Page 83 of The Trust We Broke
Smoke points at me. “In layman’s terms, you can’t kill him. But we can.”
I place my palms on the desk. “I’m not asking one of you to kill him for me.”
“You won’t have to,” Taco says. “It’s the point of the brotherhood.”
“So, that’s why you need to talk to Lucy,” Wraith says. “Get your justice, first, brother. It’ll bring you more peace than vengeance.”
I tug a hand through my hair. “I don’t know if that’s going to satisfy this…this…” I rub my fist in a circle on my chest as I struggle to find the words to fill this ache, this void, inside.
“Wes Granger will die,” Shade says. “But Wraith’s right. Let’s get intelligence on him.”
I always thought that making decisions as a president was more about being the leader and setting the direction. And in a way, it is. But I also am big enough to admit that listening to my men discuss this allows clarity to win over the earlier need to ride out to find Wes Granger and kill him.
“I’ve got it, brother,” Wraith says. “Feels like you need to sort shit out with Lucy.”
I place my hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Is it too early to start making jokes about how I think he already sorted Lucy out today?” Taco asks.
Smoke at least has the decency to cover the lower half of his face as he grins.
Shade clips Taco around the back of his head. “Way too early.”
The normalcy of tackling something serious with humor strikes me. This is what the brotherhood is about.
“I’m gonna get some air,” I say. “Update me as soon as you know anything about Granger.”
I ride out in my truck to the river that froths and foams as it surges downstream. It’s not cold enough for it to freeze, yet, but soon enough, the water by the banks will start to ice over.
I cup my hands and blow into them, to warm them up, as I trudge to my usual spot. The thick felled tree has been here for as long as I can remember and has seen some pretty spectacular moments in my life.
I brought Lucy here on our first official date. Felt a bit weird because we’d been friends forever, but it also felt…different. Mom helped me make a picnic basket because I didn’t have much coin at the time and she loved the idea of Lucy and me as a couple. I felt ridiculous with this ugly wicker thing stuffed with Mom and Dad’s camping supplies. Plastic plates and cups and mismatched cutlery.
When I picked up Lucy from the gates of her estate in the fifteen-year-old, fourth-hand truck I drove, I was convinced I was just her safe walk on the wild side.
I’d even made excuses about the state of the picnic, rolling my eyes as I explained Mom and I had made the food.
But Lucy loved it. We settled the blanket right in front of this trunk and lay on our backs, holding hands, talking about plans for summer. She inhaled the food, complimenting my mom’s cooking and asking me which things I’d made.
Which led to it being the first place I ever kissed Lucy De Bose.
And, man, I had my first real understanding of what a truly spiritual moment in your life felt like. Because when her lips touched mine for the first time, I could barely breathe.
As I brush off the snow, then lower myself onto the felled trunk, it would be easy to try and convince myself that I just needed some air in a pretty spot. That this place, with its river, is somehow better than my own place where Lucy is waiting for me.
But really, I know it’s because I have some thinking to do about Lucy and me, and this was the only place I could do it.
“Alright,” I say out loud, knowing full well there is no one around except me. “Talk it out.”
I take a deep breath. “She did it to protect me.”
She did it to protect me.
Out of everything she said this morning, it’s the one thing that has stuck with me. More than the fact her father set me up. More than the fact she didn’t come to me and tell me so we could work it out together.
The precious woman I fell in love with parked her own happiness, so I didn’t have to suffer any longer than I had to in prison. Hell, if she hadn’t, I’d still be in prison, now, and the last six years since I got out wouldn’t have happened.
If I’m truthful with myself, the very idea of it makes me feel sick.
