Page 25 of Strider's Misstep

I can only hope Jasmine won’t suffer because of my choices.

Out of respect for me, the brothers held a wake for Anna back at the clubhouse, but due to her distancing herself from the major part of my life, there were no fond anecdotes or stories to tell. It was a strange affair, really just another party night, were it not for the number of times my back was slapped and sympathies given as though I was dealing with a sudden hole in my life.

To be honest, my mourning had been done years ago, once I finally accepted her prognosis and the first time she’d looked at me with no real recognition in her eyes.

While they hadn’t known her, my brothers gave me opportunities to regale them with tales about her, but I hadn’t anything to share. My memories of her were too tied up in her medical issues, and all I could feel was a relief she was no longer suffering.

While it seems wrong to admit it, the weight of Anna had been lifted from me. After the funeral and the wake, my shoulders felt lighter than they had for years. Pastors would tell me Anna was in a better place. I might not be able to subscribe to that, but better must equate to the living hell she’d been in.

I no longer needed to worry about Anna, and that’s something I hadn’t been able to say for a very long time.

When I’d married Anna, we were young, starry-eyed, and thought everything was in front of us. Then I found my future, the club, and Anna rebelled. It was then I realised her dreams weren’t mine. I could never become a nine-to-five office worker. I was a rebel, a biker at heart. I’d tried to make things work, tried to keep our lives separate, fuck knows there were enough examples around us, bikers with a civilian wife who they kept on the outside. Admittedly so they could enjoy the sweet butts and sex with no one turning an eye. That wasn’t my reason. I didn’t fool around on Anna, or not until she was unable to give me what I needed anymore.

Had I been an idiot to think if she wasn’t ill, she’d still be mine? What would that look like? If someone had poured a bucket of cold water over me, I couldn’t have been more shocked to find my thoughts had evolved. Anna and I could never have made it long term. If she hadn’t become ill, there was no way in heaven or hell that we’d be together now. The club, to me, was everything.

Clarity suddenly hit. My guilt that I’d forsaken her due to the illness she couldn’t control evaporated at the realisation I’d given her everything I could—a supportive husband and a comfortable life when hers went so rapidly downhill. I hadn’t washed my hands of her, had tried to enrich her existence, had given her every comfort I could. Even if the cause of her illness had been my fault, it was over now, any debt to her repaid.

With that gone, I was consumed with thoughts about Jasmine. However much I tried to get her out of my mind, it killed me to think I’d pushed her away. I couldn’t take comfort in the thought that if I couldn’t find her, then no one else could. I was unable to listen to the sensible voice that tried to convince me the anonymity that stopped me from finding her would mean she was safe from anyone else. That book played on my mind. Ifwhat she’d written was true, she was in deep trouble, though she might not realise it.

I’d move heaven and earth to help her.

The brothers gave me space, but they couldn’t tell it wasn’t grief I was feeling but despondency and helplessness.

Avoiding the house, I took up residence in the club, feeling Jasmine’s ghost everywhere. I wanted her so much. I thought I was going out of my mind. Someone can’t just disappear, can they? Instead of accepting the inevitable that I wouldn’t find Jasmine if she didn’t want to be found, I sank deeper and deeper into despair.

It was two more days before Data burst into my office.

I sit up fast, reading the expression on his face. “You’ve got news?”

He sinks down into the chair opposite my desk. “We’ve all been fuckin’ idiots. You included.” At his accusation, I clench my fist.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

His eyes roll. “We don’t know where she is now, but we do know where she’ll be in three weeks.”

My brain’s gone blank. I don’t have a fucking clue what he’s suggesting. “Spit it out, Brother.” I’m losing patience.

Data grins, his cheeks pulling back, his lips curling, showing his teeth. “At the book signing. Motorcycles, Mobsters and Mayhem.”

My brow rises.

“I left my search of J Frobisher going and came up with gold. Jasmine’s on the list of attending authors.”

I’ve heard of that event before. “Isn’t that the signing where StoryTeller’s woman picked up a book that started their relationship? The one that saved her from a bullet?”

“Sure was.” Data agrees. “It’s a big signing. Must be a big deal for Jasmine to be invited to it.”

Jasmine. My Jasmine. I knew she was talented from reading just that one book. For a moment, I allow myself to feel pride at how successful she is. But then, I consider the more important issue. This might be the break we were waiting for, but I refuse to get my hopes up. “How do you know she’s still going?”

Data’s grin widens impossibly. He thumps his hand down on my desk. “Because she’s fucking asked StoryTeller’s woman to go with her to help. And StoryTeller will be there because he’s not going to let his eight-month pregnant ol’ lady be anywhere without him.”

My eyes widen. “You’re telling me that…” I pause, casting my mind back, trying to remember the name of StoryTeller’s girl. “Sheri, isn’t it?” At Data’s up and down movement of his head, I carry on, “That Sheri knows where she is?”

He holds up his hand. “Whoa there, Prez. I spoke with StoryTeller. His ol’ lady doesn’t have an address?—”

In exasperation, I shake my head. “A number then. She must be in touch with her somehow.”

“She has her number but doesn’t want to betray a confidence.”

---