by Trent Jordan
He was our only hope.
He... I didn’t just want Father Marcellus to live. I fucking needed him to.
“Doctor!”
The world around me started to feel like a tunnel; the only thing I could see was Father Marcellus having no response in the operating room. I could hear doctors panicking, nurses shouting, chaos working to save him.
“Goddamnit, come on!” I yelled.
I was fighting a losing cause, even if I refused to admit it to myself. Father needed to hold on to life, to fight, to find the strength within, to just…
To just…
And then everyone in the operating room took a step back.
I looked at his heart rate monitor.
It had flatlined.
I looked at his face—peaceful, almost content.
It did not move.
It was over.
He’s gone…
I had lost another father.
“No!” I screamed as I pounded the glass again. “No! No! Goddamnit, no! Fucking no!”
The tears started to form in my eyes. I couldn’t... this couldn’t... we... we...
I pressed my face into my arms and began to sob. The only thing in my world right now was myself and the club chaplain on the other side of the glass. The Black Reapers, the hospital staff... they all just disappeared.
“I’m sorry, Father,” I said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. Couldn’t... I just couldn’t...”
I sobbed for what felt like an hour, even if it was probably only a minute. My body wouldn’t stop shaking. How shitty was my luck that I had lost both of the fathers in my life? Both of the teachers in my life?
I thought I’d felt alone after Jess had said she was moving away, but that was nothing, a childish feeling of being alone. I could find another woman with ease. This... this made me feel truly alone.
I had no family. No kids. No mentors.
It was up to me. But I didn’t even have the strength to lift myself up, let alone carry the weight Father Marcellus thought I could handle.
What the fuck was I going to do?
I finally rose from my arms. I looked around and saw Lane and Patriot dabbing at their eyes. Axle and Butch had their arms crossed, but even they were fighting like hell to contain their emotions.
“I’m sorry, Phoenix,” Lane said, his words blubbering.
He looked like he wanted to pull me in for a hug, but honestly, I was just numb. It didn’t even have anything to do with being in a different club or any other nonsense like that. I just...
It was like my body couldn’t accept this particular loss, and so it had chosen to just shut down. All feeling, all sadness... the only thing that could bring it back was looking at the chaplain’s lifeless body. Otherwise, I really was like a purposeless, meaningless zombie, filling the halls of the hospital.
I looked back at Father Marcellus. It made no sense. He wasn’t supposed to be like this.
So, I thought of him alive. I thought of his most recent words. His last words.
“You know how to defeat the Saints. You did it tonight. If you want to emerge victorious... unite the clubs. As you did... tonight.”
But what had I really united? What had I done besides get one of the few men—perhaps the only man—from the Black Reapers I still cared about killed?
I looked back at Lane. His eyes were still wet. So were Patriot’s. Axle had now turned away, with only Butch looking over the end of Father Marcellus’ life with some level of stillness. But even he had his hand over his mouth, perhaps his version of weeping.
These were men that would be in great mourning for the rest of the night, perhaps even through tomorrow, perhaps even for the foreseeable future.
But at some point, they would want blood. This would be the death that pushed us to the breaking point, the death that demanded that we take our final action against the Fallen Saints, even if it came at the risk of our own lives. What was life worth living if that life featured nothing but unbearable heartache and tragedy?
And I—and the rest of the Gray Reapers, I’d make sure of it—would be right there with them.
I’d lost my father. I’d lost the next closest thing to a father. What else did I have to lose?
Jess. If she came back.
But even if she did...
Funny, though, how her name popped into my mind during all of this. Funny how she still had a place in my mind... which maybe meant she had a place in my heart.
I looked each man in the eye and nodded. And when I got to Butch, I even added some words.
“I’m sorry, Butch.”
He nodded back. He understood what I was apologizing for.
I shuffled out of the hospital, completely out of words and unable to converse any more. I grabbed my phone and texted Owen and Cole to let them know what had happened, but the instant that I saw that the messages had been delivered, I turned my phone off. It wasn’t like they were going to say anything that was going to bring the good chaplain back. I didn’t care to see their reactions to the news that Father Marcellus was dead.
Dead...
Just thinking the word was surreal. It was less than an hour ago that we were chatting about uniting the clubs, about Bible stories, about even my love life. And now...
He’d never say another word.
He’d never draw another breath.
He’d never experience another moment of this world.
I drove the van back to the clubhouse in something of a daze, rolling through more than a couple of red lights. I knew I couldn’t pull the same shit when I got on my bike, but in a way, the method was the safety measure. Being on the bike focused me and quieted my mind, and with any luck, it would do the same tonight.
A funny thing happened when I finally got on my bike, though.
I just drove.
And drove.
And drove.
It was like my life depended on keeping that bike on, because maybe it did. I drove all the way down past Long Beach, nearly halfway to San Diego. I started to drive up the 101, well past the exits I would have taken for Ashton and Springsville. I kept looking at the stars, as if the divine was naturally found in the skies.
