That all changed the day an active shooter took Ryan’s life. A lot has changed in the six years since that awful day.
I prospected with the Evil Dead MC. Now I’m a full-patched member. I’m a good soldier with loyalty to another organization—the club and my brothers.
Taking a drag from my cigarette, I walk through the cemetery.
It’s chilly today with a snap in the air. The wind rips across my face as I follow the trail to Ryan’s marker.
Burying my chin in my leather, I don’t look up until I’m almost upon it.
The woman standing at his grave halts me in my tracks.
When she turns and looks at me, I recognize her face.
The bridge.
It’s the girl from a week ago.
At the time, I didn’t get her name, but her face has nagged at me. She looked familiar, but I’d dismissed that as crazy. I’m miles from home. Where would we have met?
Now, finding her standing at Ryan’s grave, it all makes sense.
She’s the woman in the photo he had taped above his bed.
His girl.
The one he was supposed to marry.
The one who was carrying his child.
I can tell by the way her mouth parts that she remembers me, too.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“What are you doing here?” A frown creases her brow.
I lift my chin to the marker. “I knew Ryan. I served with him.”
Her eyes widen. “You did?”
“Yeah. We met in basic and got deployed together.”
She tilts her head. “Are you Cody?”
“Yeah.”
“He talked about you all the time.”
“I didn’t put it together the other day, but I remember where I saw your face before. He had your photo taped over his bunk. Heather, right?”
She nods, then turns to stare at the marker.
I move closer and read the inscription.
Ryan Payton.
Loving son.
I frown, wondering why there’s no inscription saying loving husband and father, then remember they hadn’t married before his death, and she hadn’t had the baby yet.
