Page 6 of Property of Player

And for a moment I remember the smell of her perfume as I hugged her that day, the side of my face pressed to her chest. Goddamn, the sharp pain of losing her slams into me all over again, consuming me with the heavy weight of it.

I move a few yards away and stop at Debbie’s grave, shoving my hands in my pockets. Loving wife and daughter, it reads. She never had a chance to become a mother, and I mourn that for her. I mourn for all the years of living she lost. All because of me.

The pain is piercing. The guilt is crushing.

I squat down and pull a weed, then brush the stone, cleaning the grave up a bit, my eyes burning. You deserved so much better than this, so much better than I ever gave you, sweetheart. I’m so fucking sorry I failed you.

I suck in a breath and stand.

A palm lands on my shoulder. My father stands next to me. His hand squeezes.

“You okay?” he asks.

“No, are you?” I snap.

“Trying to be. Come on. Let’s go visit Dozer’s grave.”

Dozer, short for Bull Dozer, is our former VP. I wear his patch now.

He’s several rows away, over a slight rise. We all move in that direction.

The three of them died together in the explosion. He was looking after my mom and wife the day that changed everything for all of us.

My head is down as we tread through the lines of graves, until I feel a swat on my arm and glance up to see Beck at my side. He meets my eyes, then gestures ahead of us with a lift of his chin.

A woman stands at Dozer’s grave.

My eyes sweep over her. It’s been four years since the last time I saw her, but recognition hits me immediately.

Dozer’s little sister, Taylor, the girl I dated all through high school. My first love, and the one who tore my heart out when I had to give her up.

She turns at our approach, and her eyes flare when she sees me.

“Taylor,” my father says, stepping forward and giving her a hug. “You doin’ okay, darlin’?”

She nods, her face pressed to his shoulder, her slender hands touching the leather of his Kings of Anarchy center patch on his back. Her eyes look over his shoulder, latching onto the Vice President patch on my chest.

I study her face.

Her skin looks pale.

I remember our last summer together when we spent the entire time at Rehoboth Beach. She’d been a beautiful golden tan then.

Drae and Cruz squat by the headstone, pulling stray dead weeds away.

Davis Reed is carved in granite. He’d been twenty-nine and, just like Debbie, he’d been way too young to die.

My father releases Taylor and steps back, glancing at me. I take the hint and move forward to give her a hug as well.

It’s awkward, and I feel her tense.

I understand why. We had a bad breakup, and it was basically all on me.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. Heard you moved to Norfolk,” I murmur.

“I did. I came home to help my sister out. My mom is sick.”

I catch the sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that.”