Page 68 of The Vows We Keep
Los Reyes killed Papá, and they never wanted me to find out why they did it. I can’t imagine what he went through. Did they torture him? Did he do something wrong? I feel like he didn’t, because if he had, Mamá and I wouldn’t have been allowed to hang around the club any longer. Whatever he’d allegedly done would’ve tainted us all.
The only thing I keep coming back to is his relationship with Perrito. And how Perrito now has both his sons in positions of power in the club, as both vice president and sergeant at arms.
We slept in a different hotel on the way back. When we got to our room, Niro ran a bath, and I was worried because sex was far from my mind. Instead, he stripped me, helped me into the tub, kissed my forehead, and left me alone.
And it’s funny. Because even though he wasn’t in the room, I knew he was there for me, supporting me. While I tried to reset my emotional balance, Niro went out with Bates and picked up food. The last thing I felt like was eating, but he picked up potstickers and burritos and burgers and pizzas. More than two people could possibly eat.
I gave the burritos a try. They weren’t as good as my abuela’s but filled my stomach. While food is not a cure for grief, it tapped into the hole of homesickness and loss that gripped me like a band around my heart.
I slept holding the last piece I have of my papá. It smells of him. Of his cologne. It takes me back to celebrating Diez y Seis with my grandparents in Tonalá. Papá took us back one year to see the annual fiesta. Sitting next to him as we ate such good food with fireworks exploding all over the town is one of my favorite memories of him.
For all his faults, he was the man I looked up to and learned from, even if those skills of independence are standing in my way of moving forward right now.
I’ve followed Niro and Bates on the drive so unconsciously that I only realize I’m back at Niro’s home when he kills his engine. Bates is no longer here and probably back at the clubhouse. I follow suit, but while Niro takes off his helmet and climbs off his bike, I stay exactly where I am.
With care, he unbuckles my helmet and slides it over my head. And I want to lean into all of it. The bathtub, the food, the care and consideration. I want to lean into letting him lead me. I want to bend.
But I’m terrified of it.
What will I lose if I do? Will the world see me as softer? Less valuable?
So, I do what I always do. I fake it. I shake my head and then yawn. “I’m sorry, I’m tired. That was a solid day’s riding. We should grab some food.”
Niro moves back a step to let me off the bike without responding.
“Do we need to do a grocery run? I can go if you want to—”
“Not with me,” he says firmly.
“Notwhatwith you?”
He places his hand to my cheek. “You’re speaking to the guy who’s always on the outside looking in. I understand people well enough to manipulate them which means I see you. You aren’t fine. You don’t need to be fine. And I sure as shit don’t want you to pretend you’re fine, when anybody with half a brain can tell you’re not.”
His words knock me off balance. “No. Honestly, I’m fine. Seeing Papá’s cut was a shock. But I came here thinking my father was already dead. He hasn’t been home for months, like you said. And that was a long four days of riding to get there and back. It’s the closure I needed. I’m—”
“You sayfineagain and I’m gonna lose my shit.” His eyes are focused on me intently, and I swear he can see what’s going on inside my mind, which is madness.
“Fine.” The word echoes around us. “I’m not fine. I’m numb. And at a dead end. I don’t know what the fuck to do now to find my father’s remains because it dawned on me when we passed theWelcome to Asbury Parksign that my papá is probably buried in some unmarked grave in Missouri, and the only person who would know where is a man you’ve already killed and put in the ground.”
I’m shouting by the time I get to the last sentence.
“There she is,” Niro says, placing his hand around the back of my neck and squeezing it. “Doesn’t it feel better to say exactly what’s on your mind without having to filter it all, to make it more palatable for others?”
I gasp for air.
His fingers squeeze the base of my skull, slowly massaging. Tightening and releasing. It grounds me in this moment.
“You want to know something?” he says casually, as if I’m not having a meltdown on his driveway. “I’ve never really cared for anyone. I mean, I have lots of brothers in the club. Closest probably to Bates. But I’ve also seen brothers die. And it’s felt ... well, it’s like I don’t care. Maybe that’s not right. I’ve been pragmatic about it. How do we help the family financially? Who will make the funeral arrangements? How do we backfill their role in the club? I’ve neverfeltit.” He places his hand over my heart. “I envy you loving your father so much that it hurts this fiercely. Even if he was a complicated man.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I look over the gutter of Niro’s house, trying to break the intensity before I cry again. It’s not just the loss of my father. It’s Niro’s quiet honesty.
I glance back at him. “You do feel things, Niro. You felt my pain. You felt it even though I tried to bury it. You cared enough to run me a bath and give me space and make sure I ate. And then you held me when I needed it. You do care, and it’s beautiful.”
Niro looks down at the ground, kicking at nothing that I can see with the toe of his boot. I climb off my bike as I realize more about the biker I seem to be falling for. He’s a better man than he realizes. This time, I do to him what he normally does to me. I slide a finger beneath his chin and lift it until his tortured eyes meet mine again.
“Youdocare,” I repeat.
“You think so?” The uncertainty I see in this usually confident man makes me want to wrap my arms around him and reassure him of this fact forever.
