Chapter 9 #2
They know all about the club. They know I don’t torture or murder people, that we don’t run hard drugs and never have, that we have rules about treating people fairly, especially women. They even know that the club has branched off into more legitimate ventures over the past few years.
There’s no thank you forthcoming from either of them. No gratitude. Only tense, painful silence that creeps under my skin and gnaws at my bones.
“Esme is finished with James. In all the years they’ve been together, he’s been chronically unfaithful. He’s shown her nothing but disrespect. Treated her worse than trash. When I talked to him, he called her a whore and wasn’t the least bit concerned that she could have been killed.”
It’s always been a thinly veiled secret that my parents don’t like Esme. She’s not the blonde airheaded trophy wife that they imagined for James. She doesn’t come from the kind of parents that they’d be proud to know. They’ve actually never made any effort at all to be friendly with Esme’s folks.
Mom lets out a long sigh followed by a tiny little gasp-cry and then she collapses. Maybe she’s been unravelling this whole time behind those glassy eyes. She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and sobs quietly.
Dad’s hand shoots out and squeezes her shoulder. “It’s fine, Carolyn,” he says. “It’s all fine now. It’s been dealt with. James will come back home. We’ll get him help. He can move on. This is a fresh start. It’s a new beginning.”
I thought I needed a bit of time up on the roof with Esme earlier, but Dad’s words slam into me like dumping my bike over going a hundred miles an hour.
“A fresh start?” I sputter. “What about my club? This isn’t just a debt they’ll forgive.” That’s not necessarily true, but I’m not gonna let James get away with what he’s done. “James has to pay that money back.”
Dad chokes on his own saliva. “He’s your brother! Show some compassion.”
“Compassion?” I can’t help it. My voice drops several notes, coming out low and dangerous.
I’m so fucking tired of this. I’m beyond exhausted.
I was never the son that anyone gave a shit about.
Never a person my parents even tried to see, let alone understand.
“I made sure no one got killed. James has shown no compassion for a woman he strung along for a decade and a half. He was supposed to be building a life with her. He should have protected her!”
“He did! He bought her a ring and a car and a house. He’s always stood by Esme, despite her reputation.”
Oh. Fuck. This.
I have to set the mug down or I’m going to hurl it at the wall. I’ve never had an urge to dismantle an entire room before, but I imagine crashing all the shit off this counter onto the floor, opening the cupboards and letting dishes fly.
That’s not who I am.
It’s not who I want to be.
I’m not the kind of person who bottles my rage and explodes. I don’t let myself get out of control. I don’t need to settle problems with my fists when I can do it with my mind.
I don’t like the man I am right now and that’s okay.
My parents have never understood me. They’ve never got that you don’t have to be a meathead idiot, full-on narcissist, with a disgusting ego and swagger in order to be tough.
You can actually be far more deadly by using your brain than you can by relying on your fists.
Or a handsome face and an athletic track record that fizzled out in college.
I breathe steadily, shoving down the screaming in my head, the thirst for some kind of justice, for vengeance, even.
“I think we’re done here.” My voice doesn’t tremble despite how brutally my insides crack apart.
After a lifetime, I should be used to it.
Why did I hope that my parents would listen to me?
That they’d actually see me? “I want to make it very clear that you are both to leave Esme alone. She has done nothing wrong. She never did. Whatever her parents are is not her fault.”
I swallow audibly, crossing my arms so hard that my jacket creaks, the patches on the front leaping and twisting with the leather.
“Just like what you both are isn’t mine.
Help James if you want. Give him a place to stay if he needs it.
I don’t care. Just know that he is expected to pay back that money.
I’m washing my hands of helping him ever again.
You’ve never been able to see James for who he is.
You’ve never been able to see me either. ”
I didn’t want to go there, but it’s out now. They can do whatever the fuck they want with that information. Consider it, churn it over, think about how they’ve treated me. Or dismiss it all. Find excuses. Keep on living their golden boy denial dream.
I leave them, my mom’s cheeks damp and her eyes wide and still glassy, my dad stony faced.
Some people say that denial is the first stage in change, but I doubt it.
Outside, I storm down the porch steps. I swing my leg over my bike, kick it to life, and back not so carefully out of my parents’ driveway. I might even run over the edge of their stupid lawn. Whoops. My bad. One childish impulse I couldn’t keep from giving into.
I tear down the street, full throttle, sending silent apologies to the neighbors for being a total douchebag.
No matter what’s happened, Hart has always been my home.
This is where I wanted to be. I left for a while, to figure my shit out and do the things I wanted to do, but it was never a question as to if I’d be back.
I had family here, no matter what kind of people they were.
I made just as many excuses for them as Esme’s made for James.
I’ve made plenty for him too. I’ve found brotherhood here, real honest love and loyalty and friendship. It’s kept me here.
I’ve never wanted to turn my back on all of it and walk out more than I do now.
Not on my club, but on this fucking town.
The people in it. I finally get the burning embers impulse that has lived in the pit of Esme’s stomach all this time.
I get why she’d want to crawl out of her skin whenever her vehicle brought her within miles of this place.
I understand why she sees her parents sparingly, for an hour, one day a year.
I’m so tempted to ride and ride and keep on going, but there’s no way I’m leaving without Esme.
There’s no way I’d leave the club either.
Tyrant would let me go. It’s not a life sentence to patch in.
The club isn’t like that. Life sometimes takes people to different places, down different paths.
The guys get that. Esme is going to leave once she gets a job, or maybe before.
What if I followed her? How pathetic would that be?
Would she want me to? Even if she moved on years ago from James, did she really?
That would be insanely fast. Would I be just another cage?
Fuck.
I don’t often leave, and when I do, I always bring the burden of the club’s security with me. I’ve taken it so seriously all these years. I’ve wanted to. It hasn’t been a burden, it’s been a passion. What if I gave myself a few precious days? Unplug from it. Get out of here. Breathe.
The club owns a cabin up in the mountains. Fresh air, empty skies, haunting blue peaks in the distance. It’s private, secluded. Real touching grass.
I could take Esme, if she’d want to go. I know I’m not her favorite person in the world right now, but we could talk there.
Would she come with me, not as the friends we were, or as almost family, or as any of the stuff in the past, but as friends in the present?
Friends who help each other, can be honest with each other, and truly get each other?
If friendship is no longer possible, maybe we can be two lonely people who connect in some way.
Maybe we can go up there to say goodbye.
If she won’t go, I won’t either, but I think we both need this. Badly.