Chapter Twenty-Two – Deacon
It was actually Angel’s idea to meet Pope at a bar, all four of us. After the police had arrested Ramona, they’d let him go. I’d tried to call him that day, but he’d steadily ignored my calls, sending them straight to voicemail. It’d taken him five days to finally get back to me, and he begrudgingly agreed to see me.
To see us.
I was at the bar, ordering a round of drinks, when Pope walked in. The others were sitting in a wooden booth deeper in the bar, Bishop and Priest surrounding—and crowding—Angel on one side. I didn’t mind sitting across from her, because that meant I got to stare at her beautiful face more.
Pope spotted me immediately and made a beeline to me. It was a Friday night, so the bar was pretty busy. Loud music played on the jukebox, and a loud group was currently playing a game of pool.
As the bartender got my order ready—just a few more beers, nothing too fancy—Pope reached me and sighed. He glanced over my shoulder at the others and grumbled out, “I really didn’t think any of them would come. They made it crystal fucking clear they didn’t want to see or talk to me again.”
“Not as you were, maybe,” I muttered. We’d talked about this. Pope wasn’t the easiest person to be around sometimes. When he got angry, he got pissed, and nothing in the world could calm him down.
No, my brother needed to work on himself. He needed to put in the effort and try. He needed to show us, and himself, that he could be a better person all around and maybe, just maybe, he could be in our lives again.
He’d never return to Black Sacrament, but that didn’t mean he had to be a stranger.
Pope turned his back on the group, setting his forearms down on the bar’s counter. “I wasn’t exactly a nice guy to your girl over there,” he whispered with a frown. “And I still don’t really want to see her. Seeing her, it just makes it all feel worse. It makes me feel like shit.”
“Maybe you should feel like shit.”
That got him to look at me with his eyebrows raised. “Excuse the fuck out of me?”
Normally I’d sit back and let Pope take the lead, let him do whatever he wanted, and when things inevitably blew up in our faces—which they had time and time again—I let myself get down. No more. Not again.
Never again.
And that’s why I looked my brother in the eye and repeated, “Maybe you should. You’ve done some bad things. You know that. You know it and you still don’t seem like you’re sorry about any of it.”
“I’m not someone who apologizes—”
“Yeah, and maybe that’s your problem. You’re an asshole. You always have been, and up until recently, it’s worked out well for you—but obviously it’s not working anymore. Maybe you need to go work on yourself.”
Wow. I’d never stood up to him like this before. What had gotten into me?
As Pope seethed, I threw a glance at the table where Angel and the guys sat. Their side of the table faced me, so I could see her face as she was trying not to laugh at something Priest was saying. Bishop was busy rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
Why had I ever thought to leave them? Why had quitting the band in unity with Pope even crossed my mind? Pope might’ve been my brother by blood, but Priest and Bishop were my brothers, too. They were just as much family to me as Pope was, and Angel completed us.
What an idiot I’d been.
When I looked back at Pope, I found he’d angled his head toward the countertop, digging his fingernails into the wood. His mouth was drawn tight, the sneer on his face not geared toward anyone in particular.
My brother had a lot of problems. He needed to work on himself. I think he’d gotten so caught up in the chase of his dream, so enamored with the life we could have that he never stopped to think about what was right and what was wrong. He thought he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He needed to take a step back and figure out what else he had to live for, because now that reason couldn’t be Black Sacrament.
The bartender slid three beer glasses my way, the glasses clinking together, before moving down the counter to see what the patrons sitting on the barstools a few feet away wanted.
Pope snatched one of the beers for himself, practically burying his face in the drink. He chugged it down, sip by huge sip until it was gone, and then he used the back of his hand to wipe away the foam from his upper lip.
I was going to comment on the beer and how it wasn’t for him, but he spoke first, “I think, maybe, I need to leave the big city.”
