“Nah. Nothing,” I reply. “I’m pretty sure that’s my answer.”
I’d filled Adam in the other night when he came over for pizza and video games. We played Star Battle for hours which was a nice distraction. But when he went home, the bullshit I was trying to avoid all came roaring back and I ended up tossing and turning most of the night.
“I still think the best thing you can do is go talk to her, brother,” he says. “Take that bull by the horns, bite the bullet, or whatever metaphor makes you feel better about nuttin’ up and going over there and having a conversation.”
“You didn’t see her face, man,” I tell him. “When I told her about Prophet, the look of horror on her face—yeah, she’s not going to want anything to do with me anymore.”
“You don’t know that,” he replies. “But I am curious—why in the hell did you tell her all of that shit to begin with?”
I shrug then squat down and tighten a couple of bolts on my bike. “I wish I knew, man. We’d just had a conversation about her art and how she lost her parents, and I just kind of blurted it all out,” I reply. “It was just such a personal moment, and I let my guard down. I fucked up.”
“Postcoital admissions,” he says with a grin. “Those things will kick you in the balls every single time.”
I frown but nod. “Yeah, tell me about it. It’s just… I felt so comfortable around her. I really felt like I could trust her. That there wasn’t anything I could say that would freak her out or set her running for the hills.”
“I’m sure hearing about some grisly murder you witnessed would freak anybody out,” he says. “Add in the cartels and this brewing war, and how could it not?”
“Yeah. I know. Now, anyway,” I say. “Somehow she managed to break through all my defenses. She might be the only one who’s ever been able to do that. Or at least, do it that easily. She took me off guard in so many ways.”
“She sounds rare. Like a really special girl,” Adam says.
I nod. “Yeah, I thought so. She was just so different than anybody—”
“Then if she was that special, you don’t lay down and die, you idiot. You get on your feet and fight for her. You do whatever it takes to get her back,” he says and pops me upside the back of the head with an openhanded slap. “You don’t just accept defeat. You fight until the bitter end. And I don’t think you’ve reached that point. I don’t think you’re anywhere close to that point, man.”
“No? And how would you know that?”
“Because, unless your recollection of events sucks as bad as you do at Star Battle, she never said those words,” he goes on. “According to you, she said she didn’t know. Which isn’t a no. She didn’t kick you out of her life. She just needed to think about it. Which is why you need to show her exactly why she should be with you.”
“That’s not my decision to make.”
“Of course, it’s not. But it’s a decision you can help her make,” he responds. “Make your case. Sell yourself to her.”
“Sell myself?”
“If she’s as special to you as you say, you’re going to need to sell yourself. Show her what she’d be missing out on.”
I can’t help but laugh. I’m a lot of things but a pompous self-promoter isn’t one of them. There’s a part of me that thinks if she can’t see beyond what I do or the value I’d bring to her life then maybe I’m better off without her. On the other hand, I know that Adam is right. What I dropped on her was a lot and it’s going to take her a minute to absorb it all, and if she’s as special as I believe she could be, I should be out there fighting for her.
“You’re a pretty wise dude,” I tell him. “I think you’ve got a shot at being the next Dr. Phil.”
He laughs. “You’re such a prick.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Cosmo, our Road Captain, step out onto the porch in front of the clubhouse and look around. For the last few days, it’s been pretty packed here as most of the guys want to stick around because being out there carries the risk of getting gunned down in the streets. I’m sure Zavala will keep his word and not sanction violence until the clock he gave us runs out. But what about those guys who take things into their own hands? I have no doubts these sicarios who used to belong to the first Zavala—Miguel—would put a bullet in us the moment they lay eyes on us.
“Everybody inside. Now,” Cosmo calls out then disappears back inside.
We’re all exchanging glances with one another as we walk into the clubhouse. Adam and I take a seat at a table in the corner near the back. No sense in drawing any undue attention to ourselves if we can help it. It takes a moment for everybody to file in and when they do, the clubhouse is packed. It’s getting stuffy in here pretty quickly, and I hope this meeting is over quickly.
I glance over and see the fenced-off section on the small recessed addition we added to the back of the clubhouse to house Prophet’s bike. His kutte hangs on a rack that stands next to the bike and a framed picture of him sits on the bike’s seat. I think it’s a fitting memorial for our founder and president. Former president.
“Okay, settle down,” Doc calls into the loud buzz of conversation that fills the clubhouse.
Slowly, the conversations taper off and it’s not long before we’re steeped in a silence that’s crackling with tension. Nobody knows why an all-club meeting was called today or what this is about. Judging by the looks on the faces of Leadership who are standing in a line behind Doc, whatever is about to go down is heavy and not for the faint of heart.
“Our brothers have been laid to rest. They’re at peace now,” Doc starts. “But neither they, nor we, will know a moment’s peace until this outrage has been addressed.”
He paces the front of the room, his hands behind his back. I’ve never seen Doc look so authoritative before. Or so militant. He had always been the voice of reason and the one who checked Prophet’s worst impulses. But the hard edge I hear in his voice and the strained expression on his face tells me this is a man spoiling for a fight. As are most of us.
