by Trent Jordan
Unfortunately, such fights were unpredictable.
“You’re a fucking midget piece of shit,” the Saint growled. “When we have more of us, we’re going to kill you, and it’s not going to be pleasant.”
“Go take your leak,” I said. “And then go back to your drinks. Or fight me and die. The choice is simple. Your words aren’t going to make a damn bit of difference.”
The Saint finally got the hint that I wasn’t bluffing. He turned around, went back to the bar, finished his drink, told his friend to finish his drink, and then purposefully slammed the glass on the ground.
“You live today, Carter,” the first Saint said. “You die tomorrow.”
It didn’t matter what happened tomorrow or beyond. What mattered was that of all the possible outcomes of the Saints entering this bar, a broken glass and two unpaid drinks were the best we could have hoped for.
The two Saints left a few moments later. Phoenix followed them outside to make sure that they didn’t do anything to our bikes. I heard the two of them roaring away moments later, and as soon as Phoenix came back inside, we all breathed a little bit easier.
But only for a moment.
“We need to get out of here,” I said. “If they come back with numbers, we’ll be fucked.”
“Agreed,” Phoenix said. “Jess—”
“I’m staying here.”
“Absolutely not,” Phoenix growled. “You want to let those assholes come back and ruin your bar? You think one broken glass is bad?”
“I’ve been dealing with these fuckheads for years now, Phoenix, just not at Tom’s Billiards. I know how to control them. They’re not going to do anything. They don’t know I’m dating you.”
“For now. When that changes…”
The two of them kept arguing. I trusted them to figure out their issues. I went to the bathroom door and knocked.
“The Saints are gone,” I said.
It took long enough for me to hear anything that I started walking back to Phoenix and Jess before the bathroom door opened. Lilly came out looking a little shaken but unharmed.
“They’re coming for me?”
“As if that’s a shock,” I said. “They probably tracked you down using your phone. We need to leave here now.”
“And go where?” Lilly said. “I told you I’m trying to get to New York City. I’m not staying—”
“What, with me?” I said. “Lilly, I don’t care where you stay. But I care that you are safe. You are not safe here. You can come, yes, I suppose, to my place to ride it out. Leave in a couple hours, I don’t care.”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but you broke my fucking phone.”
“I’ll get you a burner.”
Lilly looked like she was going to throw the remains of her phone at me, and who could blame her? I’d ruined her ability to communicate with anyone else. But, really, at the risk of sounding crass and flippant, who was she going to call besides her father? It sucked to say, but I didn’t get the impression she had a whole list of contacts she could reach out to that weren’t affiliated with her father.
“I fucking hate you so much,” Lilly said, even though I knew that wasn’t true. If anything... “Take me to your place.”
Yep. She’s going to stay with me right now.
“We’ll get you a burner and get you on the road,” I said. “I promise.”
“Just get me to safety,” she said. “I don’t fucking care how.”
She was too exhausted to be arguing further. I couldn’t blame her. I was on an adrenaline high myself.
Phoenix and Jess had reached some sort of conclusion, for their argument had ended, though neither party looked that satisfied.
“All good?” I asked.
“I’m going to get some more Gray Reapers and we’re going to be on standby,” Phoenix said. “I’m not taking any chances.”
“Good,” I said. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we can afford to stay here. I think this war is coming to a head. We’ve gotta be prepared for the worst at all times.”
And may it be the impetus to get us to finish the job once and for all.
By the time I got Lilly to my place, it was just after five in the afternoon. We had but an hour or so before the stores closed.
But to my surprise, when we got inside, Lilly didn’t want to go to the phone store. She just collapsed on the couch, her face in her hands, and groaned so loud it was just a couple decibels away from being a scream. Everything since we’d eyed each other in the bar had felt like it had an edge of tension, but safe in my apartment—and with no trackable phone—I felt I could let my guard down.
“Lilly,” I said softly. “Do you want to talk about any of this shit?”
Lilly shook her head. I stood there for a few seconds, trying to radiate calm in the hope that it would help her chill some. But she didn’t say a word for what felt like five minutes.
“Do you want to go get a phone now?” I said. “The store will close in an hour. We need—”
“I’m sorry, Cole,” she said. “I just... I just need some space. We can go tomorrow. I know I’ll have to stay here. Just let me be, OK?”
It was the most vulnerable I’d heard her since I’d picked her up. She had never sounded so wounded. She didn’t sound like a Sartor then; she sounded like a broken woman.
“OK,” I said. “I’ll be in my room. Let me know if you need anything.”
There was, unfortunately, plenty that she needed.
I just didn’t know how much of it I could help her with.
Lilly
It was rather sobering to realize that my father would do whatever it took to get me back to his house. “Whatever it took” was thrown around too often, but in this case, it was literal.
