Chapter 28 – Mortician
Mortician didn’t consider himself a bitch. He faced adversity head-on, found a solution, and got the job done. It didn’t matter if it pertained to his wife and kids, his brother, his mama-in-law, Red, Meggie girl, Chester, Prez, or the club. He always had the answer.
Except…now. With Bailey in a program on the other side of the country. Hating him.
When he landed in Portland, he didn’t go straight to the club.
Instead, he rode around, trying to clear his head, so fucking devastated he didn’t know if he’d ever recover.
Though he confirmed Bailey checked into the facility, they wouldn’t give him any other information.
She’d given Roxanne access to her healthcare but not him.
He arrived home late and needed peace and quiet, so he didn’t go to his room at the club. He went to his formerly happy home. As for his kids, his baby girl called him and asked if he wanted her to come home.
She’d sounded relieved when Mort told her to stay at Val and Zoann’s but he let it go. He and Bailey were the ones to force Harley out of the house in the first place and then refused to allow her to return.
Tipping his bottle of vodka back, he swigged deeply, wiped his mouth and laughed bitterly. Maybe if she’d been home, Pillar of Dirt wouldn’t have made those videos. Nardo Deadenberg wouldn’t have used and abused her.
Mort drank again. It was his expensive vodka, the one indulgence he allowed himself. Bailey always thought it was funny how long it took him to put in his credit card information and complete the sale.
Maybe his most recent order was the last time she’d truly laughed…? They’d been in LA over the summer and he realized he was out of his vodka there and in Hortensia. She’d actually called in Lou to press the ‘purchase now’ button.
Mort smiled at the memory, his heart hurting, his soul crushed.
Roxanne kept the boys at her place tonight.
She advised Mort to let them finish the school week, then she and him would sit Lou and Kaleb down and give them a watered-down version of the situation.
One that didn’t include motherfucking Johnnie ruining their fucking lives.
He drank again, his head buzzing. When he walked into this empty, silent house, he’d gotten a beer, then his vodka. He’d been fine until he decided to smoke a blunt, drink a little more, and smoke another blunt. When he should’ve known better.
Grass before beer, you’re in the clear. Beer before grass, you’re on your ass.
It didn’t matter now. He’d already drank, smoked, drank again, and smoked some more. He was beyond fucked up. He was fucking tore up from the floor up.
He was…
The doorbell sounded and Mort scowled, not wanting to see anyone. Besides, between Aunt Mary and Uncle Al, he was barely in a condition to stand. He just wanted to lick his wounds and drink himself into fucking oblivion.
Tomorrow, he’d put things into perspective, remember that he and Bailey once had a very solid foundation.
Until that motherfucker cracked and left them on shaky ground.
The doorbell sounded again.
Setting his bottle on the table, Mort staggered to his feet. His stumbling didn’t surprise him. Drunk and high motherfuckers were unsteady on their fucking feet.
Whoever wanted to see him was fucking insistent because the doorbell rang again. Digger was the only motherfucker who laid on the goddamn bell like that. Currently, he was a broke motherfucker who needed to be wheeled everywhere.
Growling, he threw open the door, ready to blast his brother. Except it wasn’t him. He narrowed his eyes. “Kendall?”
She held up a picnic basket. “With food and wine.”
He snickered and swayed, tightening his hold on the door. “Don’t need no more alcohol, baby.”
“Can I come in? We can eat.”
Eat? She liked to serve algae and seashells, just all types of fucked up shit that turned his stomach. “What kind of food is in the basket?” he asked suspiciously.
“The edible kind.”
“We got two different definitions of edible,” he grumbled.
“I’ve scaled back on the health food. I stopped at an Italian restaurant to buy food for us. I have stracetta for me and braciola with rigatoni for you. Can I come in?” she asked again.
“I’m not hungry,” he said, stepping aside and allowing her to enter before closing and locking the door. “You can eat, but I plan to drink.”
Taking careful steps so he wouldn’t lose his balance, he led her to the sofa in the den, snatched his bottle, and dropped into the recliner.
Setting the basket on the coffee table, Kendall sat down and bowed her head, not making a move to dig out her food or her wine.
Mortician knew that look on her, but, fuck, he wasn’t sober enough to help her. Probably motherfucking Johnnie again.
Drawing in a calming breath, he set his bottle next to her basket and dug out his cigarettes.
“What up, Red?” he asked her after a few puffs to ease his agitation. “Why you look like you lost your best friend?”
