When that didn’t work, I thought that talking to someone about it would help.
When that didn’t work, I thought that trying to use alcohol, sex, and the occasional drug would work.
Finally, when none of those worked, I accepted I’d just have to deal with this the rest of my life.
Part of me held out hope that maybe accepting this would work, but, surprise, that didn’t work either.
Eventually, I decided that I needed to head to the shop. If I couldn’t escape the suffering that plagued my life, I could at least distract myself in the company of friends until the evening. Maybe I could even get drinks at Brewskis with Lane again.And figure out this spy situation...
I went to my room and grabbed my phone. Kaitlyn had finally responded. That brought a bigger smile to my face than it should have.
I told myself to wait—that texting her so quickly would give hints of wanting more than just a business partnership with her, but just as I could not control my dreams, I could not really control my gut instinct to text her. My anxiety, not my attraction, was compelling me to reach out to her, but I went with it anyways.
As soon as I wrote to her asking if she wanted to meet up, I headed straight for my motorcycle, my sole respite from the world and my mind.
My freedom from myself.
* * *
Upon arrival at the shop, I felt immediate ease that had not been there in the morning. I wasn’t lying when I said that the only thing that helped the memories was the bike, but being around my brothers went a long way toward easing my general anxiousness. Here, I could be myself. I could be a relaxed, chill guy who said “man” a lot and liked to drink whiskey whenever possible.
Although I wouldn’t get paid for coming in early, none of us had ever joined the shop for money. Let’s face it, aside from the Carters, none of us were raking in cash. We were paid enough money to make ends meet, and our savings accounts were the club’s business account. If we had to, we’d tap into it, no questions asked. But we were expected—and we preferred—to live a simple lifestyle devoted to the club.
I walked into the first garage, expecting to find a couple of prospects, only to see with some surprise that Lane was hunkered over the hood of a Ford, right next to Axle.
“You signed up for that shit, man?” I said in a gently teasing tone.
Lane looked up, smirked, and turned his attention back to the engine of the Ford.
“Axle’s teaching me a thing or two,” he said. “When you’re the President of a club that involves motorcycles and vehicles, you’d probably be wise to learn a thing or two about those vehicles, wouldn’t you say?”
Damn. He really is getting more involved.But then a more sinister, manipulative thought came to mind.Or he’s getting close to everyone to try and see who the rat would be.
As a fellow veteran, Axle could not have been the rat. There was just no way. But of course, the name Benedict Arnold existed as an archetype for a reason, and it wasn’t because he was some hero.
If I had to put my money on it, I was going to guess Father Marcellus. As fucked up as it sounded to accuse a priest of betrayal like that, he was the only one who had come with us to launch the retaliatory attack on the Fallen Saints, and neither Lane nor I had done anything. It would have been the kind of thing where no one would have suspected anything from the holy man, and he would have used that to his advantage.
But honestly, if I had a gun to my head, with stakes much higher than some cash, I would guess that there was no spy. I would guess that the Fallen Saints had just become more aggressive following the death of Roger Carter. I would guess that their unrelenting pressure had led to the more frequent, daring attacks.
I wasn’t sure I could handle it if there was a real rat.
“By the way, I realized we’re a little short on beer for the night,” Lane said. “You wanna get some for the club party?”
Oh, right. I completely forgot about that.We usually had club parties every other Friday or so, although recent situations had made throwing such a party a little more difficult.
“Yeah, I’ll go run for some with Butch.”
Butch wouldn’t make for great conversation. But he was someone who would keep me company, and right now, that was about all I needed.
“That’s going to make for a great scene,” Lane said with a snort, holding a wrench out at me. “Butch and Patriot. It’s like something out of ‘Of Mice and Men.’”
I went over and playfully punched him in the arm as he laughed.
“I just can’t believe you would actually know that book.”
“Yeah, well, being away from the club has its perks,” he said, which even made Axle laugh. “Go get the beer. We haven’t gone hard in a while. It’s high time we do that.”
* * *
