Page 23 of Summer's Edge

“So, in other words, they were no Devil’s Nightmare MC?” she asks wryly.

I shake my head. “You could say they were exactly the opposite.”

She’s still holding onto my hand, and I like it very much. More than I ever thought I could. I also like spending time with her alone here. More than I ever thought I’d enjoy spending time alone with a woman.

“So how did your folks get mixed up in that drug deal that went bad?”

I hate talking about this part. Because it’s all my fault. But I’ve laid it all out for her already, so what’s telling her more gonna change?

“My mom and dad both lost their jobs within a couple of months of each other, the same as Ruin’s folks did,” I say. “Keeping kids off drugs meant they were familiar with all the local street gangs, and Ruin’s folks had a lot of product to move. I figured it’d be a win-win. We were gonna lose the house. My grandparents had almost no money. We’d all end up living on the street. So, I made the introductions. And got them all killed.”

I pause to take a break and make the mistake of looking at her. Her eyes are glistening even worse as she squeezes my hand. “It’s not your fault. Yours and Ruin’s parents should’ve known better.”

“I sold the idea so hard though,” I mumble. “But, of course, they were in over their heads. And that much quality meth… “

“Where did they get the meth from in the first place?” she asks.

“Ruin’s mom was a chemistry teacher, so she made excellent stuff… of course no one was actually gonna pay them.”

“So, she was like that guy from that TV show Breaking Bad or something?”

I nod. “Yeah, that’s probably where she got the idea… but reality is not some tv show, right? The gang they were trying to sell to were actually gonna kidnap her and make her cook. But she dove in front of a bullet meant to finish off her husband before that could happen. My folks were already dead by then.”

I feel like I’m just telling her someone else’s story, not my own, not describing the most terrible thing I’ve ever seen. I’m sure a shrink would have a lot to say about that.

“You and Ruin witnessed all this?” she asks, her voice low and whispery. Full of awe and shock. Nothing compared to the shock I felt that night. I felt like I was standing beside myself, looking at the brutal scene unfolding. Looking at the shots fired. Looking at my parents going down. My mom was lifted off her feet by the shot that killed her—the shots plural because the bastards had semi-automatic weapons. Looking at all the blood. I will never forget all the blood.

I feel like I’m beside myself now too.

“Yeah, we were looking at it through the window,” is all I manage to say.

She stands up, comes to me and wraps her arms around my neck, holding me close. I never put much stock in hugs. Not since I was a little kid. They’re just a nuisance. Something women like to do. But this hug is powerful.

It’s like I can give her some of my burden. Like I can lean on her. Which I do. All the way to the bed where she leads me.

Not to fuck. Just to lie there. Together. Which we do. Her arms wrapped around me, mine around her.

“You do know none of that is your fault, right, Lucas?” she whispers after a while, using my real name, the name no one’s called me by in many, many years. I didn’t even realize that she knew it. Hearing it feels good, but at the same time not.

Because now a part of my mind is even more stuck in the memory I was sharing with her and how the rest of the night played out. How Ruin and me climbed in through the basement window after the Mexicans left. How Ruin tried to do CPR on his mom even though her chest was riddled with bullet holes. How I tried to do the same with my parents. How I somehow managed to find enough sense to grab my dad’s keys. How we mounted his bike, covered in blood, and rode off, promising to return as soon as it was safe.

We’d called the cops and the ambulance. But we knew it was too late.

How we hid out in the forest near our town. A forest much like this one. Dense, unpopulated, empty. But with healing powers. Just like this one.

And how a few days later we returned to town to find the rest of my family gone, burned down with the house that had been my home.

And how we rode out of town, with no direction, no plan except to get as far away from all of that as we could. We didn’t even talk about it. I might’ve told some of the story to Ice and the Devils when we first met. But I doubt I told them everything like I told Summer tonight.

But that was a long time ago.

I still don’t think Summer had to hear it all. But she heard it.

“It kinda was my fault though,” I mutter in answer to her question which seems to have come a long time ago too.

“You shouldn’t have to carry that burden alone,” she whispers and holds me tighter.

She seems to be offering to share it, which is complete nonsense. But the idea feels good. So, I’ll let it linger. For tonight.

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