by Trent Jordan
Phoenix
A thousand thoughts ran through my head after asking the question I’d meant to ask Jess, and not a whole lot of them were good.
I had come in when she was alone. I had...
I had come in and done what I needed to do. I needed to stop fucking beating myself up like I was the whipping boy for Jess and start acting like the man that my father once was. I needed to be calm, speak wisely, and not act like a supplicating idiot.
In short, just as Jess said, I could honor and love my father. I just needed to honor and love the side of him that was actually good and not the one that had caused so much pain and heartache.
“What do I say,” Jess repeated. “Do I want to give this another shot?”
Rationally, I was almost sure the answer was yes. And the immediate thought was, “Of course she wants to give me a fucking shot. I’m Phoenix. One bad day doesn’t change a damn thing about that.” But the second, quieter thought was, “She doesn’t owe you shit.”
“If you promise not to act the way that you did on Sunday, sure,” Jess said as she leaned forward. Her choice of shirt, a T-shirt, revealed no cleavage, but it wasn’t hard to imagine her curves underneath that outfit. “Just make sure you actually talk to me instead of just being there.”
And just like that, the quiet voice at the back of the room, the one that had so much doubt about whether or not I could make it work with Jess, had been removed. The confident, self-assured voice had taken its proper place at the front, and now I felt like Phoenix, the Sergeant-at-Arms of the club, not Austin Smith Jr., the quiet, awkward guy.
“You don’t have a thing to worry about, Jess,” I said, raising my beer in salute. “You got all the bad out of the way, so now it’s going to only be good.”
“Only, really?” Jess said, playfully arching an eyebrow at me. “Mighty strong words for someone I had to walk out on.”
“They’re strong because I can back them up,” I said, taking a sip of my beer.
“Well, just to make sure that they are truly strong and not just bravado after me saying yes,” Jess said slowly, reaching down for something.
I was very curious what she was doing, for she was deliberately slowing the pace of her words down, as if wanting to see how I’d react. I figured a challenge of some kind was coming, but really, what was the worst—
“I’m not going to let myself be available until Sunday.”
Damn!
“You’re going to make me wait that long?” I said in surprise.
“Uh-huh,” Jess said with far more confidence than even I had. “I want to see you, of course. But if I just go out with you right now, what does that prove? Nothing. So, let’s see you wait. Let’s see you get through this next little spell. And then let’s see how you are on Sunday.”
I chuckled and took a sip of my Blue Moon, waiting for her to crack. I waited... and waited... and waited... and waited some more...
She’s not going to crack, is she?
“You’re actually serious,” I said.
“Mmhmm,” she said. “I’ve been around you boys long enough to know how bikers are. When the adrenaline gets going, there’s no stopping or slowing you down. Right now, I bet your adrenaline is pumping. Because I know you like me. Good news for you is, you can know I like you.”
And then she leaned back from the bar, pressing her back against the wall.
“But I’ve seen so many dates and relationships play out in this spot, Phoenix. I see that when people rush back into giving something a shot, without giving time both for deliberate thought and for surprising thoughts to come, it almost always fails. They get their asses handed to them. So, if you prefer, think of it as our ‘abundance of caution’ move.”
I was truly dumbfounded.
Jess was a charming and playful girl behind the bar, but that’s how she was for the sake of tips and drinks. Out in the open, she was a little less charming, but she was still playful and sweet; it was less of an act for the job and more just her true self.
But damn, I did not expect this to happen.
Honestly, I kind of thought she was doing it as a bit of a power play, like she knew by her doing this, she had me by the balls. She probably knew, given that this was the only watering hole in town, that I had no other opportunities with women, at least no other serious ones. Maybe she’s seeing how I act Friday at my party.
Oh, hell, Phoenix, you’re overthinking it. She probably has her own things to think about.
“OK, OK,” I said, nodding my head with a smile. If she thought she was going to have the upper hand, then little did she know two could play that game. “You watch. I’ll be patient. I’ll wait. And then, when Sunday comes around, you’re going to wish you hadn’t made me wait that long. You’re going to see what an engaged, happy Phoenix looks like.”
“I sure hope so,” she said as she eyed my beer, noting I was more than halfway done. “But for right now, I think I’m happy to wait. I think I just want to make sure.”
I nodded, finished my beer, and slammed a twenty down.
“No round two?” she asked.
“The only thing that’s going to be a round two here,” I said. “Is our date.”
Mostly, I just knew staying there would only serve to torture me further as Jess tried to hold things over my head. I suspected she really did have to figure out some things—maybe she was getting caught up in the thrill of it as well.
Either way, I had come, I had gotten what I wanted, and now it was time for me to bail. And so, without another word, I left Tom’s Billiards, satisfied with the result and curious to see what would come. And it was a damn good thing, too.
Because for as good as what had just happened was, what was set to follow was going to be a fucking awful nightmare.
