by Max Henry
So I bail.
I don’t have the adequate words to explain that it’s not them who are to blame for the lost trust, but the fact I don’t believe in myself anymore. I can’t place trust in anyone, or anything these days, and that makes it damn hard to believe that there’s good out there in the world for the taking when you’re forever wondering what’s going to fall apart next.
I take the coward’s way out and swim for the surface, fighting the black ocean of my mind as I gasp for the life-saving breath that only comes with solitude.
“I need a fuckin’ smoke,” I mutter as I rise from the table and push through the doors.
A ruckus breaks out behind me, but I don’t stop. I don’t turn around, and I sure as fuck don’t acknowledge what I’ve done.
I’ve tapped out. Failed. Crumbled at the last hurdle.
I’ve committed career suicide.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Dagne
The damn washer mystifies me. I’ve stood in this same spot for an absurd amount of time, simply trying to figure out which of the two slots I pour the powder into. Damn it. The fact my mind keeps wandering back to Hooch and how he looked might have something to do with my lack of focus.
Right. I’m going with right.
My hand’s poised over the compartment, powder spilling in an avalanche of lavender goodness, when I’m assailed from my left.
Washing powder goes everywhere.
My feet scramble for traction.
And before I can fully comprehend what’s just happened, a mountain of a man has wrapped himself around me. One man, to be exact: Hooch.
“You okay?” I tentatively place my arms around him, completing the circle.
“I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you.” The steady rise and fall of his back as he sucks in deep breaths complement the warm gusts that pepper my neck. He’s tall, so much broader and stronger than me, but in this moment he seems so fragile.
“Well, here I am.” I rest my forehead on his collarbone; his body arced in order for him to rest his face on my shoulder. My arms slip lower to his waist, and in the confines of the clubhouse laundry room, I finally find peace.
All this time I’ve been searching for a place that sets my soul at ease, when all along it was a person.
The things we learn …
I inhale deeply, relishing the smell of a warm masculine body encasing mine as he squeezes me a little, almost as though he’s reassuring himself we’re doing this. In all honesty, I’m wondering if it’s a dream too.
Hooch softens, and then pulls back, leaving his hands rested on my waist as he stares down into my no doubt shocked and confused expression. His mouth opens ever so slightly, and I find myself hanging by a thread for his words, but he snaps his lips closed and looks over his shoulder at the open door instead, huffing. Cool air taunts me as he steps away to shut us in, the loss of the closeness I never knew I was seeking so sudden and confronting.
“Can we talk?” He appears so unsure of himself, as though the idea that I would want to converse with him is ludicrous.
“Of course.”
You’d think I just gifted him a puppy with the way his eyes light up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I kick the pile of dirty denim at our feet to the side, clearing a space for us both to sit. He watches as I fold my legs, and then reach up take his hand and tug it, coaxing him down to join me.
Seeing him contort his broad and tall frame into a pretzel is entertaining to say the least. God only knows how, but he manages it.
“Where did you go?” I ask.
He looks … rough. Given the guy isn’t exactly the clean-shaven and well pressed type to begin with. But his eyes are dark and haunted, his complexion paler than I remember. He seems tired.
“It doesn’t matter,” he answers, dropping his head against the wall.
“Tell me what does then?”
He rolls his head my way, pinning me with a confused stare.
“Something’s clearly upset you,” I elaborate. “So something matters right now, otherwise you wouldn’t have come barreling in here seeking comfort.”
I swear if his face wasn’t covered with that beard I would have seen him blush. “I, uh …” He lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, the chain attached to one of his leather cuffs jingling as he does. “That behavior isn’t usual for me.”
I point to the washer across from us. “Neither is this for me.”
He laughs, and I vow then and there to stay with the Aces for as long as I can keep getting him to do so. It’s a beautiful sound, and one I suspect isn’t heard as much as it should be.
“I wanted to ask your opinion on something.”
“Me?” What knowledge would I have of his world that he’d need?
“Yeah. I want a neutral viewpoint on it.”
Whatever he needs, I’ll do it. “Shoot.” Isn’t that exactly what I was hoping for in the barn?
He pulls in a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he speaks. “If you knew that your influence on a situation wasn’t a positive one, is it still quittin’ if you walk away from it?”
“I don’t think I fully understand what you’re talking about.”
He rubs a hand over his face, and something in that indication of doubt makes me yearn to snuggle in tight again to reassure him he’s doing okay.
“I want to step down as president.”
“Why?” I might not know much, but I’ve pretty much got it locked down that the position is a revered one.
“I don’t think I’m cut out for it anymore.”
“Because of what happened at the clearing, with you shooting the cop?”
He chuckles. “No, fairy. Because I don’t think someone as weak as me has earned the right to sit at the head of the table. They need someone strong, someone who doesn’t wish he could spend all day in his bed without havin’ to talk to a single person.”
I frown as I shift around to face him fully, trying to work out what exactly is weak about him. “You seem pretty strong to me.”
“That’s because you don’t know me that well.”
“I know you well enough to remind you that choosing to get up and face your demons each day is the strongest thing you can do.”
