“We got ambushed. We…”
Brock shook his head.
“Forget it. I can’t.”
“It’s OK,” I said.
Brock and I may not have been romantic, but I still cared about him. I would not push him like I had before, especially seeing now the difficulty he had in telling the story.
“They gang-raped her, and they made me watch.”
Oh, Jesus…
Brock bowed his head and slammed it against the table. He didn’t look up for several seconds. The waitress came by with waters but wisely left without saying a word. I couldn’t even…
I reached out and gently put my hand on his arm. Brock pulled his hand from his head and held mine, squeezing it tightly.
“I’m so sorry, Brock,” I said. “I had no idea…I’m sorry.”
I felt at a loss for words. Everything that could have been said felt like it would be dramatically short on meaning and sincerity. “It’s OK?” No, it absolutely wasn’t. “There was nothing you could have done?” That didn’t change the past. “You’ll be better with time?” That was a hell of a dismissive thing to say.
So instead, pulling from how Brock had been there for me late into the night, I did my best to be there for him. I said nothing. I just held his hand and let him have his space. I just let him know, without any words, that I was there to support him if he needed it.
Finally, after what felt like a good minute of him just holding my hand, he looked up at me. His eyes were not stained with tears or colored red, but there was a certain grief to them, a certain anger in knowing that what had happened had, in fact, happened and could not be undone.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“They fucking beat me down until I couldn’t fight back, then pinned me down and made me watch,” he said, his voice hollow. “I took Rachel straight to the hospital, but a hospital can’t treat psychological wounds like that. So…”
I had follow-up questions, but I bit my tongue. He’d revealed the crux of the story.
“Rachel withdrew and eventually broke up with me. She was very adamant it was not my fault. She was very adamant she didn’t trust herself, let alone anyone else. But I still bear the burden of what happened. I still could have…”
He bit his lip and shook his head.
“There’s a fucking reason I want to fight back against the Bandits,” he said. “I look at Rachel and I see someone I failed to protect. I see…look, I don’t mean this romantically, because even if she found strength to heal herself, I wouldn’t want to be a part of her life anymore. I would bring back too much heartache for her. But I see someone that I love, in a way. I see someone that I want to make sure isn’t any more damaged than she already is. And I see someone that I failed to help, but I can make sure I don’t fail again.”
I didn’t feel any jealousy. I only felt sorrow for Rachel.
“The fucked-up thing is, that was the incident that forced Sheriff Davis to, for a while, promise to crack down on the Bandits,” he said. “Not, you know, everything else they did. But the Bandits are still causing trouble. They just…they’re smarter about it now. They lurk in the shadows on their more violent shit.”
He shook his head.
“And that’s why you shouldn’t fucking trust me to protect you,” he said. “I had one chance before, and I failed.”
I would argue otherwise. But not until I felt he’d said everything he needed to say.
“I just… the thought entered my mind at a recent meeting with Cole and Steele. Do I want to protect one person, or do I want to protect one town?”
“Why not both?”
The question slipped out before I could stop myself.
“It’s a matter of focus,” he said. “We’re starting an MC here. The Black Reapers. I… I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I have a feeling Cole wants to make me president of this chapter once it starts up. And I think if that happens, I’ll take out the Bandits. But that also means I can’t be security for you at the office.”
I sighed, but I did my best not to make it obvious.
“Doesn’t NME have anything for you?”
