I go inside, put my fist through the wall I've been patching all week, find a bottle of whatever Murphy left behind, and sit at the kitchen table to wait.
When Crow finally comes in, I'm three drinks deep, sitting across from her empty chair. It's not enough. Nothing's going to be enough.
He stops in the doorway, taking in the scene—cold scrambled eggs still on the table, the hole in the drywall, Murphy's half-empty bottle in front of me.
He doesn't say anything. Just crosses the room.
"Rodriguez dropped a bomb and you fell on it."
"I don't need a pep talk."
"Good. I'm not here to give you one." He pulls out the chair across from me—her chair—and sits.
I take another pull from the bottle.
"I made a call."
"Did you? You tried to fight. Growled at a DA." He takes the bottle from me, drinks. "And then you rolled over the second she pushed back."
I don't answer. Take it back. Drink.
"She was talking about optics, brother. Trial strategy. But that's not what you heard, is it?" He leans forward. "You heard 'you're poison and everyone you love dies.'"
I flinch.
"I was there when you showed up at the clubhouse, half-dead and blaming yourself for all of it. There for the three years after when you were trying to finish the job. Watched you build those walls brick by fucking brick." He pauses. "Rodriguez didn't break you and Eden apart. Red did. Fifteen years ago."
I stare at the hole in the wall. My knuckles are still bleeding. I didn't notice until now.
"I didn't have a choice."
"Bullshit. You had a choice. You fought for thirty seconds, and the moment Rodriguez used your own nature against you, you crumbled." His voice is hard. Not cruel—just honest. "You let her win because part of you wanted her to. Wanted the excuse."
"Because she's right!"
"No. She said being with you would complicate the trial. You heard 'being with me will get her killed.' One is temporary. The other is guilt that was never yours to carry."
I don't have an answer for that.
"Red didn't die because you loved him. He died because the world is cruel and people are monsters." A pause. "And today you let go of the one person who might have helped you put that weight down."
"I didn't push her away. I let her go. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
He sets the bottle down and stands, looking down at me—drunk, bleeding, alone.
"You called her the strongest woman you know. Then you decided she wasn't strong enough to choose you." He heads for the door. "Think about that."
His bike starts. Fades into the trees.
I sit in the dark, bleeding knuckles wrapped around a bottle, and wait for the certainty to come back.
It doesn't.
Chapter Ten
Eden
