Patriot

by Trent Jordan

  I couldn’t muster any more words. The truth was cold and unforgiving. I am a detriment to the club.

  I am a detriment to any organization I join.

  I headed to the door.

  “Patriot!”

  I stopped.

  “Whatever you need to do, come back,” he said. “We need you. If you need to see Kaitlyn, go see her. Just... we need you, brother. I need you.”

  No. No, you don’t.

  You don’t need someone who always makes the wrong decision.

  You don’t.

  I opened the door and walked away.

  Kaitlyn

  I didn’t intend to do anything but spend the day at home. There was no one I wanted to spend my Friday more with than Michael.

  But when I thought about how Michael said he had some business to take care of the club that didn’t involve me, I thought about my own business that I had to take care of. I thought about the people that I had to look out for—namely, Devon—that I had hurt. I had to make amends with her, even if I thought that her actions right now were just plain crazy, if not worse.

  I headed over to the hospital, even though it was something I seldom did on my day off, hoping to catch Devon on break. If all went according to plan, I’d catch her right as she headed for the cafe for lunch, as she usually ate alone at those times. If that was still the case today, then perhaps I’d get to talk to her and apologize.

  It really was true that it wasn’t any of my business what she did outside of the job. I thought she was risking her career and her life, but she wasn’t my daughter or my little sister. She was an adult my age, and she’d probably considered everything.

  I got the hospital, saw Devon’s car still there, and headed straight for the cafe. Sure enough, there she was, in her dark blue scrubs, eating alone, munching on a chicken salad. I took a deep breath, reminded myself to be compassionate and apologetic, and headed her way.

  She looked at me, stirred for a second, and then turned her gaze away from me and back to her food.

  “Devon,” I said. “I’m sorry for how I acted last night. I was just so thrown off by you being there... I didn’t know how to react. I shouldn’t have judged. I’m sorry.”

  Devon took a bite of her salad and didn’t say anything. I tried my best to not say anything or even react in any way that would suggest I was displeased with her silence. I would have obviously preferred for her to say something more, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to compel her.

  She took another bite of her salad. I swallowed and put my hand on the table, hoping that the action might spur her to say something.

  “Devon—”

  “We all do what we have to in order to make ends meet,” she said, but she still didn’t look up at me. “You don’t think I don’t know that working for these guys is dangerous? You don’t think I’m aware of the risks of working for both of them?”

  Briefly, she looked up at me. I had never seen her eyes look so hurt, so annoyed at my presence.

  “I’ve taken all of the precautionary steps necessary to make sure things don’t get complicated,” she said. “I’m not going to put myself in a spot where my life is at risk.”

  I had no idea how to respond to that. I worried that the only thing that would really make things better between us was time, but I worried even more that if I didn’t keep talking, things would just remain as they were. I wouldn’t really get the chance to express how I felt, and our relationship would continue to crumble.

  “I just care about—”

  “Don’t,” she cut me off. “Don’t you dare say you care about me. You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through to get this far.”

  She had returned her gaze back to her salad, but I was kind of grateful for that. I didn’t know that I could handle her penetrating stare right into my soul.

  “Just because you’re a well-off, snobbish nurse doesn’t mean I have to live by your rules,” she said. “Sometimes, life throws you into some difficult decisions. I’ve made mine. I’ve given myself chances to escape. If I have to, I will. Until then...”

  She didn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she stood up, grabbed her salad, and threw the rest of it out. It was very unlike her to throw out unfinished food, but I suppose in some sad way, it served as a testament to how badly she wanted to get away from me—and how badly I’d messed things up.

  It was a harsh lesson for me, but right now, I had a bigger problem.

  I could easily see Devon talking to the Fallen Saints about how I was a nuisance. They would put two and two together and realize I was the same girl who had gone to Brewskis with Michael—and that would only be further cemented if Devon made mention of how I had gone home with Michael. I had no idea if she knew that part, but we weren’t exactly hiding at the back of the Reapers’ clubhouse. We were pretty obvious.

  I liked Michael, but this was all the thinking I needed to do to know that I would never become a nurse for the Black Reapers or the Fallen Saints. Too much bloodshed, too much violence, too much hatred for me to not get caught in the literal crossfire at some point.

  With no other reason to be there, I stood up from the table and walked out. I knew the next time I saw Devon, it was not going to be pleasant, but I just hoped that I hadn’t completely sabotaged any chance of us remaining friends.

  I got outside when I saw a man waiting by my car that looked familiar.

  “You’re Kaitlyn Meade?” he asked.

  He had on sunglasses, but even with the sunglasses on, I could see what looked like bruises on his face, the outline of a black eye, and purple and red splotches by his nose and cheekbones.

  “What about it?” I said.

  “I’m Lane Carter, care to grab lunch?”

  Lane. The leader of the Black Reapers.

