Amazing how, in the hospital, I could be on top of things and feel like I really, truly understood what my patients needed and what sort of comfort they needed, but as soon as I got out of that context...
Maybe that’s why I had scolded Devon so hard. I was being so rude to her to ensure that it made me look really bad if I ever took on this kind of work. It was a weird form of self-protection, or perhaps self-sabotage, to guarantee that I wouldn’t run into the same problem.
In any case, these thoughts cycled through my head all the way home. When we got to my place, Michael got out without waiting for me and went to my front door, briskly walking there. I guess he just wanted peace, and I expected him to just head straight for the couch.
He did.
But he didn’t collapse in exhaustion. He stood stiff and rigid. He looked like he needed a hug.
I went over, held him in my arms, and pulled him in tight. He did the same to me, and I knew right then that it was the appropriate time to tell him the story. He needed me to hear his story, but I needed him to hear my story. Call it a trade of necessity.
“I don’t mean to overshadow your story,” I said. “But, there’s something in my past you need to know. Something you need to be aware of to know why I have such doubt and disgust with bikers.”
And so, just as I had mentally played the story in my head every time I looked at the photos in my room, I replayed the story of Jason and Kristina to Michael. I had to give him credit—he listened closely and with an open mind, just as I hoped that I had. He didn’t suddenly get angry and announce he’d seek vengeance, nor did he seem bored or disinterested in the story. He didn’t seem bothered that I was sharing mine right after his; if anything, he seemed relieved to not be the only one suffering.
I wasn’t as sad or heartbroken as Michael was in sharing my story, but that was only because I could still do something about it—I could still see Jason suffer the consequences. I didn’t know that I had it in my heart to say that I wanted to see Jason killed, but I could definitely say that if that did happen, I wouldn’t exactly mourn his loss.Not that I’m sure that’ll bring me peace.
“And so that’s why, whenever you or any of the other Reapers come asking for my help at the hospital, it’s not just an ethical concern, though that certainly plays a part in it,” I said. “It’s because whenever I see any of you as bikers and not as men, I see Jason. I see the man that murdered my sister. When you’re in the hospital bed, I just see a patient. But as soon as you walk out and get on that bike, you’re a murderer to me. Well, almost all of you.”
I cleared my throat.
“Somehow, you’re different, Michael. I don’t know how to explain it. By all accounts, you should be the same thing to me. But there’s something about your demeanor and personality that I just knew, even the first time I met you outside the hospital, that you were different. Maybe I’ll be taken for a fool, and I’ll be wrong. But right now?”
Michael just smiled. He put his hand on mine and folded his fingers into my own. I didn’t fight back—in fact, I welcomed it.
“Kind of a miracle we’re hanging out, huh?” he said. “We’re two broken people who have all the reason in the world not to trust anyone else, and yet here we are, spending time in your place. In fact, you probably don’t even fully trust me since I asked you to work as a medic. Not saying that accusingly or judgmentally, just stating the fact.”
I laughed and leaned my head on his shoulder.
“I have a guarded trust for Michael, the person, and that’s who I see when I’m talking with you. I don’t see Michael the biker, Michael the soldier, or anyone else, and trust me when I say you don’t want me to start seeing that. Because I won’t see you at all if that’s what I have to see.”
“I guess that’s fair,” he said. “It probably didn’t help matters when you saw one of your friends working with us.”
Not in the slightest.Devon working for the Black Reapers and potentially working for the Fallen Saints was a dangerous, deadly game. If she was working for two factions that hated each other, then one of them—the Saints, let’s be honest—was going to try and make her pay for balancing her working time.
That struck some serious fear into me that history could repeat itself.
“Devon... Devon has always done what she’s wanted,” I said, hoping to keep the conversation light. “If she chose to help you, then I can only hope that you’re paying her a good amount.”
“We are,” Michael said. “I’ll let you ask her for how much.”
It didn’t matter to me.
“So then if you aren’t going to get on our payroll,” he said. “Why did you help?”
It was a question that wasn’t nearly as complex as Michael might have suspected.
“I knew someone needed help, and I felt obliged to come and do it as I can,” I said. “It’s the Good Samaritan in me, I suppose. If I see someone that needs help, I’ll give it to them. Doesn’t mean if I get a phone call, I’ll come over immediately. And it doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by my phone every night waiting for someone to call, but if I’m there... why not?”
I ended my words with a gentle smile that Michael reciprocated. For a brief moment, I considered the need to warn Michael that Devon might have been splitting her time with both clubs.
But his gaze locked onto me so deeply and so passionately that I knew that there was no saying anything else. The next thing to escape my breath was not going to be a sentence or even any coherent words. It was...
He leaned forward and started to close his eyes. Was this really happening? Here, now?
And why did it feel so right?
The questions ended as I closed my eyes. I knew it felt right. Michael really was different. There was no way I’d be able to articulate why in this current situation, but I knew he was.