That wasn’t what I thought he’d say, and for a moment, I stood there, confused. “What?” It was about all I could say, mostly because I was speechless at the possibility that he would leave. He loved city life.
“I’ve been thinking about everything since getting dragged out of that room in handcuffs.” Pope ran a hand down the side of his face. “I think it’s time I go home for a bit. See Mom and Dad. Figure out what the fuck I want to do with my life now that I’m… now that Black Sacrament doesn’t belong to me anymore.”
A part of me instinctively wanted to tell him not to go, but as I studied his face, I could tell just how serious he was, how much he’d thought about this. Going home wasn’t something he’d say lightly.
Maybe going home would be good for him. Maybe he’d go back to his roots and be the person he used to be, before fame fucked him up. He wasn’t always such an asshole. Once upon a time, he’d been a good brother, a good role model—obviously things he hadn’t been in a long, long time.
“I’m sure Mom and Dad will love to have you back,” I said dryly. I loved our parents, but they’d never understood this whole band thing. They thought it was a waste of time and that we’d never really get far. We’d beat the odds coming as far as we did, and now Pope would go back to them with his tail tucked between his legs.
But what other choice did he have? He didn’t have anything to keep him in the city.
Pope let out a chuckle, although it came out wrong. More like a sneer than a chuckle. “I’m sure they will. I’m sure it won’t be miserable at all.” He glanced at the table, where the others sat. “Listen, I know I said I’d meet with them, but… I can’t.”
“Dude, they’re right there. They won’t bite.”
“I know, but… I just can’t. Tell your girl I’m sorry and that she won’t have to worry about me stalking her anymore. I’ll be out of the city in the morning.” He turned to go, to really, truly leave, and I thought about stopping him. I thought about telling him he should apologize to Angel himself—it was true. He wasn’t good at apologizing.
But I didn’t. I let him go, knowing he had to. If my brother had any hope of returning from the deep end, he would leave and try his best to change his ways, his habits, even his way of thinking.
Could people change? I liked to think so, if they genuinely put in the work. Whether or not my brother would actually change was up for debate. I guess we’d have to wait and see. Only time would tell.
So I let him go. I watched my brother leave the bar, and then I heaved a sigh, got the bartender’s attention, and ordered a refill on the one Pope had gulped down. When I had three beers once again, I gathered them up and brought them to the table. I pushed one to Priest and the other to Bishop—the latter couldn’t technically, legally drink, but that never stopped us.
“Why didn’t your brother stay?” Angel asked.
“He was here?” Priest whipped his head around. He must’ve been too busy talking to her to pay attention to the rest of the bar. Of course he didn’t see him, since Pope was already long gone.
“He… didn’t want to.” I pulled my drink closer to me and took a swig. “He’s actually leaving the city. He told me he’s going to head home.”
That made Bishop’s eyes widen. “He’s really going home?” I knew what he was thinking: all this time Pope spent moping around, thinking he’d get back on Black Sacrament sooner or later, and only now was he leaving?
I nodded. “Yeah. He did tell me to say he’s sorry for everything.” That was spoken to Angel, who, at first, looked like she didn’t want to accept that. Accept it or not, though, it didn’t really matter. He was gone, and she might not ever see him again.
But, in the end, Angel whispered, “I guess it’s good he’s leaving. He was only torturing himself sticking around. Whatever he’s looking for, I hope he finds it.” She had a glass of Dr. Pepper in front of her, and she grabbed the straw and took a tiny sip.
Priest raised his beer, making an impromptu toast: “To new beginnings.” That could apply to Pope, but I assumed he was more toasting it for us, for a new Black Sacrament. Who would forget our new album was coming soon? And after that was our first tour together.
Things were definitely going to change, but that wasn’t a bad thing. I realized that now. And that’s why I raised my beer along with Priest, and once Bishop and Angel joined in, we clinked our drinks together.
Ramona was wrong. Black Sacrament wasn’t going to fade any time soon.
We were only just getting started.