It was rather sobering to realize that my father, unlike perhaps Cole’s father or any other father, would do whatever it took not because he loved me or because he wanted what was best for me, but…
But why, exactly? If he thought he was doing it out of love, he had a woefully misguided notion of love, the kind of notion that a twelve-year-old had who tried to control everything around him. If he was doing it out of appearances... for what? He seemed to be losing control by the day. What appearances did he have to keep?
Maybe it was just as simple as my father did not like to lose, and if I left his side, that was a loss.
So what was going to stop him then?
Death?
Fucking death?
Did I really have to take the side of the Black Reapers here? Was I really suggesting I wanted my father dead? What was I, that same fucking angry twelve-year-old?
“This is so fucking stupid,” I said.
But swearing out loud was not calming me; it was not releasing my anger. Instead, it was like throwing a boomerang; the release was only temporary, and because I wasn’t prepared for it to come back and hit me in the face, it pissed me off even more.
“This is so fucking stupid!”
Send two guys after me, really? That’s what Dad was reduced to? To lying with some fake emotional voice mail, only to then demand where I was?
Why couldn’t I just have had a normal father? Hell, why couldn’t I have had a father that had anger issues but actually loved his daughter? Why couldn’t Mom still be around so that she could care for me?
“It’s not fair!”
I did something then that came out of an anger and sadness so great, words alone could not express it.
I kicked the table.
It was so fucking petty. It was so bratty. It was so unbecoming of someone in their twenties.
But you know what? Maybe I was still emotionally like that preteen girl who had never gotten the chance to grow up. Maybe my father’s actions, ostensibly taken to protect me, had only stunted me. Maybe this wasn’t so bad for what a spot I’d found myself in.
No, that was a lie. I might get away with making that argument to myself at eighteen, but not now. I was responsible for myself.
And I was a fucking terrible mess right now. How the fuck could I expect to make it in New York City when I couldn’t even keep myself under control in the apartment of an actual nice guy?
“Fuck!” I shouted, kicking the table in front of me again.
The door to Cole’s bedroom opened. Cole, wearing a tank-top and athletic shorts, came in.
“Hey, hey, hey!” he shouted, though his voice softened with each word. “What’s going on? You all right?”
What the fuck did he think? He’d heard me trying to break shit in here. Did he fucking think I did that to practice martial arts?
“Leave me alone,” I said.
God, I really am a bratty preteen.
“I’d like to, but if you’re going to destroy my coffee table, I can’t just let you do that,” he said. “And besides, it’s going to be tough for you to buy me a new one.”
He said it with a smile. I looked away, not wanting to feel his empathy, not wanting to feel his humor. I didn’t deserve it. No one had ever given it to me in a spot like this.
“Sorry,” I said, but it was not exactly in an apologetic tone. “This whole situation is fucking stupid.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I still refused to look at him. But this time, it wasn’t because I was rejecting his kindness. It was because my body had already accepted it, and it was making me emotional.
“Why would you?” I said.
“Why would I what?”
“Why would you want to talk to me about anything?” I said. “I told you I won’t tell you anything that would help you kill my father. I’m of no use to use strategically. I’m just dead weight in this house.”
In this world.
“So why would you want to talk to me about it?”
Cole sighed. I felt the couch depress, him taking a seat about three feet away from me. I stared straight ahead, still not looking at him.
“I’m not going to pretend to understand what it’s like to have your father, because my father treated me well.”
Treated. Not treats…
“But that anger against being in an unfair spot? That situation of just wanting to be left alone? Of feeling like you’re not understood? I know that all too well.”
No, you don’t.
I’ll bet he does.
Shut up!
“It’s just fucking stupid.”
“It is,” Cole said. “And a lot of times, I learned, there’s not much you can do about it but just curse and scream. But eventually, you just learn to move past it. But there’s one thing you have that I didn’t.”
“What?”
“Someone to listen.”
I bowed my head and drew a sharp breath.
“I empathize with you, Lilly,” he said. “I’m not saying that to be a hero or to look like some great guy. I’m flawed. Your father is still my greatest enemy. But, shit, I know all too well what it’s like.”
No one had ever treated me this way.
No one.
And for someone who belonged to a group that my father had described as a bunch of rapists, thugs, murderers, and criminals, Cole seemed surprisingly mature and emotionally developed.
“How so?” I said.
My voice nearly broke when I spoke.
“My brother and I have not always had the healthiest of relationships,” he said, sounding like he was being very cautious with his words. “We’ve made progress, but even now…”
He clicked his tongue, drew a breath, and paused.
“Well, sometimes, things are built on shaky ground, but after over a year of nothing, you’ll take even shaky ground as a foundation. And even before my father died—”
“I’m sorry.”
Cole looked at me in surprise.
“You didn’t know?”
I almost turned to face him. I even tilted my head some. But Cole kept talking, saving me the need to finish the turn.
“Jesus, what has your father told you about us?”
I told him the high-level stuff. The accusations, the names, the fear that he’d put into me. I didn’t tell him anything else, though, frankly because there wasn’t much else.