  “Why would I want to grab lunch with you?” I said, immediately suspicious that Lane was somehow trying to go behind Michael’s back. “I’m not joining your club, you can forget about that. I’m not going to be a nurse—”

  “It’s not about that, not right now, at least,” Lane said, removing his sunglasses and revealing an ugly, enormous bruise on his eye far bigger than I had imagined it would be. “It’s about Patriot.”

  “Who?”

  “Michael Giordano.”

  Oh, shit... what happened?

  “Is he okay?”

  “I think so, but... look, it’ll be easier to explain someplace else, okay?”

  I rolled my eyes. The only reason I was even willing to give this a chance was because I did care about Michael and because Lane had proof something had happened.

  “Fine,” I said. “But I’m driving.”

  I sat in a booth far removed from the rest of the tables, in a spot where Lane and I could quietly talk. We’d ridden separately, making conversation in the car impossible, but as soon as we put our orders in, Lane leaned forward.

  “Something happened this morning that pushed Patriot, I mean, Michael away,” he said. “Some things got said in the club, and he ran off. Where to, I don’t know. But as I try to figure out what happened, I want to know what happened between you guys last night. I saw you ride off with him.”

  The tone was polite enough, but there was something in the way Lane was speaking to me that made it sound like he was accusing me of something. I didn’t quite know what, and I wasn’t about to pretend like I could figure it out.

  “We had a nice time together, and that’s all I’m going to say about it,” I said. “What happened between Michael and me is our business.”

  “Okay,” Lane said, visibly annoyed at my unwillingness to talk. “Well, Michael was supposed to convince you to join us. So—”

  “Again, let me reiterate, that is not going to happen,” I said. “I don’t know how many people in your club I need to say no to, but I am not. Going to be. One of your. Fucking nurses.”

  Lane looked like he wanted to slam the table in frustration. It was a damn good thing he didn’t, or
I would have walked out of there on the spot and forced him to pay for my uneaten food.

  “Look, yesterday, Michael lost his mind with everyone arguing in the aftermath of the attack,” Lane said very slowly. “Then, this morning, he came in here, and fucking punched me in the face. What the hell happened?”

  He doesn’t know. Michael did say he hadn’t told anyone else the story, and yet he told me.

  I don’t even know what to say. If his best friend didn’t know...

  As crazy as it was to say, I actually felt kind of sorry for Lane. His best friend had beaten him up, and he didn’t even know why—or he was playing coy and wasn’t telling me everything. Either way, while I did feel some sympathy for him, I wasn’t going to tell him anything. His tone was too accusatory, too suspicious, for me to give him anything.

  “If you’re trying to say that I said something, then forget it,” I said. “Michael is dealing with a lot of old wounds right now, and if I had to guess, you’re probably only making them worse. When he needs help, you’re just pushing him away.”

  The visible surprise—but also the visible recognition—on Lane’s face told me that he understood he didn’t have the full truth. Maybe this was what he needed to make things better with Michael.

  But that was something I wanted no part of.

  The food came out, but I couldn’t even act like I had any desire to eat. I took a few bites and finished my fries, but my burger got only about two bites before I requested a to-go box. I threw Lane fifteen dollars and stood up.

  “Don’t contact me again,” I said. “I like Michael, but the rest of you have harassed me and made my life hell. I thought I was helping by coming to the club last night, but because of that decision, I’ve lost a friendship, and now I’ve got you hounding my ass. I’ll get a restraining order if I have to.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” Lane said with what I could only hope was false confidence.

  But I didn’t say anything else. I walked out of the door, got in my car, and sped out of the parking lot, praying to God that Lane didn’t follow me.

  When I was finally a safe distance away, I checked my phone. I didn’t have any messages or missed calls from Michael. While that wasn’t necessarily unexpected, after everything that had apparently happened in the last twelve hours, I needed to hear from him and know what was going on.

  So, despite not knowing how he was, I called him.

  Patriot

  I had silenced my phone, but that didn’t mean I didn’t stare at Kaitlyn’s number flashing across the screen.

  I could have pressed ignore at any point and ended the call. For where I had gone to and for where I found myself, that was really the only appropriate course of action. To answer a call in this setting would have been the ultimate form of disrespect.

  But even if I did answer the call, that would just lead to more questions that would have created more confusion. No, I wasn’t at the clubhouse. No, I wasn’t in Springsville. No, I wasn’t even in Los Angeles.

  I was way, way south of that. I was near San Diego.

  I was at Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery, the final resting spot for my two best friends, the ones I had lost because of my CO’s traitorous actions.

  I had thought that I was ready to face what had happened. I had thought that confession to Kaitlyn would have made things better.

  Oh, it had not. It had not done so in the slightest. If anything, bringing it back up had brought back all of the ugly memories and a couple of ugly truths I had suppressed.

  My true friends? They had died because of my inability to speak the truth. The people in the club were not my friends. Lane was the closest, but even he... I just didn’t have the bond with him that I did my brothers-in-arms. It was impossible. To experience what I had experienced and then pretend like it was possible to have functioning, healthy relationships again... sorry, but that just wasn’t possible.

