Humbug
Probation feels like a collar.
No rides.No runs.No say.
Just chores and silence and the weight of brothers’ eyes on my back.They call it discipline.I call it time served for the sin of wanting something I ain’t supposed to.
Frost’s the one who gives me orders.“You keep your head down, Humbug.You work the yard.You show up to church meetings.No side trips to town, no bullshit.”
I nod.Don’t argue.Don’t tell him I still hear Carol’s voice every time the wind comes through the trees.
The first week’s engines.I fix everything that don’t need fixing.Oil changes, chain work, tune-ups.When I run out of bikes, I work on the generator.When that don’t break, I sit in the garage until it does.
It snows most nights.The whole world goes white, quiet as a graveyard.The others play cards or drink, talk about runs that don’t include me.Every time I look up, someone’s watching, waiting for me to fuck up again.
One night, Frost slides a beer across the table.“You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Then don’t make us regret keeping you.”
That’s the thing about the Executioners, brotherhood only lasts as long as you keep the code.The second your heart gets too loud, they call it weakness.
I try drowning mine in bourbon.Ain’t workin’.I try to ignore the itch in my chest that sounds like Carol humming under her breath.That ain’t working either.I delete Carol’s number so I ain’t even tempted.But I ain’t saying it doesn’t hurt that she doesn’t try my number.
By the second week, Trina shows up.She comes storming through the compound gates like she still has a key, wearing fur and her best perfume that could choke a saint.
“Jack,” she says, voice all sweet venom.“You gonna make me stand out here, or you gonna let your wife in?”
“Ex-wife,” I corrected, even though the papers ain’t signed.
She pushed past me anyway, boots clicking like gunfire.“Same difference until you fix it.”
Inside, she looks around like she’s taking inventory, new patches, missing trophies, anything she could twist into evidence.
“What do you want, Trina?”
“What I’ve always wanted.For you to stop embarrassing me.Come home.”
I laugh.Can’t help it.“That ship sank years ago.”
She smirks.“Maybe I’m sentimental.”
She brings whiskey, the good kind, and old habits die slow.We drink.We argue.The kind of arguing that lives under your skin until long after it’s over.
She accuses.I deflect.She asks if Carol’s worth losing everything over.I tell her that ain’t her business.
She gets close then, too close.Perfume and regret fill the air.Her fingers trail my chest like she’s checking to see if the heart underneath is still hers.
In that moment, I let her.Because pains got a way of dressing up like comfort when you’re lonely enough.Her mouth finds mine, hot and bitter.I kiss her back just long enough to remember why I left.
Trina’s beautiful.Dangerous.Familiar.But she’s also poison, and I already swallowed enough.
I pull back, breath rough.“Don’t.”
She stares at me, eyes wide and cold.“You think she’s better than me?”
“I think she ain’t you.”
