Chapter Thirty-Two
Axe sat alone in his house and downed another shot of scotch. He, his brother, his uncle, and his buddies had been the pallbearers at his father’s funeral. It was a drizzling and gloomy day in June, high up in the mountains where the redwoods ruled.
Even though Leanna still wore his ring, things had gotten strained after everyone returned to the United States. There were the interviews with immigration, DNA tests, the police investigations, and the swarm of news media, all clamoring for the real story of what went down in Mexico.
Axe leaned his head back on the couch and let the burn of alcohol shoot down to his gut. He’d ignored Leanna when she showed up to his father’s funeral. How could he make her believe it didn’t matter which one of them had killed his father?
All three guns had gone off.
All three of them had gunpowder on their hands.
And Leanna’s father hadn’t called the Federales.
He ruled Axe’s father’s death by suicide.
Axe covered his eyes and replayed the scene in his mind. He thought his father was going to shoot Leanna. Leanna thought his father was going to shoot him. Maybe they’d both been wrong.
“Dad, why?” Axe moaned, causing Gio Batta to rest his large mastiff head on his knee.
Idly, he rubbed the dog’s head.
A knock on the door roused him.
“Go away,” Axe’s voice slurred, wondering why Gio Batta wasn’t barking.
“Not a chance.” His buddy, Ryker Slade, stepped through the door.
How had he not heard the rumbling of a Harley? Was he so out of it? How many shots had he drank?
“The casket was strong,” Axe said. “It was a good funeral.”
“Yeah, it was.” Ryker removed the half-empty bottle of scotch and sat across from Axe.
“What do you want?” Axe palmed his forehead, hating the whirling sensation.
“Just checking in to see how you’re doing,” Ryker said. “I know what you’re feeling.”
Ryker’s father, Ernie, had died a few years back. He’d been shot by Ryker’s wife’s mother, who was also shot and killed at the same time.
“It’s like I want to believe my dad killed himself,” Axe said. “But that’s not him. He always said only the weak committed suicide. He disdained it.”
“What does it matter?” Ryker asked. “He’s gone now. You have a life to live. Your daughter. Your woman. They were at the funeral.”
“I know.” Axe made a grab for the scotch, but Ryker swung it away from him.
The two friends sat silently. The rain pitter-pattered steadily over the roof of the cabin.
After a while, Gio Batta whined and wagged his tail. He padded toward the door, wanting to be let out.
“Guess I should go,” Ryker said, standing up. “Terri’s due to deliver any time. Just stopped by to see you.”
He gave Axe a slap on his back and strode to the doorway.
“Yeah, thanks.” Axe barely had the strength to mumble.
“Oh, and Leanna sent this.” Ryker dropped a fuzzy ring box on the table. “Your father chose his own destiny. You need to choose yours.”
* * *
