Page 3 of The Grief We Hold

And no number of deaths is going to make up for the fact I should have been there to protect them.

But I’ll keep killing until the day I die, because vengeance is all I have left.

1

WRAITH

PRESENT DAY

Ipull my bike to a stop at the diner on the edge of town. Rain batters me, and the last hour of the ride has been nothing short of treacherous. I’m soaked through to the bone, but the cold can no longer reach me.

I push the door to the diner, and the little bell rattles above me. A flood of thoughts overwhelms me, memories of the million and one times I’d hear that sound and then within seconds, Hallie would be in my arms.

Now the fucking bell is a dreary reminder of what we once were.

What I once had.

If Ma, my mother-in-law, didn’t own the place thanks to a silent partner loan from me, I wouldn’t even come here anymore. There are too many memories wrapped up in the white tabletops and stools next to the counter.

Ma begged me, pleaded with me, on the day of the funeral. Said we were the only two on the planet who understood the loss, that I couldn’t just disappear from her life.

Hallie was carried by my brothers in the Outlaws, while I walked in front carrying Lottie’s little white casket in my arms. Last time I ever held my baby girl.

Only one casket was put in the ground. I lifted my baby girl out of the perfect white casket lined with ivory silk and put her in the stiff arms of her momma.

Kissed ‘em both one last time, closed the lid, and buried them with my heart.

They’re on my mind today. Over the past two years, I’ve personally closed down the Denver, Colorado, chapter of the Midtown Rebels Motorcycle Club. It’s hard to find new members when the old ones keep getting murdered. But I’m still running down loose ends as I find addresses for those who were members. Yesterday, I killed a man who went nomad after the first three deaths.

Fucking coward.

Now he’s weighed down with concrete at the bottom of a lake, making his peace with the fishes.

I remove my helmet as I step inside, immediately ambushed by the smell of ground beef and apple pie and coffee. Condensation runs down the inside of the windows as heat hits my cheeks in waves.

“Axel,” my mother-in-law says when she sees me. “Close the door and come in out of the rain.”

The diner is cozy, but there’s a weariness in the gently worn leather of the booths and the stoic faces of the patrons.

Little glass rainbow suncatchers hang from the ceiling by the windows. On sunny days, they send multicolored lights all over the ceiling—all Hallie’s doing because she loved rainbows. But on a day like today, without the sun behind them, they look as dead as I feel.

“Ma,” I say as I bend to kiss her paper-thin cheek. She’s the only one who uses my real name anymore. And I call herMabecause it was what Hallie wanted. Guess I’m now the only person who will call her that, so to take it away and pretend we’re nothing to each other would be cruel.

“Oh, you’re freezing. Let me get you a coffee. Floyd made meatloaf. You want some of that too?”

“Sounds good. Just got back and don’t have anything in the fridge.”

Ma taps mySergeant at Armspatch but doesn’t ask me any more questions. “Go take your seat.”

I head to my regular booth, the one farthest from the window. There’s no way I’m leaving my ass a sitting duck for any trouble that comes down Main Street.

Thankfully, no one is there. I tug off my jacket and hang it on the hook, then sit, wet road gear and all.

Can’t face getting out of the waterproof pants only to have to wriggle back into them in an hour.

A cup of coffee slips in front of me. “Thanks, Ma.”

“I didn’t know how you take it. Do you need milk? Half ‘n’ half?”

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