“Roxy told me about Bailey,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to say other than I’m so sorry and I’m so ashamed that Johnnie played a part in her condition. I am sorry that he could hurt you so terribly.”
“It isn’t your shame to bear,” he muttered. “And the motherfucker that should be ashamed won’t be. He won’t give a fuck.”
Kendall snatched his vodka and swigged. “Smooth,” she said, tossing more back.
She finished the bottle before she continued, suddenly as fucked up as him.
Thousand-dollar vodka tended to be strong.
Years ago, Kendall liked hard liquor. After her suicide attempt, she stuck to wine.
Until recently. She hiccupped. “It is my shame to bear, by the way,” she slurred, rubbing her bleary eyes.
“If that motherfucker has debt or legal obligations, I share responsibility for that.”
Mortician ignored her reasoning and studied her flushed cheeks and watery eyes, part emotion and part alcohol. He cocked his head to the side. “When you last ate, Red?”
“Does it matter?” she asked, starting to sob so pitifully.
Unable to stand her pain, Mort managed to get to his feet and stumble to her, almost missing the fucking seat.
She roared with laughter—he did as well.
But then the moment passed and she started to cry again.
Mort almost broke down, too. He loved Bailey so fucking much.
She hadn’t cared. She’d just pushed him away and shut him out. For what?
Because she believed Johnnie’s lies? Because she lost faith in Mortician? A combination? How could his wife have fallen so far?
Elbows on knees, he covered his face, for once ignoring Kendall’s misery, too absorbed in his own pain. Until the sound of her despair finally broke through his cloud. He put an arm around her shoulder and tugged her closer, urging her head onto his shoulder and kissing her temple.
“Recently, I left my kids because I intended to file for divorce. I was buying a house in Idaho and everything.”
“You leaving?”
“No! I was, but I can’t. Not right now. But how can I stay? After what Johnnie’s done to you and Bailey? To me? After his years of obsession with Meggie? I’m so tired. And I left Mattie after all she’s been through. Maybe, Rory’s right. Maybe, I am a bad mother.”
Leaning back on the sofa and bringing her with him, he tightened his hold on her, wanting another drink. “Rory a motherfucker for even saying that to you,” he snapped.
“That’s my baby.”
“And your baby firmly on Johnnie side.”
“He’s a child!”
“Your fucking point? So’s Johnnie. They evenly matched.”
“You want to kill Rory?”
Mortician released her, somehow managing to stand again, squinting at the distance between him and his recliner. He shoved his fingers through his hair, then sat down once more. He couldn’t make it to his chair. Motherfucker was too far away. “Did Rory open his fucking mouth to my wife?”
Kendall’s shoulders slumped. “Don’t kill Johnnie.”
“You can’t be defending that motherfucker to me,” he snarled.
“I’m not,” she said, sniffling. “I swear. But…he never gave up on me.”
“Good for him. You gave up on him if you divorcing him.”
“I’m not. At least not now.”
“Or ever.”
“I just need a break.”
“Take all the breaks you want. It won’t change shit. Johnnie not a reasonable motherfucker, and won’t ever be. How the fuck you expect Rory to be since he take his cues from him?”
“Don’t hate me for trying to save my husband’s life.”
“If I let him live, you and me can’t be friends anymore.”
“Wha…? Why? No!”
“Fuck off, Kendall. That motherfucker live and Bailey come back to me, he’ll target her again if you and me still close.
Fuck him and fuck you. He hurt my woman.
My wife. My Bailey. Fuck both you motherfuckers.
That fuckhead obsessed with motherfuckers and go after our wives.
He want to be Prez, so he target Meggie girl.
He stopped liking me months ago, so he target Bailey because of my friendship with you.
And you got the motherfucking nerve to ask me to let him live?
How fucking dare you? That motherfucker crossed the wrong fucking line. ”
Mortician never wanted to hurt Kendall. Yet he couldn’t stop the venom spewing from the well of poison infecting him. Even when he’d fucked up with Bailey while she was still pregnant with Harley, he hadn’t been as hurt.
“Do you want me to leave?” Kendall asked, chillingly subdued, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“Yeah,” he told her, so angry he couldn’t see clearly or think straight.
“I promised Roxy I’d be here for you. Check on you,” she said pitifully.
“I don’t fucking need nothing but my goddamn wife that your motherfucker ran away.”
“That isn’t my fault,” she cried, switching up on him. “I’m not in that motherfucker’s head.”
“Yeah, but you want that motherfucker to keep his fucking head. I want to hang it on my goddamn wall like a fucking trophy.”