Chapter 9
Wizard
Martyr.
That word rings in my head down the freeway as I head back into Hart.
I got Dravin to come in and cover for me, and then I was out, tearing down the road.
I needed a long ride before I could even think about heading to my parents’ house.
I needed to get my head on straight and my thoughts right, or at least as straight and right as they’d go.
Martyr. That word reverberated inside my skull, louder than the growl of my bike. More intense than the engine’s vibrations. It had a cloying, sticky scent to it far stronger than the gas and oil that filled up my nose.
I don’t think I was a martyr. I wasn’t trying to wound myself or hurt myself or make myself into some kind of hero.
I wasn’t trying to suffer for the sake of suffering.
Was it lonely? Sure. Have I been consumed with lonely moments since then?
I have, but I’ve also had so many happy ones.
I didn’t put my life on hold and just suffer.
I tried to make myself happy. Tried to find fulfilment.
I’ve learned, I’ve grown, I’ve become a better man.
At least, I hope I have. That was always important to me.
I didn’t use that time to sit and sulk and stagnate.
Esme’s tear-streaked face stuck in my mind the entire ride. I knew that if she ever found out, even if it was me eventually doing the telling, I’d have to explain myself and do it well, or she’d be quick to blame herself for all of it.
I rode for hours before I turned around and headed back to Hart. I pass Patterson’s diner on the outskirts, then head down the maze of streets that will take me straight to my childhood home.
The compressed feeling hasn’t gone away with riding. I’m vibrating from the roar of my bike, but also from a weird buzzing that bubbles in my blood. I have electricity in my veins and the taste of acid at the back of my tongue. I might as well have guzzled straight jet fuel, I’m so wired.
I’m wearing my club vest.
I’ve never shown up at my parents’ place with it on before.
It’s not just electricity that thrums through me.
I’m buzzing with a not so lowkey anger too.
I pull up into their driveway and park in front of the garage.
Have they even checked inside to find the wall of boxes I left in there, all of James’ things, because Esme was too nice to pitch them in the trash like I would have?
I kill my bike, tear my helmet off, and leave it dangling from the handlebars.
Am I sorry that I roared in here and probably woke up half the neighborhood, showing up like a thug, at god knows what fucking hour?
I can’t say I am. I’m not sorry about wearing my vest either. I’m sick of trying to get my parents to like me more, or want a relationship with me, so fuck it. For once, I don’t want to be worried about what they’re going to think. For once I’m just goddamn exhausted.
For once I’m going to be me.
I deserve to be a Satan’s Angel tonight. I deserve to be Wizard. I won’t just be Neal when I step through that door. I haven’t been Neal since I moved out at eighteen.
Martyr, martyr, martyr.
I can finally understand why Esme hates this place. A thousand ghosts own this town. Memories. Flashes of what could have been, what was, and what wasn’t.
The porch light paints the yellow siding and white trim a sickly golden. There’s nothing sinister here, and I’m not afraid of shadows, but I shiver inside my jacket anyway. I’m sticky with cold sweat. It pools inside the leather, soaking my t-shirt.
My hand hovers in front of the doorbell.
It’s ironic, that the only other person who’s known all this time was my brother. Maybe it wasn’t ironic. He’s always been very good at picking out weakness and exploiting it. He’s ruthless, cold, and hard. That’s what made him such a good businessman and such a terrible human being.
Part of me wants to accuse him of keeping Esme just because he knew I loved her and he wanted to make sure I burned to ash with it. He wanted to make my life as hellish as he could and he delighted in it.
I didn’t want to believe that, but I don’t know what to think. I have more knowledge. A few more pieces slipping into place to make up that terrible picture.
My hand turns into a fist, and I bang so hard on the door that it’s a good thing it’s solid wood. If there was any glass in it at all, it would probably shatter.
How fucking dare he?
How fucking dare James have stolen all those years of Esme’s life? It was common sense that a person who chronically cheats isn’t a good partner or the kind of man anyone should want to be with, but why? Why?
Maybe Esme was right and I shouldn’t be here tonight, feeling like this, ready to go to war. Ready to finally, finally speak my mind. Ready to tell my parents just what kind of man their precious James really is.
