Cole

by Trent Jordan

  “You sure?”

  I swallowed.

  “It’s not like I’m going to change my mind in the next day and sleep with you. And even if I did, what would that lead to? I’ve still got to get out of here. My father knows I’m in the area. If I sleep with you and then leave, I don’t know how I’d be able to look myself in the mirror. I would feel like such a whore, really. Maybe other girls could do it more easily, but—”

  “You can’t, and that’s fine,” Cole said. “Don’t compare yourself to anyone else. Let me look up some tickets, one second.”

  Cole stood up—again, revealing those muscles that so turned me on and so put the fear of God in me—grabbed his phone, and sat back down on the couch. I leaned on him because I wanted to and because I wanted him to know that I cared about him. I hadn’t rejected him so much as I had rejected my sexual self.

  We scrolled through a few options for the evening, starting out of Union Station in Los Angeles. There was one that departed at six p.m., or about two and a half hours later, and got into New Mexico around eleven a.m. the next day. I probably wouldn’t sleep for shit on the train, but I was not in a position to bargain with life for anything right now. If I had to go without food until I got into Albuquerque, so be it.

  “That one look good?” Cole asked.

  “Let’s do it,” I said.

  “You sure? You go to New Mexico—”

  “I don’t care where I go so much as that I’m leaving this place,” I said. “Maybe Dad will find me out there. But he’s going to have to go way out of his way to do so. And I’ll be all the way out there. I just need... I need a new start.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  What do you mean by that?

  “OK, I’m buying the ticket now.”

  “Wait, what? Cole, I’m—”

  “You got cash only. Do you really want to spend any more time there than you have to?” he said. “Let me buy it now. It’s like eighty bucks; for me, that’s nothing. If you feel that bad, you can send me some money when you get a job and get on your feet out there.”

  No, I didn’t deserve this. This wasn’t fair. After how much I’d said no to Cole…

  “Why are you doing this?” I said. “Fine, you don’t hate me even though I’m a Sartor. But I just refused you sex.”

  “And that’s reason to hate you?” Cole said.

  He didn’t say anything else. I bit my lip, slumped a bit, and leaned my head against his shoulder.

  “We should get ready,” he said. “It’ll take us at least half an hour to get to Union Station, and that’s assuming no traffic, which is laughable. So actually, we should probably leave now.”

  “Just like that?”

  “I’m not risking another day here,” he said. “Already a miracle that you managed to get this far without getting caught.”

  I hated the truthfulness of that statement. Really, I hated the whole situation.

  But what did I value more—freedom in three hours, with the chance to find love in the future in Albuquerque, or “love” and maybe sex in the next twelve hours, with freedom at some point down the line?

  Unfortunately, the answer was pretty obvious.

  I put my clothes back on, realizing only now how at ease I had felt being topless and leaning against him. Maybe I wasn’t as fearful of sex as I had thought, but it was too late now. I packed all of my belongings, making sure I did not leave anything behind. Cole had thrown on his Gray Reapers cut and printed out the train ticket, but otherwise, he didn’t need to do anything.

  “Ready?” he said.

  I nodded. I walked to the door, grabbed the handle, and opened it.

  And right as I did, a taller, lankier man with dark eyebrows, well-groomed hair, a biker’s cut, and a confused scowl that quickly turned to anger stood about four feet away.

  “The fuck?” he said.

  “Cole?” I said.

  “Shit,” he mumbled.

  I turned to Cole—he was not reaching for a gun or a weapon or even readying himself. I turned back to the man. He had “President” written on a patch on his chest.

  “That’s my brother.”

  Cole

  “What the fuck is this, Cole?”

  Lane spoke with a laugh, probably because the alternative was to launch into a fully justified tirade about how I had kept hidden the fact that I was housing the daughter of Lucius Sartor.

  “I asked you a question, Cole. What the fuck is this?”

  “This, this is…”

  “I know who she is,” Lane said. “I’m not an idiot. I know the Sartors better than I do any family other than our own. I know she’s Lilly.”

  Lilly stepped aside, retreating back to the couch. I glanced over quickly enough to see her curled up against the far edge, her arms over her legs, almost like she was in an upright fetal position. I did not fear Lane hurting her, but I knew shit was about to get really ugly.

  “I mean, what the fuck is this whole situation, Cole?” Lane said, all the humor gone from his voice. “You fucking lied to me. You fucking lied!”

  “I did not lie!” I said. I waved Lane in, just in case any Saints were nearby. But that was not a gesture of peace or apology as much as it was practical. “I told you first that I was frustrated I did not find Lucius. And then I told you I was frustrated…”

  I stopped. I was trying to defend myself when even I knew how flimsy and full of shit those statements were.

  “I’m sorry, Cole, I didn’t realize this was a fucking courtroom and I had to be so precise,” Lane said. “You did not fucking tell me the whole truth. I think the fact that you are... shall I put delicately, housing the daughter of the devil should say it all!”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lilly... do absolutely nothing. Even she agreed with Lane’s assessment.

