherwise.”
He chuckles, the sound of his bike idling in the background. “I got news.”
“What the hell’s been goin’ on around there?” Since Sonya hung up on me I’ve been racking my brain, certain Carlos or Sawyer had opened fire on the place.
“Too much.” King sighs. “We’ve got other issues now. Carlos knows what Sawyer’s up to, but it ain’t ‘cause Sawyer topped that kid.”
“No?” How else would Carlos know? I left on the down low, and as far as I know wasn’t followed.
“Bruiser.”
“Say again?” I catch Alice’s eye as he stands to take his plate to the kitchen. “What’s he got to do with it?”
“Seems it wasn’t only our club members that had figured out his thing for Ramona. Carlos caught wind and blackmailed Bruiser with the promise of removing Sawyer from the equation.”
“Fuck. That’s low.”
“Truth.”
“So, what does he know?”
“That you’re there. That we’re onto Sawyer. I’m trying to get in touch with him so I can gauge his reaction to the news. I don’t know if he’s going to see us dealing with Sawyer as a good, or a bad thing.”
I look to Alice as he talks with Jane in the kitchen, keeping an eye on me. “Anything else?”
“As far as I know he doesn’t have a clue that you’re related, but I wouldn’t expect it to take a man like him long to figure out now that he knows we have an interest in the situation.”
“Never the easy road, is it?”
“Never.” King sighs. “I have other news, too.”
“You’re like fuckin’ Santa with a bag full of bullshit, you know that?”
“Promise it’s the last.”
“You gonna tell me why I heard gunshots before Sonya hung up on me?”
Pause.
“You were talkin’ with Sonya?” he asks, clearly surprised.
“That’s not my question.”
“I found out about Bruiser’s involvement this morning, went to talk to him about it, but I think he already knew he’d screwed up,” King explains.
“And?”
“He committed suicide this afternoon.”
My chest weighs heavy. “Shit, man.” Having been there, fallen that low, I feel for the guy.
“Shot himself in the head, clean through. Vince, man . . .”
“What?”
“Sonya was the one who found him. He didn’t die until we got him to the hospital.”
I look across the room at Jane and Alice, at how he holds her, at how happy they are together, having each other’s support. “How is she?”
“In a pretty bad way. I think finding Bruiser like that brought back a lot memories for her from when Mike passed.”
“And I guess Ramona won’t be there for her, havin’ the issue of Bruiser to work through as well.”
“Exactly.” King sighs. “I can’t stick around, as much as I’d like to. Callum’s with her for now, but I’ve asked him to go back to the hospital tomorrow to talk to Bruiser’s family.”
“I’ll come home tonight.” Fuck what her use for me was before this. The woman doesn’t have anyone else.
“Don’t overdo it,” King warns. “Rest up; it’s a long ride.”
“Tonight,” I reiterate, and hang up.
Alice takes my empty plate from the table, and hesitates. “What was that about?”
I haven’t got to telling him the whole story about Carlos and Sawyer yet. After we aired our grievances, his buddies left me here with Alice and Jane to talk it out. We started out pretty darn staggered, not uttering more than a few words to each other until Jane stepped in and became our makeshift moderator.
Things are hard enough when you have to rehash a past as painful as ours. I didn’t see the need to add Carlos to it from the get-go. Surely we could enjoy a little bit of ‘nice’ for a few hours before the shit hit the fan again?
“Word from my pres. He said one of the guys back home shot himself. An old lady found him, and she’s in a bad way. I think I’ll head out tonight.”
“Fair enough.” Alice nods curtly as Jane enters the dining room.
“Who would like dessert?” she asks, and just like that, we’re back to playing happy families.
Only this family will forever be anything but.
• • • • •
“DAD! WHERE are you?”
I sit in the same place Alice finds me every day, and every day he still calls out to me when he gets in from school.
“Out the back,” I reply.
He races through the door, and tells me about his day: who said what to whom, what they made in class, which girl he likes. I listen, but I can’t find it in me to respond. He’s a champion. He talks to me every day, so full of life . . . just like his mother.
Yet every day I slip deeper into the black, farther away from him.
You’d think five years would be sufficient time to get over the pain of loss, to move on, to find a way around the roadblock.
Not for me.
I lost my life that night, and I lost my will to live.
Don’t get me wrong, my son means more than the world to me, but knowing I drag him down makes me want to leave this place behind. I can’t ta
ke another day of looking into his eyes and seeing the hurt, the disappointment, and the life being sucked out of him because of me. He’s sad because of me. He moved on. He survived. I didn’t.
I shouldn’t be so unfair as to ruin it for him.
“Anyway, is it cool if I go play with Toby?”
“Sure.” I nod. It’s more than fine—it’s perfect.
Alice races through the house to join his buddy out the front. The two of them skateboard until it’s too dark to see every day. I’m eternally thankful that God blessed him with a friend like Toby.
The kid’s going to need it.
I push forward in my seat, and check he’s gone. Certain he won’t be back for a while, I drag the chair across the back porch, and position it under the beam that runs the length of the house. Careful to keep my balance, I reach up, and pull the tied rope down that sat above Alice’s head the whole time he spoke to me.
The kid had no idea.
The fibers scratch at my flesh as I position it around my throat, but in a few minutes I won’t even care. I adjust the rope around my neck and position the knot. For the first time in years, a smile graces my face. I can see Julia, now—waiting for me.
She’s smiling, too.
It’s been so fucking long since I’ve seen her smile.
“I’ll be there soon, baby,” I whisper, and kick the chair out.
Panic sets in, and my body lurches into survival mode. I close my eyes, and push back the urge to fight, knowing there’s nothing worth staying for. My limbs ache, the tension in my muscles so severe. All my body wants to do is find salvation, a way to live, but I grip that rope behind my head, and will mind over matter. I remind myself why I can’t go on, how bad I’ve made Alice’s life already, how much better off he’d be without me.
How much I want to see Julia again.
My head aches—the pressure is excruciating.
“Dad! I forgot to grab my . . . DAD!”
A tear slips free at the sound of my boy, panicked, afraid and worried for me.
I try to push him away as he struggles with my legs. The damn kid has the chair upright again, but my sheer mass is too much for him to lift onto the seat. I nudge the seat away with my foot; the sides of my vision grow cloudy.
He wails at my feet, his voice breaking in his panic, but I try to tell him to go—my own voice scratchy from the restriction on my jugular.