His lips twitch in a sort of smile, and his eyes soften. He knows I’m right—he just won’t admit it. He’s stronger than he realizes.
“Tell me,” I coax. “What have you done that makes you think you’re weak, not good enough to lead others anymore?”
“It’s what I haven’t done,” he stresses. “I … since Dana and Dad …” He presses his lips tight, shaking his head. “I don’t even know where to start with this shit.”
“Just give it to me as it comes,” I say with a shrug. “I’m pretty good at piecing things together.”
He locks his gaze with mine, and in the space between the dark brown flecks of his eyes, I see hope. He finds something in me, something he seeks but doesn’t understand. And I get that, because I’m searching it out too.
“You’re too good to be true, you know that?”
I look away, sure if I hold his gaze a second longer he’s going to find a pipeline to my innermost thoughts. I’m not ready to be that open yet. I’ve got to understand the way I feel about him before I can share it.
“I just do what I’d hope others would do for me.”
He reaches out and threads his fingers under mine, bringing our joined hands between us on the floor. “Do you think it’s weak if a man admits his fears?”
I frown, squeezing his hand tight. “No.” Why would he even think that? “I think it’s honorable. It takes so much bravery to admit you have faults.”
“You think?”
“I know.” After all, aren’t I the authority on keeping faults a secret?
He sniffs, staring at the toes of his boots where they rest against the base of the washer. “Since everything went to shit last year, I get … I guess the only way to describe it is angry at myself
.”
“What for? Do you blame yourself for what happened?”
His head drops back again, and he closes his eyes as his thumb traces a path on the back of my hand. “Yeah, but I know I shouldn’t. Still, knowin’ what I’m thinkin’ is wrong doesn’t make it go away. I still blame myself for everything, still hate myself for it.”
“That’s natural, though. You went through something traumatic, from what you’ve said of it, so you’ve got strong reactions that need a place to rest.”
“I went on a bender after they died,” he explains, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “Drank, binged on coke, picked fights with my friends, and it wasn’t until I couldn’t remember what it was like to be straight that I finally realized why I did it.”
“Distraction?”
“Because I want to die.”
A lump lodges in my throat as I take him in. At face value he’s strength and dominance. He’s a huge guy, intimidating to those who don’t know him, with his black clothing, leather, and piercings. He puts out an image of power, over others, and himself. But underneath it all he hides this.
“Don’t,” I utter. “Don’t say that again.”
“Why?” He rolls his head to look me in the eye. “It’s the truth, Dagne. I don’t want to do this anymore. Every day is hard. I wake up wishin’ it was time to go to sleep again, dreadin’ the day before it’s even happened.” His face moves through frustration and anger, glimpses of pain and despair between. “You have any idea what it’s like to just want to curl up in a ball and pretend the world doesn’t exist?”
“Yeah, I do,” I say. “I also know what it’s like to wish for death. To know you’re too gutless to do it yourself, so you hope for something that’ll do it for you, like an illness, an accident, or a sadistic fucking father who hates the fact you breathe the same air as him.” Hooch’s eyes go wide, and I realize in that moment tears streak my cheeks. But fuck it—he needs to hear it. “I also know what it’s like to be hurt so bad that you finally believe that day has come, and in that second your foolishness and selfish thoughts come back to haunt you. What it’s like to realize when you’re faced with your own mortality that you don’t want to die … you just wish you were someone else, living another life.”
“Dagne—”
“Ah.” I lift my finger to stop him. “Nope. I’m not finished, mister.”
A small smile plays at the corner of his lips, and he reaches out to wipe my tears. “Carry on.”
“What you have to face is that you have the power to be somebody else. Fuck what your head tells you, Hooch. Your mind is a goddamn liar. It feeds off your fear, shows you your flaws while hiding your strengths. If you’re not happy,” I say, jabbing him in the chest, “change it. Do something about it. But don’t quit.”
“I’ve tried.” He captures my hand, focusing on the flesh of my palm as he traces the lines with his finger. “I really have, but my battery’s run dry, girl.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It hasn’t. You just haven’t found what charges it yet.”
“I can’t change the way I feel overnight.”
I wrap my fingers around his, scooting closer. “No, you can’t. But you can promise to stick about until you do. You might think nobody cares about you, but I can guarantee there’s a whole room of men out there who’d miss the hell out of you if you checked out.”
His warm eyes rove my face, the heat from his breath having the opposite effect on my flesh as goose bumps ripple across my chest and arms. “Me sayin’ that really got to you, huh?”
“Yeah,” I admit, the damn lump shifting back to my throat. “It did.”
“Why?”
His whispered word wraps around the space between us, tugging at my resolve to keep a safe distance from him while I worked this out for myself. “Because I think you were right; our paths were meant to cross.”
He nods, pain in his eyes, but relief in the smile he offers. “Yeah, I feel that too, fairy. I feel it too.”
TWENTY-NINE
Hooch
God never put a more perfect creature on this earth than an empathetic woman. I reach out and pull Dagne to me, positioning her so she’s curled in on my lap with her head tucked beneath my chin. I came in here needing the contact for myself, but I think in the end it’s helped us both.