I stopped twice to fill up on gas, and both times after, I still kept driving.
And driving.
And driving...
Only when the sky’s navy blue turned to a lighter shade of blue, the one that foretold of a new dawn coming, did it finally hit me that I could not permanently outrun the feelings that were bound to strike. I pulled off on the side of the highway, killed the ignition, and slumped forward.
“Unite the clubs... as you did tonight.”
I understood that I needed to do that.
I understood that it would not just benefit the clubs on a high level, but all of us on a personal level.
Maybe it could even extend...
Maybe I could get back with more than just the club.
But for now, I just needed sleep.
When I woke up, it was only four hours later. Cole and Owen each had left me two voicemails, all of them making sure I was OK and politely asking that I go to the clubhouse. There was just one problem.
I had never wanted so little in my life to go to the clubhouse.
What was the fucking point?
Every time I did anything related to a motorcycle club, any time that I stepped foot into a clubhouse, any moment that was spent with a fellow biker was a moment that would invariably lead to tragedy. All of the great men that I knew had met a grisly, gruesome end. It may have been a glorious life, but there was no going out in a blaze of glory—just a blaze of bullets, blood, and tragedy.
Who would die next? Cole? Owen?
Me?
If fate had any fucking sense of justice, it would be Lucius, but he was like a fucking parasite that we could not get rid of; even when the two Reapers had come together to attack the Saints, we’d only injured him.
Meanwhile, we died.
Unless you unite the
clubs. As you did last night.
The only thing that got me out of bed, the only thing that pushed me to go to the Gray Reapers’ clubhouse, were those final words from Father Marcellus. It felt like I would be dishonoring his memory if I didn’t drag my ass out of bed, get over there, and work to bring us together. That was the only hope we had of ending this.
And then, and only then, once every Fallen Saint was exterminated, once all life had been exhausted from those shitheads, then the real healing could begin. But just as soldiers couldn’t take mental breaks while a war was still going on, I had to limit my own pity parties to be as short and infrequent as possible.
I skipped breakfast, completely lacking an appetite, and drove slowly, almost like I was leading a funeral procession, to the Gray Reapers’ clubhouse. When I got there, I found the place in an appropriate mourning state; conversations were muted, and Cole was already waiting for me inside.
“Hey,” he said in a soft voice.
I nodded at him.
“Cole, I need to get right to it,” I said as I stopped about a foot in front of him. “I suffered a second loss that I wasn’t prepared for last night. And both losses have come because of the Fallen Saints. At this point, it’s unity or death. We are facing an evil unlike anything we have ever faced before, and to overcome it, we have to do something that I don’t think either of us ever anticipated having to do.”
I took a breath. Cole was listening with rapt attention.
“Butch and I have apologized to each other.”
Somehow, the room got even quieter.
“While we will never be friends, we both know what we’re up against. This can’t be Gray versus Black. We just have to be the Reapers. And Cole...”
Just charge through and say it.
“You and Lane have got to get your shit worked out. I don’t care how. The long-term ramifications of peace between you two don’t mean shit if there isn’t a long-term to think about. When the gun that’s pointed at our collective heads gets taken away, then we can move forward. But you and your brother have got to end your petty shit. Understood?”
It was only then that I understood why Father Marcellus said he had told me everything that he had to. Through my example of making peace with Butch, with the man that had ended my father’s life, I could show the two Carter brothers that they, too, could put their arguments aside and find common ground. Maybe it wouldn’t last. I knew Butch and I would never be friends and would probably still have loathing for each other.
But maybe, just maybe, Father Marcellus, through his death, had shown us what we needed to pull our shit together.
“Understood,” Cole said.
I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t want to stay with Cole. I had nothing against him at that moment, but I needed to give him space to figure out how to deal with this shit. I walked out of the clubhouse, got back on my bike, and paused.
The only thing left I needed to get back...
Well, I didn’t have her number. I didn’t have her contact info. I could only remember faintly what she smelled like.
Maybe this was all a bad idea. Maybe this wouldn’t lead to anything. Maybe I was putting too much stock in what one person could do for me right now.
But if I was in the process of making peace with those I had a gripe with, that had to extend to Jess. Even if the feelings weren’t there anymore—and most assuredly, they still were for me—I had to apologize. I had to face her and admit my shortcomings.
And though I lacked a phone number, I knew of the one place she’d be, the one spot where I could make my last attempt at making things good with her.
Jess
I hadn’t felt this at peace in a long, long time.
I was scrubbing two beer glasses that a couple of customers—two truckers who had made a pit stop on the road—had just used. I conversed with them easily, provided just enough of a hint of flirting, and never felt like I had something nagging in the back of my mind. The visit with my father had almost completely changed my resting state by itself.
