I do, and it was something I had been hoping to put off for a few more days. My chest feels tight and I take one more look at the blown-up picture of Tric off to the side. I wish I could have told him goodbye. I wish there had been a way to prevent this tragedy. Finally, I manage to force myself to step back from the coffin, offering one final salute to my friend. I hate beingback here. Being in my home state continues to feel like a death sentence even to this day.
Zane and I walk away, past the rows of identical headstones and head toward the man waiting for us. Behind my Oakleys, I notice the black leather cut and the skull with wings on his patch. President is stitched on top, and I fight to keep my face neutral at the implication of this man being here. His black hair, peppered with gray, is cut short, his lips forming a grim line across his weathered face. He watches us approach, his gaze never wavering from where we are. When we get closer, I notice that farther down the rows of gravestones, outside the gate, five other bikes are waiting, their owners all wearing identical cuts and sporting the same logo with “Rebels of the Undead” stitched broadly across their backs.
“What the hell,” Zane mutters under his breath.
“Gentlemen.” The man steps up when we’re finally in front of him. “Name’s Austin Pierce.”
“Your name tag says Daggerz, with a Z,” Zane quips, while shoving his hands into his pockets.
The man’s lips quirk up, something almost like a smile ghosting his facial features. “That's my road name, kid. Unless you plan to patch in or if you value your life, you don’t call me that. You can, however, address me by my name like an adult.”
“How can we help you, Mr. Pierce?” I ask, my brow raised, my tone biting, wanting to staunch the tension that's growing between us. I hadn’t had time to fill Zane in, but I knew who Austin “Daggerz” Pierce was. I also knew why he was here today. The one thing I didn’t understand was why it was him and not his Vice President. The man who happened to be Tric’s father.
“On behalf of Mr. Wilder’s father, I wanted the opportunity to meet with two of the friends who were closest to his son. My VP couldn’t be here today. He hasn’t been good since we got the call. But I know he wanted to meet you boys. Tric always talkedabout you two,” Austin explains to us, pausing to run his eyes over us. “I’m hoping you’ll consider joining us so he can have the chance to meet y’all officially. It doesn’t have to be at the clubhouse. My wife does a great BBQ and we can use the local park.”
“We’re only on a short leave until our paperwork is done,” I reply, even while my pulse thrums in my temples. I have so many questions for this man and so many things I want to say to his VP.
“Wife? Don’t you call them old ladies?” Zane asks again and the man’s eyes flash.
“As I said...” Austin hands over a piece of paper with his number on it. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was good for my VP. And anything that has to do with my club, my brothers, or my wife, should stay out of your mouth. We’re only here to help our brother.”
Zane’s hand reaches out and he pinches the paper between his fingers, studying it, before handing it to me. “We’ll let you know.”
Austin nods once before turning on his heel and marching back to his bike. Neither Zane nor I move while the man starts up his bike and rides back down the gravel road. At the gates, the rest of his entourage start up their bikes. A loud roaring noise from their engines fires off a total of seven times before they drive off, arms raised in the air and their hands in a fist. My heart clenches, recognizing the sign of respect that Tric had taught me.
“What the hell?” Zane blows out his breath.
My gaze follows them until they’re out of sight before turning to Zane. “We have a lot to talk about. There are things Tric told me about his life before the military. About his dad in general.”
His shoulders shrug. “The vice president of a motorcycle club, you mean?”
I nod, feeling the back of my neck heat. Even though he is gone, it still feels like I’m betraying my friend for telling his secrets. “He grew up in that life. He planned to go back when he got out, but his dad didn’t want him to. It caused a huge rift and that's why they haven’t spoken in the past three years.”
“He would have been a decorated officer, discharged with honor. It makes sense that his dad wouldn’t want him to fall into the MC life. Who even knows what that club is into? For all we know, they could be drug dealers or selling weapons to gangs. If I had known, I would have been on his dad’s side.” Zane sighs, the frustration of what could have been rolling through his body like a tidal wave.
“Are you heading home tonight?” I ask, changing the subject. I understand where Zane is coming from, but there is also a small piece of me that understands Tric. That club was his family. He grew up there surrounded by people who cared for him. When he left to explore the world and finish his degree, he planned to come back home. He was proud of the Rebels of the Undead.
Zane’s hand grips the back of his neck. “Yeah. Ma made lasagna. I think one of my sisters and her family are coming too. Are you?”
His eyes flick to mine. “Yeah, I probably should. My dad’s been asking since we learned about Tric.”
“How’s that going to go?” He turns to me, concern written all over his face.
“Haven’t seen him in eight years.” I shrug. “He writes me all the time and says things are different. I’m trying to let it be water under the bridge.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t been back since we left. I thought for sure you stopped in at least once.” Zane’s head hangs down.
I know who he’s thinking about. The only good reason I would have had to come home would have been to check upon her. We haven’t spoken her name in years, yet she’s still the one person who sits at the front of my mind and I use alcohol to numb the guilt. Knowing she hates me makes things easier. She should hate me. When I look back on it now, I know it was the cowardly way out to let her think I had slept with someone else. That I pushed her away that hard instead of being honest. I chose my pride and guilt over her.
Over the years, I’ve never sought Lyric out, and she’s never reached out to me either. For all I know, she could be married with a handful of kids she always wanted. Even though those thoughts make my heart twinge, I know I brought it upon myself. I have no right to her. So many years have passed that there is a very good chance I mean absolutely nothing to her anymore. I was just a boyfriend who she dated when she was young. And that thought kills me. It terrifies me, when she is still the one person I would drop everything for and run to if she so much as looked at me.
“Some things are better left in the past,” I lie through my teeth and taste those sour words in my mouth. If I had the chance to see Lyric again…I’d give up my life for it and Zane knows it.
“Call me later. I might know of a party happening,” my best friend says, before jumping in his rental car and driving away.
My body is slower to get into my own and follow. It doesn’t take long until I reach the city sign of my old hometown. Dad said he’d have dinner ready at six, and it’s only quarter past five. I will get there with plenty of time to spare, unfortunately, and I just don’t care to spend time chitchatting. He has kept in touch with me over the years, and every time I get a letter, the old resentment I have feels like it's smothering me. My hand comes up to unfasten the top button on my shirt so I can breathe. I’m already itching to get out of town and away from the ghosts that haunt me here.
Deciding to take the back roads to get to my childhood home, hoping that will eat up some of the time, I pass our old hangouts. The back end of town by the pizzeria where I took Lyric on our first date. I pass the school and the football field where I shed blood and tears, back when I thought I had the world all figured out and let my dreams grow beyond their capacity. When I was young and naive enough to think that being a professional athlete was within my grasp, simply because I played well in a small town. The mistakes I made with the people who always cared about me the most is never far from my conscience. I refuse to think back on it, though. I have convinced myself going forward is the only option, even if it feels like razors slicing their way through my heart piece by agonizing piece.
