“And Cole,” Patriot interjected.
“—to run this club when he passed away. To vote a Carter out is to vote the founding family out. They would never do it.”
But as I leaned forward, trying to convey how serious I was, I realized Patriot would never have brought an unfounded rumor to me. Much as I found the thought disgusting and inappropriate...
“And that arrogance, that hubris, is exactly why they would vote you out.”
“It’s not arrogance,” I said, but my own tone was defeating my words. “It’s just… reality...”
My voice trailed off. Patriot didn’t need to call me out twice for the same thing. He could see what I was recognizing.
I was a goddamn wreck. I could look cocky and confident before the club, but that seemed to make them dislike me even more. I began to look at all my interactions through the lens of the rest of the Reapers a bit more carefully and realized how, outside of Patriot, there just weren’t many friends I had.Or any.
But to go out and risk my life...
“Fuck,” I mumbled as I took a swig of my Yuengling.
“Drinking that beer isn’t gonna help you, man, but at least you’re recognizing it,” Patriot said. “What are you scared of, anyway?”
Well, shit, if he’s asking so directly... if he’s asking me the truth...
“You know, I went to the graveyard today to visit my father and Shannon,” I said. I bit my lip, trying to find the right words. “It’s so hard having to know the woman I was going to marry and my father are two people I will never fucking see again. You know? Like if you get estranged or dumped, you can always tell yourself you might see them again. Even if you know the odds are slim to none, or that they moved to a completely different state, possibility is a real word. But death? It’s final. I will never see them again. Never, ever. Only in my dreams and maybe, if God is real, after death. But in the real world, for another five, six, seven long decades? Never again.”
I was surprised to hear my voice waver. At least Patriot had the good sense to just watch and not interject.
“When we go into battle... ”
Confess.
“I’m scared... I’m scared that more of my friends, like you, will fall, and I don’t want to have to bear witness to that. I don’t want to have to live with that. Living with two deaths like this… it fucking sucks enough.”
I slumped in my seat.
What I had said was “true.”
But it wasn’t the complete truth.
Once again, I had been afraid to confess what was really going on, and it was only going to make matters worse until I either told the whole truth or just said fuck it and put myself on a mission.
“You know, when we signed up for the military, we all knew part of the deal was we had to be willing to sacrifice ourselves for our country if necessary,” he said. “And part of the reason we are willing to make that sacrifice is because of how close we are to each other.”
I could see where this was going, but coming from Patriot, it seemed like it might be good advice.If I can follow it, that is.
“When we went out into battle, guns blazing and mortars falling, I certainly had in mind my country and my parents and brothers. But most of all, I was fighting for my brothers to my left, to my right, and in front and behind me, man. And, brother, I’ll tell you, absolutely, it sucked to see them die. I still get emotional thinking about the men who died with me. Our bond, though? Our love for each other? We know that lives on.”
He held out his beer as if asking me to clink bottles. I did, but when the bottles connected, he did not pull his back.
“The very thing you aren’t doing is making you resistant to the idea of us dying,” he said. “Become part of the team, brother. Really become part of the team. You’re not a CEO. You’re not the president of some Wall Street company. You’re the president of the fucking Black Reapers motorcycle club. A brotherhood. Fuck any other meaning of that word. All that matters is you being present and there with us.”
“Yeah,” I said.
I didn’t think better words could have been said. I also was not sure how well they would influence me, but at least they would be pushing me in the right direction.
“How did the visit to the graveyard go, anyway?” Patriot asked.
Thank heavens, he changed the subject, albeit not really to a pleasant topic.
But, fucking hell, I have a lot to think about.
