It doesn’t feel real to be here without him. I keep glancing toward the front door, waiting for him to walk inside. But it’s stupid and pointless.
In the Chapel, my eyes can’t leave the empty chair Johnny will never sit in again, and my fingers tap on the table as I wait for others to join. There are a million things running through my mind that will never happen again without him here.
The cigar he smoked won’t waft into my face and make me kick him in the calf under the table. Which always made him laugh. That damn thing was always in his left hand to make sure the smoke smacked me in the face. And if it didn’t earn him a reaction from me in the timeframe he wanted, he’d blow smoke out of the corner of his mouth in my direction.
I always said I hated it, but it was our thing. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to smell that again. As much as I hated it, it was him. It was Johnny.
God, I miss him.
As if that isn’t bad enough, the familiar restlessness that comes after Chanel leaves is back in full force. Antsy. I just want to crawl out of my own fucking skin.
I hate it.
She shouldn’t come back again. At some point, what we have going has to stop. I’m not stupid. I know it’s the truth. And I wish I was strong enough to tell her to go, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Especially right now. I can only push her to make the decision and leave me alone. It’s the only way.
When we were younger and madly in love, the future was ours. We’d be together. I’d be in the club, and she’d be a lawyer. She’d keep my ass out of jail, and I’d kill anyone who ever threatened her. Which happens far more often than either of us thought it would.
At one point in our lives, I was enough. Or so I thought. And then, I wasn’t.
Suddenly, she started talking about a future that sounded different from the one we’d talked about. It stopped being we and more you and me. Then she was just gone.
Finding out Chanel was engaged just about killed me. I wrecked my bike, and I wanted to die. She kicked dirt in the wound when I found out her fiancé was a man I once considered a friend.
It was Johnny who pulled me back, and I honestly don’t know that I’d be sitting here today if it wasn’t for him. How do I continue going when the man who kept me grounded is gone?
It doesn’t help that he warned me about Chanel. The first time she darkened my doorstep again after getting engaged, he saw the hope rise. It was a hard conversation to have, but he was right. She was never going to stay. Not for the long term. It was only going to be a visit.
My mindsetshifted. He helped me see our relationship for what it was, and while it hurt when she left, it wouldn’t kill me. Or, rather, I wasn’t going to kill me.
“Welcome back,” Pacino says, sitting across from me and giving me a slight nod.
Our sergeant at arms isn’t always one for many words, but he’s damn sure dependable. And fucking good at his job. Makes sense he’s in the personal security business. And I know he’s the reason we have a few more cameras around the clubhouse since Johnny’s death.
He was the one who had to break the news to me about Johnny. And he was there. Just sat with me, let me drink, and refused to let me hop on my bike to take justice into my own hands.
“Any update?” I ask.
He just shakes his head, the scar on the left side of his face white and stark against the tan of his skin. “Sorry, man.”
I know the Black Venom killed Johnny. I know it. But if there was something to find to prove it, Pacino would have. The cops in this town are fucking useless, partially because the turnover is so high, so I know they won’t be looking for the truth.
“How was the ride?” Jethro asks, taking his seat beside Pacino.
The redheaded road captain knows exactly what it was like, but I humor him anyway. “She makes me want to break Rule Seven.”
This earns a laugh, and anyone who knows Johnny’s wife knows exactly what I’m talking about. They only stayed married to protect the club, and she’s a raging bitch. Damn near shut the door in my face until I told her I brought her half of Johnny. Like he wanted. The reason? Beat the fuck out of me, but I did it.
“What’s Rule Seven again?” Penn Calloway asks.
“Always protect the women,” we say in unison.
Jethro got his name because of his twenty-five-rule code he lives by. For life and for the club. Just like Leroy Jethro Gibbs fromNCIS.
Personally, I like Gibbs more than Jethro when it comes to road names, but when he joined, there was a guy in the club for a hot minute with the last name Gibbs. It would have been a disaster.
And this motherfucker looks nothing like a Leroy.
So, Jethro it was.