  “Do you realize how pissed off Lucius would be if he knew you had her?” Lane said. “Do you know how fucking angry he’d get? He’s barely hanging on by a thread right now, Cole. He’s a madman held together by some sense of self-preservation. What the fuck do you think is going to happen when self-preservation gets overtaken by madness?”

  “You want the fucking truth?” I said. “The fucking truth is, I had to rescue her the first night. Because she was trying to run away from Lucius. She was not trying to set a trap. She was fucking terrified of him. And there was no fucking way that we were going to get to Lucius at his place; he was too well protected. And yes, I could have told you the truth. But you know what? I was taking her to the train station in Los Angeles so she’d never have to be a part of this world. So why should it fucking matter?”

  I expected Lane’s fury to increase, for his anger to rise to the boiling point, for him to again threaten me with excommunication or some other nonsense.

  Instead, Lane’s eyes actually looked like they were watering.

  “It matters because I thought we were building something, Cole,” he said. “I’m not perfect, far from it. I carry a lot of weight because of my arrogance, much of which is still there. But at least I know I’m fucking up. At least I am making efforts to make amends when I do fuck up. Why did you disappear for a year if you’re still going to keep secrets and then get pissed and jealous? How the fuck can I trust you in combat when I can’t trust you to tell me the truth?”

  God, that hurt.

  He was right.

  How could I have disappeared for a year, thinking I was using the distance to become my own man, and instead, I’d become this? Sure, Lane was no hero. He was no angel. But fuck... I wasn’t either. I wasn’t the “good brother pushed away by the asshole.” I was just as much the asshole.

  “We’re near the end of the war with the Saints, at a time when a lot of people are going to die, and it still feels like the same old story,” Lane said, biting his lip and pausing to collect himself. “You never told me how you felt about Shannon. You never told me how you felt like the ignored brother with Dad. You never tell me these things, and then I’m
forced to figure out the truth for myself. I have a little more awareness now than I did when I thought you murdered Shannon, but—”

  “You know I didn’t kill her.”

  “Cole, that’s not the point.”

  I knew it wasn’t. I was just... I didn’t know. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.

  “How the fuck can I trust you to fight Lucius when you’re sleeping with his daughter?”

  There was a lot of justified anger Lane had, but I was not going to let him fucking besmirch Lilly’s name. She was a part of this, but she was not responsible for anything.

  “Don’t you dare fucking assume anything,” I said. “Did you not fucking listen when I said she wanted to get away from her father? Do you not get it that she wants him…?”

  I couldn’t finish my words.

  “Dead?” Lane said. “Lilly, do you want your father dead?”

  She didn’t say a word.

  “Lilly is not the fucking enemy,” I said. “Keep her out of this. It doesn’t matter what she wants for her father, because before you showed up, I was taking her to Union Station. I was helping her leave this God-forsaken hellhole so she could start life anew. Do not make her a part of this.”

  Lane groaned.

  “Fine,” he said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you fucking lied to me. You betrayed my trust. And I need your trust, Cole.”

  I had nothing in response to that. I had lied. I could get all technical about how I had only kept information hidden, not given any false statements, but like Lane had said, this wasn’t a fucking courtroom. This was about a brotherhood splintering apart, and that depended much more on understanding than on nuance.

  “Look, I’m not going to kick you out or tell you to leave; this time is way too important for me to act like a petulant shithead, and it’s too important for you to be like you were a year and a half ago,” he said. “But I need to know that you understand what’s going on. Tomorrow at noon, I’m going to call an emergency meeting with all the officers of both clubs. I want you there. And I want you to apologize.”

  It didn’t feel like a power play by Lane. It felt like the needed medicine.

  “I want you to apologize for not telling us about her. And in return, I will defend you from accusations of bias. I’ll tell everyone what you told me. That she’s on our side, that this doesn’t affect how you feel about Lucius, and that if anything, this apology will bring us closer together. But I have to have you in that room, Cole. I cannot ride into battle with unspoken words between us or between us and the club. Please, for the sake of everyone and everything, be there at noon tomorrow.”

  I bowed my head.

  “Cole?”

  I didn’t say a word.

  I was still the same asshole, the same pussy, the same passive-aggressive shithead that I was a year and a half ago. Founding my own off-shoot of the Black Reapers had not made me a man. It had merely given me external status, not internal development.

  “Well, you’re not fucking deaf, so I know you heard all of this,” Lane said. “If you don’t show up tomorrow, I’m going to assume that you’ve chosen to withdraw again. I’ll assume leadership and make Owen or Phoenix the President of the Gray Reapers. But please do not give me a fucking reason to do that. Goddamnit, Cole, don’t let this shit split us again.”

  I finally looked up at Lane. His eyes were pleading. Begging. Watering.

  “We’ll see.”

  What a fucking cowardly response. I was still the same fucking Cole.

  Lane nodded, snorted, and left the apartment, slamming the door shut. I heard his motorcycle come to life less than a minute later. I looked over at Lilly.

  “If you want—”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “Just get whatever you need and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Lilly nodded. She went into my bathroom, grabbed some things, and came out. All the while, I did not move from where I was, frozen by the accuracy of Lane’s accusations.

  Why should I show my face at the clubhouse tomorrow? Why the fuck would I do that? After this?