I can’t change what I did or didn’t do, but I can change what happens tonight.
I’m doing this.
I bang on the door until my mom appears, bleary eyed, scraping her hair back away from her face, trying to corral it behind her ears.
She’s wrapped a robe over her pajama set.
She blinks as she pulls open the door. I’m supposed to be the considerate son.
The kind that doesn’t come to their house in the middle of the night looking like a wild animal.
I was the son who got good grades, listened to my parents, obeyed their rules, did all my chores the first time I was asked, had a part time job, never broke curfew, and never gave anyone a moment of trouble.
James was still their favorite kid anyway.
I choke back the bitterness lingering on my tongue. “Mom. Is Dad up?”
Her eyes widen. “No, but I’ll get him. What’s happened? Is it- oh god, did something happen to James?” Her face crumbles, tears immediately springing to her eyes.
I bite the inside of my cheek and ram my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Sort of. Not in that way. There was no accident or anything.”
She starts wringing her hands. I don’t want to be an asshole and sigh, but I do. Loudly. “Wake Dad up. I’ll make coffee.”
My parents buy the instant shit. They would never be bold enough to venture out into cappuccino or latte territory. I add heaped spoonfuls in the mugs to try and make it taste halfway decent.
“Neal.” Dad hasn’t put himself together. He clearly rolled out of bed and came directly to the kitchen. He wears the pajamas that Mom buys him. Always sets. Today’s are blue and white flannel even though it’s the middle of summer.
My parents have never once used my club name. I’ve let it slide with them. James too, because I swear to god, I really have tried to be the bigger person.
Fuck that so hard.
The only one who ever called me Wizard was Esme.
I told her the first Christmas after patching into the club.
She thought it was a great name. We stood on the porch as I was leaving for the night.
She’d come outside for a breather, though she told everyone it was to see me off.
She’d laughed, eyes sparkling like a reflection of the sky, even though it was cloudy that night, and told me it was the perfect name for me.
I never told James. She did, a few months later, thinking he already knew.
He literally texted me to tell me how stupid he thought it all was, including the ‘little boys’ club’ too.
Dad sits down heavily. His hair has been slate gray for years. Mom’s has far more silver strands than it used to. They both look tired. Maybe not just because I woke them up.
I wait for the water to boil, arms crossed. They shift uncomfortably at the table, casting each other concerned looks. I finally give up on my idea of waiting. This is killing them, and for the life of me, I can’t be hardhearted.
“James is in Mexico. I wanted to come and tell you myself. He ran up an obscene amount of debt with a loan shark. He borrowed money and owed it to several different casinos and a few very illegal bookies. He knew the debt was coming due and instead of asking anyone for help, he told Esme he was going away on business, got on a plane, and went straight to Mexico.”
I stop talking and look at them to see if they’re taking this in.
“Esme and James have a joint checking account, but separate savings, and he cleaned out the one she couldn’t see.
He paid for his ticket with his nearly maxed credit card.
Wasn’t even sneaky about any of it, so of course I found him.
This was after Esme called me, terrified out of her mind because the loan sharks called her.
They couldn’t find James and he’d stopped answering, so they threatened her.
They were gonna hold her accountable for the debt if he didn’t show. ”
The saddest part of this whole thing is that I expect the exact glazed over stares that I get from both my parents.
They don’t gape at me. Don’t shake their heads.
They don’t start trembling, or fire off a hundred different questions.
They stare at me, uncomprehending. There isn’t a world where their angel son does something this wrong.
I pour hot water into the mugs and stir the shit. It’s hot as sin, but I bring the disgusting swill to my lips and drink anyway. It scalds my mouth, burning all the way down to my stomach, but not nearly as badly as my rage over the fact that this is playing out exactly as I thought it would.
“It was over two million dollars,” I state flatly.
“Men like that don’t care that Esme is a woman.
They would have harmed her happily. James didn’t warn her or take her with him.
He left her like she was trash, gave her up happily as a sacrifice for his mistakes.
She came to me, the same way he could have. My club paid the debt.”
Mom and Dad share the same blank look with each other. I see Dad’s eyebrows rise a fraction, and I know what he’s thinking.
Money transferred from one criminal organization to another.