I rode my bike out of the comforting, peaceful, and embracing arms of Ashton and into the place that constantly reminded me of my father’s death—the place where I actually lived, where all mail and documentation came to.
Springsville.
And not just the graveyard. Not just my apartment on the outskirts of town.
The real heart of Springsville.
Just thinking the location felt like inflicting a curse on myself. Even though the town as a whole was a nice enough place, with enough local restaurants and landmarks that I felt like I could have lived there if not for... them, it still had too many awful associations for me.
For the time being, it would have to be known as the place where my father was murdered.
But since I was here, in the belly of the beast, I figured I might as well check out some of the old spots.
First, I drove to Mama Sue’s. The diner didn’t have any Black Reapers in it at the moment, thank God, but it looked to have a healthy number of customers inside. It was good to see the town’s favorite diner still going, even with the threat of the Fallen Saints lurking once more.
Next, I headed over to Main Street and checked out Bottle Revolution. There were no customers there, but for it being a weekday evening, that was to be expected. Bottle Revolution was never a place that packed a ton of people, anyway, and the fact that Axle’s girlfriend wasn’t there made it certain none of them would be there.
The last place I wanted to check out, though, was one that I kept distance from until it came into view. I had to see it for myself. Had it really suffered as I had been told?
Carter’s Auto Repair. And, in turn, the Black Reapers’ clubhouse.
And...
Holy shit.
The place looked ravaged.
Explosive stains marred the building all over, as did holes in what windows were still intact. There were bikes outside; the grounds still served as a meeting spot for the Black Reapers, but the Fallen Saints had clearly struck a devastating blow. This was not an invincible fortress by any stretch of the imagination; if anything, what Father Marcellus had said about the place being attacked understated how badly the Saints had inflicted damage.
But it w
asn’t like it was going to get me to change my mind. I didn’t feel any sort of gleeful vengeance; more just surprise at how badly the Black Reapers had gotten attacked.
And how that will be the Gray Reapers next if you are not careful.
I hated to admit it, but I knew how true that was.
I just didn’t know if it was the kind of thing I needed to worry about right now.
And then I froze as someone on a bike approached me. A Black Reaper. I tensed, but I did not move my hand to my gun. I had not come here to incite a civil war.
And then the Reaper came closer into view.
Father Marcellus.
“Follow me.”
Just as we had planned earlier, I followed him away from the Black Reapers compound and toward his trailer. He lived on the far north side of town, far away from any of the drama that infiltrated Springsville. He was a simple man; he had a trailer with a bed, some basic kitchen supplies, and that was it. No television. No pets. Not even any books except for a Bible.
“Do you not entertain yourself?” I asked when I entered.
Father Marcellus chuckled.
“This is the place where I rest my soul and ease my mind,” he said. “Anything that would distract it from the present would be unwelcome.”
“I see,” I said, although I didn’t really.
I didn’t have any pets, so I could see being without that. I guess I could somehow imagine a life without a television. But a life without any form of entertainment? I’d be in the clubhouse almost literally twenty-four hours a day.
And yet, Father Marcellus wasn’t. He would go to the clubhouse frequently, sure, but by no means was he a squatter—at least when I had been there.
“And... are you a vegan?” I said in shock as I looked at the food in his place.
“I eat what I must, and nothing more,” he said. “But come on, now. You have seen me at the club cookouts. Do I look like a vegan to you?”
He gave a hearty laugh, like an elder observing a child who was just learning some amusing truths for the first time ever.
“I am a man of simple tastes, both literally and figuratively,” he said. “I have my role to play in the club, and I try to fulfill it to the greatest potential. But the role for myself is minimal, and I do what I can to keep it that way.”
“Makes sense.”
I cleared my throat.
“So, anyway, the reason we’re here.”
“Yes, good. Go on.”
I sighed and bit my lip. This was the first time I was really discussing any of this in great detail. Jess had only gotten the cliff notes version, or the cliff notes of the cliff notes version of everything.
“That video you shared with me, Father...”
I shook my head. I didn’t expect to feel so emotional talking about it. I didn’t expect to feel so... devastated.
“It upended a lot of things that you thought about your father,” the Reapers’ chaplain said. “It forced you to change your world view.”
“It’s like the man I thought was perfect turned out not to be,” I said, shaking my head. “Like if you suddenly learned God was evil. I don’t know.”
No analogy seemed to do well enough to explain how I actually felt. By now, for better or for worse, I had completely accepted the idea that my father had betrayed the only club he knew. But that was the only thing that I had really wrapped my head around; the consequences and implications were just a giant mind fuck.
“Why did he do it?” I asked.
Father Marcellus bowed his head.
“He acted alone; that is the consensus in the officers’ room right now,” he said. “Given that, we can all only speculate. But if you want my guess?”
I nodded.
“When the elder Carter passed away, we all know what happened that night. The Saints did the unforgivable, Lane lost the woman of his dreams, Cole left, and the club fell into disarray. We had the manpower to push the Saints away, but Lane either would not or could not lead us. Imagine if you were in your father’s shoes. Here is a club that you have helped lead since almost its founding, or very close to it. Here is a club desperately teetering on the edge of trouble. But instead of you being given permission to help, you are pushed to the side. The bratty son is enabled.”