  No, Lane was right. Owen or Phoenix needed to take ownership of the club. I was in no position, no state of mind to do that. I was too fucked in the head, too passive-aggressive, too unwilling to face the hard truths. I’d played victim for so long to the asshole tendencies of my brother that it had gone from legitimate gripe to just being a fucking pussy.

  Would I get better? Sure, at some point. Would it be with the Gray Reapers? I really didn’t think I deserved that chance.

  Lilly returned, put her toiletries into her bag, and slung it back over her shoulder as she faced me.

  “You know, no one has ever defended me like you did,” she said. “You’re not all the things your brother said. You’re a good man.”

  I appreciated the compliment, but it was too late for me with the Reapers. Maybe not in my life, certainly not in my life, actually, but with those men…

  Then Lilly did something that shocked the hell out of me.

  She pulled me in for a kiss.

  It was a brief kiss. I didn’t really kiss her back but for a moment or two. But it was the kind of bold, romantic action I never would have expected from her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  And then she started walking to my bike. I followed her, feeling more guilty than ever that I would never be able to live up to my fullest potential.

  Like every other bike ride, the woman sat behind me, her arms wrapped around me. But whereas previous bike rides might have felt more erotic and exciting, this one felt more loving and caring. Lilly’s arms felt less sexual and more compassionate, like she was holding me in support, not in sexual arousal. It was nice, sure.

  But the problem was that my mind, perhaps jolted by the power of the bike, was turning from sadness and self-pity to anger and determination. Why the fuck did I have to tell Lane everything?

  The answer was I didn’t. I didn’t have to fucking tell him everything. I had to tell him mission-relevant matters, but I didn’t have to tell him this shit. Lilly wasn’t a spy. She wasn’t going to tell her father everything. She was going to escape him and never talk to him again.

  I was sick to my stomach. I was getting too angry, too emotional, too fired up... sure, Lane had matured a little, but he was still the overbearing brother. It was just now, instead of mocking me and then keeping his distance, he was scolding me. He was trying to take the place of my father. I didn’t need to be fucking patronized.

  He’s not. He’s caring. You’re just pissed to hide the sadness.

  Shut the fuck up. He’s an ass.

  I needed to be my own man. I needed to escape. Maybe I needed to just fucking ride to New Mexico with Lilly. Maybe that’s what I would do.

  Instead of running to the neighborhood over from Lane, I’d run multiple states over. I’d leave his sorry ass behind for good so I wouldn’t feel the temptation or even the ability to help him in the next skirmish. I wouldn’t build a club with the leftovers of the Black Reapers; I’d build a brand-new club from scratch, one that didn’t know who or what the Black Reapers or the Fallen Saints were.

  And then, maybe then, I could finally get past this whole shit of having insecurity of attachment.

  Or maybe that’s a problem you just need to solve now. Why would running farther do you any good?

  I stopped thinking about things when that thought hit my mind. It was too depressing to realize that my anger wasn’t going to drive me to someplace good, but rather, just put me right back into the cycle of avoidance-anger-acceptance that didn’t really get me anywhere.

  Although traffic was, as usual, a bitch, it was not so bad that I ever feared Lilly would not get on the train. We arrived about an hour before her departure time. She hopped off the bike and put her hand on my shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Seriously. Thank you. For getting me here.”

  But this wasn’t enough. I’d taken her as far as I c
ould have gotten her.

  “Thank me when you get to safety.”

  “But how?” she said. “How will I reach you?”

  I bit my lip. She didn’t want to reach out to me. No, she didn’t.

  I sped off without another word. It was so petulant and so childish. But if I stayed any longer, the pain would become too great.

  The pain was already terrible enough. I’d lost the club. I’d lost Lilly. I’d lost my sense of self-respect.

  I was not going to show up to the club meeting tomorrow. I was not going to stay in Southern California. I didn’t know where I was going.

  But I knew that for as long as I refused to face these issues in my head, it didn’t matter what I did with my life. I’d still have to live with myself.

  Lilly

  Cole…

  Strangely, I didn’t feel that hurt by the way he just sped off. I knew that he was wounded deeply by his brother’s words, and I knew that withholding sex from him had probably not felt great. But just because I didn’t feel affronted didn’t mean that I didn’t feel fucking terrible.

  How was I ever going to thank Cole? How was I ever going to reach out to him?

  I didn’t have his phone number, and even if I had gotten it, it had disappeared under the weight of his boot at the bar a week ago. I didn’t memorize his address. I somehow had my doubts that he had Facebook, and even if he did, I wouldn’t want to have an online presence. I didn’t want my father or his goons tracking me down because I posted a photo of myself in New Mexico.

  This was goodbye forever.

  It was goodbye to a man that, while “love” was perhaps too strong a word, “liked very much” was not too strong a phrase. It was goodbye to the man who had opened me up, who had shown me that the supposed enemy was not always an asshole. It was goodbye to the man who had pushed my boundaries in a respectful manner, always stopping when those boundaries became much too firm to push.

  And what had I gotten for that goodbye? A touch on the shoulder, followed by a quick get-away? I understood Cole’s pain, but…