“He never told you that our father died a little over a year ago?”
“He would sometimes come home happy and excited and talk about having struck a critical blow to the Reapers,” I said. “But he never said, like, ‘I killed Cole’s father,’ or ‘I killed this guy.’ He seemed to think I was fragile and couldn’t face the harsh realities of life. He wasn’t exactly wrong.”
“That sucks,” Cole said. “I’m sorry your father is like that.”
I don’t know why that was the point where I lost control. But maybe it was just the final blow of the hammer to my emotional psyche, the one that turned a crack into a full-blown collapse. Maybe it was just the straightforward nature of Cole’s words.
Whatever it was, it had me in tears. And when these tears came out, they were not tears punctuated by a sniffle every so often. These were the cries of a woman mourning the fact that she’d never grown up, had never had a proper childhood, and had seemingly fallen behind in life by a decade or so.
I buried my head in my hands. I knew Cole could see me, but I didn’t want to see myself. I just wanted to sink into this couch, to drown in my tears, and land at the bottom, emerging only when it was safe. But…
Cole put his arm around me.
He would not let me drown.
He was showing that him having my back was not just cheap talk. It was serious. It was genuine.
I still cried. I still sobbed and groaned like a hysterical woman at a funeral. But I didn’t get any worse.
I didn’t lean into Cole, but I didn’t resist him either. I appreciated the gesture, and even could admit that it was making me feel certain things... but those were feelings I couldn’t readily access, nor was I sure I wanted to access them even if I could.
“I don’t know why you’re helping me,” I said. “No one has ever seen this side of me and been OK with it. I don’t even know that anyone’s seen this side, period.”
Cole just squeezed tighter and leaned his head against mine. Again, I did not lean into him, but I did not pull away either. To say I was confused was the biggest understatement I could make.
“Tell me,” I said, finally tired of the focus being on me. “What was it like having an older brother? I’m an only child, so I have never known what it was like to be a sister to anyone.”
“Well, let’s see, am I allowed to write a half-dozen books about the number of fights that we had?” Cole said.
For the first time since I’d gotten back to Cole’s place—really, for the first time in a long time—I laughed, and it wasn’t with sarcasm or the intent of deflecting something harsh or unfair. I just genuinely felt comfortable around Cole.
I feel comfortable. I do. I really do.
“Our relationship has always been kind of strained,” he said. “He blames me for... well…”
“For what?”
He shrugged.
“Something with my mother. I try not to think about it. She died a while ago.”
What happened?
“But anyway, because of what happened, growing up, it always felt like he was picking on me. Blaming me for things, saying I was at fault, that sort of thing. I’d go back at him, calling him an arrogant shithead, you know, brotherly love. I’ll admit I got jealous of him from time to time, especially when he got... well, yeah, I got jealous of him from time to time.”
It was painfully obvious there was much more to Cole than what was expressed.
But it was equally obvious the same was true for me, and I sure wasn’t in a position to confess those things.
“We had a falling out about a year and a half ago over some things, but slowly, it’s getting better, so, yeah, that’s that,” Cole said. “What’s it like being an only child?”
As simple and perhaps small-talkish as that question was, no one had ever asked me
such a question before.
Apparently, there were a lot of questions I had never gotten asked.
Apparently, there were a lot of things no one had ever done for me.
“Difficult,” I said with a smirk. “There’s no escaping attention. There’s no focusing on anything else when you’re the only child. At its best, you feel so loved. At its worst, it’s suffocating and an absolute nightmare.”
“And how was that for your childhood?”
I felt so uncomfortable getting these questions, but I recognized Cole wasn’t asking with malicious intent.
“For the first several years, I’d say it was fine, my mother was great,” I said. “But then she died. And after that... my father just... I don’t know. If I am being nice, he feared losing me too. But honestly, I’d say he just became an asshole and never let me have freedom.”
I waited for Cole to make an off-the-cuff remark about my father, one perhaps justified for all he had done to Cole and his bikers. But it never came.
He just... listened.
No one listened like Cole did.
And yet, if he could, he’d kill Dad without blinking.
“Why are you listening to me?” I said. “You should hate me.”
“I should?” he said sincerely.
“I’m the daughter of Lex Sartor. I’ve heard you call him Lucius. Is that not enough for you to not listen to me?”
Cole shook his head.
“You are the daughter of that man. You are not that man. You are a woman who has her own opinions, her own values, and her own beliefs and ambitions. You wouldn’t have run away just to set us up somehow, and even if you had, I would have picked up on it. I don’t hate you. In fact, truth be told, I kind of like you.”
If I had the maturity and sophistication of a twelve-year-old, that was becoming doubly true as the warm glow from my stomach became so powerful, I could barely breathe. What was this feeling? This feeling of... liking him?
I could admit that. I actually could.
“I can’t believe... I can’t believe you’d listen to me like this,” I said. “I feel... you make me feel safe, Cole.”