My guts clench. The last thing I need is Preacher or his daughter giving me an ounce of pity disguised as hero worship. It would be a stretch to say that I like my current life, but it’s comfortable enough, or at least the routine is. I like shadows, and so I like the habit that brings them about for me to cling to.
“There’s nothing to say. She doesn’t need to thank me.”
“She moved here. I haven’t told her who you are, but she knows the man she’s looking for is in town. She’s smart. I can’t stop her from finding your address and showing up.”
There’s a small chance that I might have some trouble regulating my emotions. Fine, temper. It bursts out now, scalding hot, directed at the person who deserves it the least. “Fuck off with this shit. Haven’t I given you enough already? She comes here and wrecks my peace, and we’re done. I love you like the dad my piece of shit father never was, I swear I do, but that won’t change anything.”
I’m dangling dangerously close to the edge. I want to ball my hands up and fucking scream until my lungs bleed. I want to curl over and spit up all the black inside my soul. All the hate festering there, the rage, the sadness, the disgust. One shove is all it will take. Preacher’s here, my best friend in the world, a man who truly has been like a father to me, the best man I know, and he’s still shoving me right to the edge.
I wonder what he’d do if I had a meltdown of the century right here, right now.
I know what he’d do. He’d pick my sorry ass up and let me scream it out. He’d give me good advice, I’d nod and pretend I agreed. Maybe say what he wanted to hear so he’d leave me alone. Then as soon as he was out the door, I’d be bawling like a fucking baby.
That’s so pathetic in my mind that I cringe in real time.
“Hey.” Preacher swallows thickly. “I hear you. I’ll tell her that you value your privacy and that she needs to respect that.”
“No, you tell her what it’s like. That I’m no fucking hero, I’m a mess who just happened to be there when I was needed. Tell her she needs to drop those stupid hero fantasies she’s harboring. I don’t need saving and I don’t need more friends. I have a job, this place, and the club and that’senough. I don’t want any of that to change.”
“Okay.”
It’s the kind of okay that’s not really okay. Preacher’s still holding onto the same stupid hope that he hasn’t been able to let go of where I’m concerned, since I showed up here five years ago.
“How many years is it gonna take before you let your hope for me go?” I snap. “I’m never gonna want to walk down the street in the middle of the day, or be a part of anything that functions in the light.”
Preacher just stand there and lets me rant.
“You think a twenty-one year old kid wants to deal with this?” I wave a hand over myself. Preacher knows what I mean. “Your daughter is all you, Preach. She’s sweet and gentle and good. She truly cares about people. I saw all of that from a distance, when you told me to watch out for her. The night of the fire I was sitting up on the roof smoking when I saw the flames. I’m not a hero no matter what anyone thinks. She’ll take one look at me and live with that burden forever.”
Preacher lets that linger in weighted silence. “I don’t think you’re giving Fawnie enough credit,” he finally says, maddeningly.
“Whatever,” I retort. Temporarily out of comebacks.
“You’ve lived all this time trying not to be bitter. Don’t start now.”
“Sage advice. If you’d like to show yourself out the door you’re standing right in front of, it might save me telling you to go fuck yourself.”
“You can tell me if you’d like.”
I heave out a sigh that goes on and on, until it rattles in my chest. “You know that I won’t. It’s pointless. You won’t listen anyway. You never did want me to just rot.”
“What happened wasn’t a punishment. You saved two lives.”
“One of them was a cat.”
“My daughter’s had Bubby since she was a little girl. You have no idea how much that cat means to her. And she’s still a living being.”
“Technically I did get burned saving the feline, so maybe I should be tellingitto go fuck itself.”
“She’d probably give you the cat middle finger right back.”
“I’d appreciate her honesty. People have a real problem with pitying sorry looking things like me.” Twisted skin is ugly, but it seems to be contagious. No one wants to get too close. People either stare or they don’t and that’s on purpose.
“In all seriousness, you look like a person with scars. It’s the way it is. You have people who love you. What else matters? When you’re riding, with your vest and your helmet on, no one gives a damn what you look like. You’re just the same as everyone else.”
He’s about to leave when he turns back to me.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Preacher’s voice is thick. Too heavy. He stares at his boots like he’s nervous about unmanning himself in front of me even though he’s seen me lose my shit and bawl like a baby more times than I’d care to count. More being at least once, which is one time too many.
