3. Player
Chapter three
Player
St. Joseph’s Cemetery is quiet and peaceful. We coast in, being as quiet as we can with our Harleys.
My father and Cruz lead the way to my mother’s grave, and we roll to a stop on the narrow-paved lane twenty yards from it.
Molly hangs back at the bike, lighting up a cigarette, having no interest in going to the grave. That suits me fine. She has no place there.
I catch up with my father, who’s carrying a small bouquet he apparently had in his saddlebag.
He glances at Molly, disgust on his face. “She’s a piece of work.”
“Lay off, Dad.”
He lays the flowers against the stone and steps back.
I stare at the name, as do my brothers beside me. I miss her so much, and I know they do as well. So many times since she’s been gone I’ve wanted to go to her for advice like I used to do. The kind of advice she was always so much better at than my father.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Pony’s eyes glaze, and I throw an arm over his shoulder.
Beck does the same from the other side.
We stand there for a long moment, and for some reason, my mind flashes to a memory of my mother standing in the kitchen when I walk into the house from school. I was probably about eight years old. She’s frosting a plate of cupcakes, and I steal one.
I expect her to smack my hand, but she just smiles and bops my nose with a dab of frosting.
“You always did love cupcakes; from the time you were old enough to hold one.”
“Mmm. Red velvet. My favorite. Thanks, Mom.”
And for a moment I remember the smell of her perfume as I hugged her that day, the side of my face pressed to her chest. Goddamn, the sharp pain of losing her slams into me all over again, consuming me with the heavy weight of it.
I move a few yards away and stop at Debbie’s grave, shoving my hands in my pockets. Loving wife and daughter, it reads. She never had a chance to become a mother, and I mourn that for her. I mourn for all the years of living she lost. All because of me.
The pain is piercing. The guilt is crushing.
I squat down and pull a weed, then brush the stone, cleaning the grave up a bit, my eyes burning. You deserved so much better than this, so much better than I ever gave you, sweetheart. I’m so fucking sorry I failed you.
I suck in a breath and stand.
A palm lands on my shoulder. My father stands next to me. His hand squeezes.
“You okay?” he asks.
“No, are you?” I snap.
“Trying to be. Come on. Let’s go visit Dozer’s grave.”
Dozer, short for Bull Dozer, is our former VP. I wear his patch now.
He’s several rows away, over a slight rise. We all move in that direction.
The three of them died together in the explosion. He was looking after my mom and wife the day that changed everything for all of us.
My head is down as we tread through the lines of graves, until I feel a swat on my arm and glance up to see Beck at my side. He meets my eyes, then gestures ahead of us with a lift of his chin.
A woman stands at Dozer’s grave.
My eyes sweep over her. It’s been four years since the last time I saw her, but recognition hits me immediately.
Dozer’s little sister, Taylor, the girl I dated all through high school. My first love, and the one who tore my heart out when I had to give her up.
She turns at our approach, and her eyes flare when she sees me.
“Taylor,” my father says, stepping forward and giving her a hug. “You doin’ okay, darlin’?”
She nods, her face pressed to his shoulder, her slender hands touching the leather of his Kings of Anarchy center patch on his back. Her eyes look over his shoulder, latching onto the Vice President patch on my chest.
I study her face.
Her skin looks pale.
I remember our last summer together when we spent the entire time at Rehoboth Beach. She’d been a beautiful golden tan then.
Drae and Cruz squat by the headstone, pulling stray dead weeds away.
Davis Reed is carved in granite. He’d been twenty-nine and, just like Debbie, he’d been way too young to die.
My father releases Taylor and steps back, glancing at me. I take the hint and move forward to give her a hug as well.
It’s awkward, and I feel her tense.
I understand why. We had a bad breakup, and it was basically all on me.
“Haven’t seen you in a while. Heard you moved to Norfolk,” I murmur.
“I did. I came home to help my sister out. My mom is sick.”
I catch the sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Anything the club can do?” my father asks.
Taylor shakes her head. “Nope.”
The word comes out of her mouth with a pop. I get it. She wants nothing from the club.
“You working at the Rusty Pelican?” Beck asks. Her family owns it. Her mother has been running the place since her father passed years ago.
“Yes, until my mother gets back on her feet. Kayla can’t run the place alone, even with all the staff.”
Kayla’s her older sister. She’s never liked the club.
“Guess soon it’ll be your busy season, huh?” my brother Beck asks, but I cut him off.
“What’s wrong with your ma?”
Taylor’s gaze sweeps me from head to toe. I can’t help wondering what she’s thinking.
“She has cancer.” Her words come out softly as if she hates to say them, and they’re jarring. The word hangs in the air.
“Cancer?” I whisper the question. “Damn, Taylor. I’m so sorry.”
“She’s in treatment. The doctors are hopeful.”
I rest a hand on her shoulder, and the touch shakes me instantly, sending a flicker through my body. She’s still got that effect on me. “You need anything at all, you can call me. You know that, don’t you?”
She meets my eyes and holds them for the first time.
We were everything to each other once, and it all comes flooding back.
I’m so caught up in her I don’t notice Molly walk up until Taylor’s gaze shifts over my shoulder, and then Molly presses against my side, slipping her hand into mine.
“You almost finished here, sweetie?” she asks, like what we have is more than it is.
I glance at her face and see the dirty look she gives Taylor. Straightening, I drop her hand and focus on Taylor. “I mean it, Taylor. All you gotta do is call.”
Taylor stiffens, and I hate that. Her chin comes up, and her eyes ice over. “We’ll be fine, but thanks for the offer.”
With that, she turns toward the lane where I see a small red Mustang parked.
Watching her walk away fills me with sadness.
With every step she takes, I feel an invisible cord between us stretching out, urging me to follow her, to stop her from walking away.
There was a time that girl meant everything to me.
Maybe she still does. The thought jars me.
Even with the hatred I feel simmering under the surface, I think she still feels the connection between us, too.
But I ripped her heart out in the end.
It wasn’t my choice, but she doesn’t know that, and there’s no point in telling her the truth. It would only cause her more pain.
My eyes stray to Dozer’s headstone.
How can I hate a dead man? But I do.
You son of a bitch. I know you think you were protecting her, but you weren’t. You just screwed up all our lives.
A voice in my head whispers the truth.
You did this. Not Dozer. This is all on you.