Page 118 of That Girl is Trouble

“I think this is my truck. And I think Axe told me specifically that you ain’t going anywhere alone. So yeah, I think I’m coming with you.”

“Fine,” I bite, kicking his truck into reverse and backing out onto the street. I tear down the road, dialing Axe again. Straight to voice mail. “God dammit.”

Preacher snatches the phone from my hand just as I start thumbing out a message. “Maybe let’s not text and drive when you’re feeling… like this.”

“I’m not feeling anything.”

“You’re crying.”

I wipe my wrist across my cheek, and it comes away soaked. “You know where Axe is?”

“Said he was going for a drive. I gather from the yelling and the new shiner he’s wearing that he and Jack might have had a… disagreement?”

“Something like that,” I mutter.

I drive and drive, looping up and down the streets of South Bay. It’s silent in the truck, and for once, it doesn’t make my skin crawl. I like Preacher for that. He doesn’t fill space with words or noise like I’m always trying to do. He finds comfort in the silence. And today, maybe I do too.

All my searching brings me to a place I didn’t intend to go, and I bring the truck to a stop.

Without a word to Preacher, I push out and head through the iron gate. The church bells sound loudly, marking the time at 4 p.m., and I walk the path through the cemetery, passing headstone after headstone until I get to his.

Jesse James Turner

I study it as that familiar twinge of guilt pokes at my stomach. There were times when I loved him so much I couldn’t feel anything else. There was only Jesse. No Axe, no fights with my sister, no dead mom on the floor. It was me and him, and sometimes, it felt perfect. But the other times… those are the ones I wish had been different. Times when I spit venom at him the way I do at my sister. He yelled, and I yelled back. He punched things and pretended they were my face, and I egged him on because I knew I could get under his skin. Times where I had my mind on another man with cold eyes and a scowl.

And then he died protecting my sister. He died a good man. So those thoughts, the ones I have of all those times that weren’t so good, they feel like a betrayal.

A throat clears beside me, and I look up, startled to find Preacher right next to me. “Why are you being so sneaky today?” I snap.

He lets out a deep sigh and digs his tattooed hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Grief is… hard.”

I snort. “That’s insightful.”

Smirking, he says, “Why does everyone always expect me to say something profound?”

I raise my eyebrows and give him a knowing look. Preacher might not be a priest anymore, but the shit that comes out of his mouth sometimes sure as hell makes him sound like one.

He sighs again. “Yeah, yeah, all right. You believe in God, Kat?”

“Sometimes.”

He falls silent for a moment as he takes in Jesse’s headstone. “What is it that you’re feeling?”

I bite my lip. I suddenly can’t look at him. Or the damn stone at my feet, where Jesse’s name is etched deep in the granite. A reminder. A taunt. That familiar pang in my gut sends a storm of sickness to my stomach.

“You know…” he says, glancing sidelong at me. “Guilt is a perfectly normal thing to feel after someone passes.”

A lump lodges in my throat, and my next words come out strained. “Jesse and I… we weren’t good at the end. We were…bad to each other.” I wipe a tear that’s escaped down my cheek and let out a shaky breath. “Despite everything, he protected Triss. She said he threw her behind him, Preach. That he took a bullet trying to keep her safe. He did that because he loved me. And everything with Axe…”

“Jesse was a good kid. He would’a done that regardless of what was going on between the two of you. Or between you and Axe. Triss is our VP’s woman, which means she belongs to the club. He was protecting what’s ours. It’s what we all would’a done.”

“It just feels like this is my fault. Like he—like he died because of me. And now I get to live and he just… doesn’t.”

“It’s only human, fixating on the shit we can’t change. Don’t think I don’t get it. Sometimes the guilt I carry feels… insurmountable. But,” he says, glancing up at the sky, “if we’re to believe that God has a plan for each of us, even those who have walked a path less… righteous.” He lifts an eyebrow and smiles. “Then there’s no use dwelling on it. It’ll kill you. Eat away at your damn insides until there’s nothing left. Clear your conscience. None of this shit was your fault.”

I swallow. “How do I do that?”

He shrugs. “If I were still a priest, I’d tell you to put your faith in God. I would tell you to be strong and not to let his death haunt you, because Jesse is with Him, and that should give you comfort.”

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