She says she’s fought her battle with the black dog before, but I think she’s only learned how to kennel it for the time being. Keeping people at arm’s length isn’t a healthy coping strategy. Like I’m one to talk.
“You still didn’t give me any advice on my problem,” I say.
She pulls away enough to be able to look me in the eye. “About being president?”
“Yeah.”
Her hand traces a pattern around the stitching on my cut. “I think you’re asking the wrong person; you need to talk to your friends about that.”
“I don’t know how to.” If I did, I would have said it before and not bolted from the room.
“Honest and direct. It’s always worked for me.”
“Yeah?”
She mumbles something I don’t catch before pulling a deep breath in. “Might not have had the right outcome, but it sure cleared any confusion over things.”
“Your mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Can’t be as bad as mine.” I chuckle, thinking back to Murphy’s reaction when I said I’d reached out to her. Can’t blame the guy really; he remembers more than I do, having known her as an adult not a child.
“We’ll wager that shall we?” Dagne shifts so she’s astride my legs, hands rested on my stomach.
It’s nice. It’s right.
“My mom won’t even answer my phone calls,” she says. “What’s the worst yours does?”
“Left over twenty years ago, and the only person from the club she’s spoken to since is Dad’s favorite whore.”
“What?” Her face screws up in disbelief.
“Uh-huh. I see your distant mother and raise you a crazy one.”
She chuckles, hiding her smile behind one of her hands.
I pull it away, shaking my head. “Don’t hide that from me.”
Her smile fades, the rise of her cheeks glowing pink.
“If you want me to last the distance in this shit-fight called life, you’ve got to promise you’ll stick around too.”
The hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed. “I promise.”
“Good.”
The air charges with unspoken questions, confusion thick in the silence between us. I can’t place a finger on what it is this traveller possesses that nobody has before her, but I know I need it. I’ve lost direction in life, and without her to steer me toward the sunrise I’d be forever lost in the dark, dank depths of my mind.
The door swings open, breaking our moment as Dagne scrambles to get off my lap. She stands awkwardly beside the washer while Jo Jo looks her over with his signature cool indifference.
“Everyone’s lookin’ for you, boss.”
“Thanks, Jo. I’ll be right out.”
He gives us both a jerk of his chin and shuts the door again, his footfalls evident now that Dagne and I have broken our little bubble of truths. I glance over to find her smiling awkwardly down at me.
“Sorry.”
“What for?” I came here to see her. What the hell does she have to apologize about?
“I probably gave them something else to talk about.”
I chuckle, rising awkwardly to my feet. My hips and legs ache, an unpleasant side effect of going cold turkey on my fledgling heroin addiction. Should have stuck to coke.
“What are you going to do?” Dagne sweeps up the spilled washing powder with her hands, dumping it in the compartment for the fabric softener.
“Place my fate in their hands, I guess.” I nudge her aside and remove the drawer compartment from the washer, tipping the contents in the tub. “Explain where I’m at, and if they think a reshuffle of the table is in order, I’ll support them i
n it.”
She watches with a thinly veiled smile as I wipe the remnants of the powder out with my finger and then set the drawer back in the machine, finally placing another scoop of powder in the correct side.
“Some women find that quite sexy, you know; a man who can do the washing.”
I glance down at her out the side of my eye and smile. “Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” She closes the top and twists the dial to regular, stepping back with a smug curl to her lips.
“You one of those women?”
Her smirk grows at my innuendo, but quickly dies to mortification when I lean over and pull the dial out to start the machine.
“Almost had it, fairy. You have any more trouble you give me a holler, you hear?”
She laughs as I leave the laundry room, the sweet notes of her humor following me down the hall as my mood shifts to one of apprehension.
My brothers sit gathered around the bar and pool table, chatting amongst themselves. The sudden silence is a slap in the face as they all catch sight of me.
Crackers slides off his stool and meets me halfway. “You good now?”
“Not quite.” I tip my head to the back deck. “You got a minute?”
“Sure.”
He accompanies me outdoors while the rest of the crew goes back to business. Before long the clink of glass, and crack of a pool ball punctuates the rowdy conversation.
“So,” Crackers starts, pulling a pack of smokes from his pocket. “What’s going on with you, brother?”
I hold my hand out for a cigarette. He shakes a stick out of the packet and passes it over, holding the flame for me before lighting his own. It’s not cocaine by any stretch, but it’s something to fool the senses and ease the cravings.
“Ain’t ever been right since they died,” I say. “Time hasn’t lessened the pain, my man. But it’s not the table’s problem to bear, so I haven’t said anythin’ to the lot of you until now.”
“We’re not blind,” Crackers states, staring out across the dark grounds. “We know you took it hard, and to be honest, not one of us blame you for it. Any one of us would be fucked up if we lost our loved ones like that.”
“Which is exactly why I don’t think I need any special treatment.” I suck back on the stick, going cross-eyed as I focus on the glowing tip.
