Page 31 of The Trust We Broke
There must be some secret to how you keep a relationship like theirs alive. I can’t imagine a sexless relationship. But what Mom and Dad have transcends that. Sometimes, I drop Mom and just wait outside, and come back another day to see Dad. But today, I need to speak with him.
My stomach flips a little at what I’m gonna ask. But club business is club business, after all.
“Separate,” I hear a guard say. A sure sign my parents were making out like teenagers. Even though I can’t see them, I smile. It’s rare these days to have parents who aren’t divorced and still love each other deeply.
Mom’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “He’s all yours. I’ll wait in the truck.”
“When you grab our things, get the keys out of my coat pocket. Turn it on so you can keep warm.”
“I will. Bye, sweetie,” she says, waving at Dad.
And he waves, watching her until she’s completely vanished from sight. And even then, his gaze lingers where she once was for a second or two before shifting to me.
“Did you ever think of letting Mom go while you were in here?” I ask him as I turn back around.
Dad grins and nods. “Four times. I’ve told her to go be happy. Told her I wouldn’t mind if she looked for sex and intimacy outside of our marriage. Told her I’d even divorce her if she fellin love with someone else. But she isn’t having any of it. Said our vows were for better or worse.”
“She’s such a strong woman,” I say, unembarrassed to admit I really admire my mom’s strength.
“She is that. Last of the old-time old ladies. She’s in it for life. She once said when you love someone this much, you don’t let go.”
I think about Lucy. Occasionally, in quieter moments, I wonder what it was. I wonder what made her go from committing her life and body to my care forever, to not even having the courage to come talk to me face-to-face.
My heart sank when I found out she’d left for Harvard, for her undergrad. Her dream.
And I’d been left behind like I was debris from her old life.
“What do you need, Son?” Dad asks finally.
“Couple of things. I need you to get okay with me paying Mom some money. She won’t take it from me directly, but if I tell her the club is adjusting how much they pay out to you a month for inflation, I can transfer some of my pay to her without hurting her pride.”
Dad rubs his hands over his face. “It’s the only thing I regret. Not being able to look after your mom myself, properly, is killing me slowly. Financially, personally, emotionally.”
I reach across the table and grip his wrist. “I know. Which is why we’re just going to be pragmatic. Father and son. We manage it together, yeah?”
Dad sighs and then nods. “I’ll tell her you communicated the inflationary raise. And tell her to keep it to herself.”
“Thank you. And we need you…” My words trail off. Asking my dad to do something that will likely end with him in solitary for a period, sticks in my throat.
This time, Dad reaches for my arm. “Just ask. It’s okay, Son.”
“We need an eight on me for three,” I say.
Atom’s grandfather came up with this idea that the club should have its own language for asking people to do things in prison. You never know when your conversation is listened in on.
An eight, a serious beat down.
Me, my equivalent role, in this case, the president of a rival club.
Three, the Midtown Rebels.
Wes Granger was removed as the president of the Midtown Rebels shortly after Wraith’s wife and child were killed two years ago. We never found out if it was because he gave the authorization for their death or not, and Wraith was never able to find him to kill him. He was replaced by a biker called Hooper, who is the current president. It’s Hooper who is currently inside serving six months for something to do with a bad traffic stop.
We decided that an internal attack on him might lead to a filtering of messages to his men to leave our club and territory alone.
Dad nods. “Understood. When?”
“Within the week. I hate asking.”
