His voice was shaky, emotional even. Even at my father’s funeral, I had not seen him speak this way.
“I have tried my hardest to keep an open mind about everything,” he said. “I have seen many so-called betrayals in the past explained by a person who needed money, security, or the protection against blackmail. So often in this world, we are in a rush to accuse the other of betrayal, when in actuality, to not betray their tribe would be the worst thing they could do for their own safety. When I heard that Butch had killed your father, I believed that your father had merely had no choice but to betray the club.”
“But now you don’t.”
Why else would he be saying these things? It wasn’t like he was going to throw a shocker in there and say he actually thought my father was innocent.
“I need to take a risk here with the awareness of the consequences my words may bring,” he said. “But I have examined all of the evidence they presented with as much care and neutrality as I can muster. I think... I think they were right, Austin.”
It literally felt like someone had stabbed me in the gut with a sharpened knife. If Lane accused my father of something, fine. If Butch said something, whatever.
But Father Marcellus?
This was the man who was like a second father to me. Though he never approached my father’s presence, he was a man I could talk to about things that I didn’t feel comfortable talking to my father about. And here he was, telling me that my father was a guilty man.
“Why?” I said, but I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer. “Why? Why you, now? Don’t tell me you’re with them, Marc. Don’t do this to me.”
“I will not tell you why, because the why for me will differ from the why for you,” he said. “I will only share with you what I had shared with me. Afterward, if you still believe your father is innocent and a good man, then believe it with all your heart. I am not saying this condescendingly, my son. I am saying this out of the search for truth. There is the truth of what you see on the video. And then there is the truth that you will know in your heart that is unexplainable.”
No, no, I already knew that fucking truth. I already knew...
That your father might actually have been a traitor?
That Father Marcellus would never make such an accusation without some serious planning?
“This is too much,” I said, fuming. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Father. You’re supposed to be the person from the Black Reapers I could trust no matter what happened.”
“I would like to believe that I still am.”
I shook my head.
“I know you’re a good man,” I said, trembling. “But I think you’ve made a terrible mistake. I know my father. I know my father! Fucking hell, I know him!”
“You know him better than all of us ever have,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean that you know everything about him. No one knows everything about anyone. Including themselves.”
Well, if the knife to the gut was still there, that was the twist that just increased the agony ten-fold.
Did he really have to say it like that? Did he really have to say that there were things about the only person I loved that I didn’t know? I knew my father. I saw him in moments he didn’t think I saw him. Fuck...
But...
“This is too much,” I said, putting my head in my hands.
“Then I will leave you be,” he said. “I encourage you to check your email whenever you can. I will send what I saw to you. Do yourself a favor, Austin. When you are of sound mind and are able to watch the video alone, do so. And don’t pause it at any point, at least not on first viewing. Then, once you’ve listened to it once in its entirety, you can dissect it closely and carefully. But an informed soul is a saved soul.”
No. No. Not when he’s informed that his father was something he swears he’s not.
Father Marcellus turned around and started to leave. I heard him stop, presumably to see if I was following him, but I was not. I had my head buried in my hands. I was almost in a state of shock, unable to move or do anything but mourn the fact that everything I had thought about my father could very well be wrong.
When I knew Father Marcellus was gone, as evidenced by the sound of his motorcycle driving off, I stormed back to the clubhouse and grabbed a beer. On the outside, I looked the part of pissed-off biker—heavy breathing, flared out nostrils, wide eyes, shaking hands.
But the anger was merely the blanket I had put over myself to hide the truth. I was afraid. I was afraid that what Father Marcellus had said was, in fact, the objective truth.
If he was the one saying it... if he was the one who had come all this way to Ashton to say it...
He had an ulterior motive. The Black Reapers got attacked last night. He’s just trying to cover his ass.
But if you won’t help them because of unjustified anger... what will that result in?