  I wasn’t sure that I wanted it to be, either. If I could have better relationships, it almost felt like I would somehow be dishonoring their memory.

  Finally, the attempted phone call ended.

  Double-checking to make sure that my phone was still silenced, I stuffed it into my pocket. Kaitlyn could call as much as she wanted. I’d call her back at some point, but right now, that time was not now.

  I looked up and toward the two tombstones before me.

  “Here lies Rick Butler.”

  I couldn’t look at the death date. It would have affected me too much.

  “Here likes Michael Young.”

  God took the wrong Michael. Those were words that always echoed in my head whenever I saw his name. I was cowardly Michael. The world wasn’t a better place because that Michael had died. The world, in fact, was a worse place because I lived.

  “You know, guys,” I said, my voice barely rising above my breath. “As much as I wished you were here, maybe it’s for the best that you aren’t here anymore. For how much of a shithole this life is?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t know how to word it in a way that made it sound like I was glad that they were dead, but I could certainly say they were in a better place—a place without pain, without suffering, without betrayal.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I miss you guys a lot. I’m sorry... I’m sorry for what happened. I just...”

  But there was no “I just.” There wasn’t anything I could say to forgive myself or to release myself of the burden. Nothing was going to—

  “I know it’s hard.”

  I froze when I heard that voice. I knew that voice. That voice... how did he know I had come here?

  Slowly, I turned. I recognized the voice, but it still didn’t mean that I could bring myself to believe who was standing there. How could they have known I was there?

  But when I completed my turn and saw the man who was standing there, there was little doubt who I was looking at.

  LeCharles “Axle” Williamson.

  “Axle?” I said as if saying his name might suddenly undo the illusion.

  He nodded. There was no apparent breaking this illusion. This was our club VP, here in the flesh, dozens upon dozens of miles away from base. At least I knew why I was gone, but... why was he here? And how the hell had he known I would be here?

  “Let’s go grab a drink, shall we?”

  I found myself at an empty bar just outside the beaches of San Diego. It being an early Friday afternoon, well before the working class had even finished their lunch break, let alone let out for the day, we were the only ones in the bar. Though we could see the ocean from our seats, we were not paying any attention to that or even considering it.

  Instead, first, as soon as we received our drinks, we clinked glasses and took a sip of our Yuenglings. But then we just sort of settled into a gentle silence, which wasn’t all that different from the moment Axle had offered me a drink. Such silence was common between soldiers.

  But now, for how far both of us had come, it was time to change that.

  “How in the hell did you know I’d come down here?” I asked as Axle sipped on his drink.

  He took his time finishing his gulp.

  “I just had a feeling,” he said. “But let’s talk, you and I. Veteran to veteran.”

  I nodded, fully aware of what that meant. It did not mean I was going to tell him the story as I had told Kaitlyn. When war buddies got together, they didn’t discuss some of the darker events that had happened. Instead, we traded funny stories of what happened on base, we gossiped about some of the more amusing COs, and we bitched about the softness of America today.

  “You think there’s a rat, don’t you?” Axle said.

  I swore it was like Axle knew exactly what was on our mind and could just pick and choose whatever he wanted from my brain.

  “And more than that, you think I’m the rat.”

  Well, now there’s really no getting around it.

  “We do think there’s a rat,” I said. “And... well, if you asked me
right after you picked me up from Brewskis with the slashed tires, I’d say yeah, I have my suspicions. But I don’t have any hard evidence.”

  Axle scoffed with a laugh. But it wasn’t the kind of laugh meant to indulge. It was laughter borne out of humoring me but reminding me that what Lane and I had thought was ridiculous.

  “I’ve had my suspicions too,” Axle said. “I think someone’s ratting us out. But Lane can’t handle it the way he did today.”

  I had a million and one questions now. Did this mean every officer thought there was a spy? If so, did that mean the rat came from outside the circle? Or were we just so incompetent as a group that the Fallen Saints could trail us as if we had a rat in the group?

  And if we all knew the two us and Lane were innocent, then which of the three was it? Father Marcellus, Butch, or Red Raven? Was Axle so effectively mind-fucking me right now that I had no choice but to believe in his innocence?

  My gut told me Axle was on my side. No man who was military so recently would betray us. Of course, history had its fair share of defectors and traitors, but my gut had rarely been wrong. My gut had told me to speak up in that meeting with the traitorous CO, and my gut had told me that there was a spy in the club.

  My gut, here, said that Axle was not the spy.

  “I knew as soon as I got pulled into that room, I was going to get accused of something, and I knew that you recognized that,” Axle said. “I knew you were full of shit when you said there were discussions about promoting you. Lane doesn’t need my permission to promote you to a second VP.”

  “Yeah, true,” I admitted.

  “But you did the right thing. I recognize that Lane is under a lot of stress.”

  Because...

  The very thing that had made me fight Lane was now bubbling at the surface. I no longer believed Lane was the rat, but for the sake of my own sanity, to make sure that I wasn’t losing my mind, I had to know.