“Bratty,” I said with a chuckle. “I guess we’re not quiet in how we feel about Lane, huh?”
“We have all had some very frank and honest conversations since your father perished. We have not made any attempt to close any wounds; we are taking our time looking at them so we can better understand how to move forward and prevent this in the future.”
Maybe Lane is growing up just a bit.
“What sorts of things were said?”
But Father Marcellus shook his head.
“We all agreed not to share what was said in that room,” he said. “Just as I promise you now that I will not share anything that is said here. I will only share with others that such a meeting took place.”
“You promise?”
He nodded. It was just what I needed to hear—the knowledge that he would not say anything back. If I could trust only one person, it was him.
“Father... at this point, I can accept that my father betrayed the club. As much as it pains me to say that, I accept it as fact. But... it’s still so damn hard for me to forgive what happened elsewhere. I can’t forget that Butch just... just fucking murdered my father. I saw him...”
Father Marcellus looked at me with compassionate, caring eyes, but for now, he let me have all the space I needed to speak. He did not seek to console, but to understand.
“I saw him place a damn bullet between my father’s eyes. The last thing my father would ever see before he died was a gun from his... well, maybe not friend, maybe not even ally, but someone he once depended upon for help pointed at him. And then, bam. He’s gone. And to have the audacity to show up at the funeral...”
“That was my decision.”
I gasped. Father Marcellus? Really?
“They debated going to the funeral and, in fact, at one point decided it was not wise for them to do,” he said. “I counseled them that though you would hate them in the moment, though it would have the appearance of being mocking and condescending, at some point, it would be appreciated.”
“Appreciated?” I said with a mocking chuckle.
“Life is indeed short, but in many ways, it has many twists and turns that can make it seem quite long. Someday—and that day may only be on your death bed—you will appreciate what they did. They did not come out of malevolence, Austin. I can promise you that. They came to pay respects to a man who was wonderful to them for nearly three decades. One bad year does not erase the good that your father did and the relationships he developed.”
Maybe so.
But still...
“What would you do in my spot, Father?” I said. “You witness your own father murdered. Not just murdered, but by your allies. Yes, you learn your father was a bad man. But he wasn’t a bad man to you. What would you have me do?”
Father Marcellus nodded slowly.
“Do you know why I became a chaplain, Austin?”
I shook my head.
“I was in the high school many years ago when my mother was murdered by some criminals who were robbing her home. The very act drove me mad. I didn’t retaliate with murder, but that was only because I got pulled away before I could kill one of them. They got caught and sent behind bars before I could do any more. For years—literally years, decades, in fact—I stewed in anger and hatred. I crippled myself by having such disdain and disgust for them.”
He sighed.
“And then, over time, I realized that it wasn’t like I could telepathically send my vengeance toward them. I could not hurt them by hating them—and even if I could, it wouldn’t make things better. It would not bring my mother back. I had to find peace from within, not from outside. And so...”
He chuckled.
“Of course, I wasn’t
ready to give up the secular lifestyle quite so much, as you well know,” he said, drawing a short laugh from both of us. “Doing something like becoming a Catholic priest was out of the question. But there was very much a spiritual journey of sorts that I had to undergo in order to get to this spot. And it was through that spiritual journey that I became the man I am today. Am I perfect? No. I don’t even mean on the things the purists would say are sins, like alcohol and relationships. I have shot at men before. I have used violence. But...”
He sighed.
“Maybe I’m just an old man who’s trying to justify why he did things a certain way. But here’s what I’m ultimately getting at. Eventually, Austin, you have to move forward. You have to give yourself permission to forgive those who murdered your father. You must, hard as it is, empathize with them.”
I understood it, even though most of it was unsettling.
“By no means am I saying be friends with them, just so we are clear,” he added quickly, as if picking up on my hesitation. “That may never happen again. A friendship, most especially a club friendship, is something much deeper. But you should at least reach the point where you see Lane, Butch, or any of the Black Reapers and do not feel such anger and disgust.”
The funny thing was, though, I was already beginning to feel that way. Having seen the Black Reapers’ clubhouse as devastated as it was made it that much more real for me. I still couldn’t envision myself breaking bread with any of the officers, but at least we could share the same conclusion on two ideas.
One, the Fallen Saints were an absolute menace that needed to be stopped.
And two... much as it pained me to admit it, maybe my father was, in fact, a traitor.
“I’ll work on it,” I grumbled.
“And that’s all you can do right now,” he said. “Work on it. Do what you need to do. Don’t do it for us. Don’t do it for the club. Do it for yourself.”
I nodded. I wasn’t ready to smile yet, but I was feeling a little bit better than I had when I first saw Father Marcellus. And maybe that was all that I needed to move forward.
Or at least begin to.