He hadn’t even given any profound advice on my relationship status or where I needed to move. Just being there... it was more than I could say he had ever been for over a decade, but if nothing else, he proved better late than never worked wonders. But knowing that he was in my life now, knowing that he would have my back in full and not deflect tough subjects with bad jokes—well, he’d still have bad jokes—gave me faith in myself.
After I finished scrubbing, I looked at the letter that I had brought to work one more time. I knew what I needed to do with the letter. And it wasn’t anything that I could accomplish here and now. I put a note on the back, “Leasing office, first thing tomorrow,” and stuffed it back in my pocket.
Just when I had it in my pocket, I could hear the sound of a single motorcycle approaching.
I knew who it was.
Call it a woman’s instinct or just the gut knowledge of who was rolling up. I didn’t even have to peek out the window. Only one biker would be coming on a weekday evening like this, and it wasn’t someone who was just driving through.
I had to admit, now that I was about to come face to face with him again, I was feeling a little bit nervous. I still felt much better than I probably would have without my father’s visit, but that didn’t mean the nerves completely disappeared. But the nerves, rather than being tinged with the fear of what could be, were more underlined by a genuine, open-minded curiosity to see what would go down.
If things went well and we got back together, great. If not—
And all that went out the window when I felt a rush of energy and a flipped stomach when I saw Phoenix walk through the door.
He looked far more rugged than he usually did, like he hadn’t slept at all the night before. The weariness on his face resembled that of a movie protagonist far past his prime on a mission he didn’t want to be on. If I didn’t know any better, I would have guessed that he was actually five years older than he really was.
“Hey,” I said, a polite smile on my face.
I didn’t want Phoenix to feel exhausted or tired, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think he looked fucking sexy as hell with that gruff, tough expression. Even though he looked worn out, he had an air of certainty to him, like he knew what he was going to do, even if it meant he collapsed when it was all said and done.
“Hey you,” he said.
His tone and the voice matched the look on his face. He actually sounded deeper than normal, and his throat was a bit scratchy. Nothing a drink won’t fix.
“Can I get a drink?”
“Well, you are at the right place,” I said with a smirk.
I reached down, opened the fridge, and had a Blue Moon in my hand.
“Sam Adams, please.”
Wait, what? I rose up and arched an eyebrow at him.
“I’m just fucking with you,” he said with a snort.
“Oh, funny man,” I said. Not as good as a different type of fucking with me.
I tried to hide the surprise at how quickly my mind went to wanting to be with him. Perhaps I had underestimated how Phoenix made me feel; perhaps I’d suppressed it when he’d left me before.
“We could all use a little humor these days,” he said as I handed him the bottle of Blue Moon.
“Just not too much.”
“Agreed.”
He was a little stiff, but his words were warm and cordial. He took a big gulp of his beer, let out a refreshing breath, and looked at me. He took one more big gulp, swallowed, and put the beer down.
“I acted like an ass to you, Jess,” he said. “I thought that we could be something special. No one has made me feel the way you have since, well, ever, if I’m being fully honest. And when you said that you were moving away, I acted like a jackass. I can’t pretend it didn’t hurt, but that’s not an excuse to treat you like shit. I wanted to come here and... I wanted to make up with you. I don’t expect anything from you. I just want to say I’m so
rry and, well, fuck, ask for forgiveness.”
He took another big swallow of his beer. Knowing he still probably had more to say, I was content to sit back and let him spill his heart out.
“Did you ever meet Father Marcellus?”
I nodded. He wasn’t a regular by any means, but you never forgot a chaplain in a town that seemed to have so much sin going around.
“Well, he got killed last night,” he said.
The news hurt, but worse, I was so used to people getting killed in this area that unless it was the death of someone close to my age or someone that I cared about, it was sadly difficult to generate serious sorrow.
“But while I’m never going to say that his death provided some good, I am going to say that I am going to find the other side of the coin with this. He told me... well, he more or less told me I needed to make peace with those who had wronged me or I had wronged. He was referring to the clubs, but I knew as soon as he said it, I needed to come to you and make things right. So. Sorry.”
And with one slow, not rushed, sip, he finished his beer. The apology only enhanced how I felt about him right now—it made me show he could own up to his errors and not just be a fun guy. He had a human side to him.
Perhaps best of all, while I still felt attraction to him—immensely so, actually—my father’s return had given me the strength to not fall back over him immediately. I was willing to play this out and see what happened.
“Well, I’m sorry for not telling you about my plans sooner,” I said.
“Remind me, when are you moving away?”
Funny thing, that...
“I don’t know,” I said, which was technically a true statement.
I think Phoenix expected me to say more, but for the sake of slow-playing things a bit, I decided to keep silent.
“Well, fuck it, since you’re still here,” Phoenix said. I leaned forward on the bar, trying to keep a straight face, but the way my lips curled up, I just knew I was giving myself away. “I want to hang out with you again. I don’t give a fuck if you just want to be friends. I owe it to myself to have a pleasant time with you and not have the last memory for either of us be me acting like a petulant idiot.”
