As Kira inhales a few calming breaths, Ky pulls out his phone from his back pocket. He reads a text as we all socialize, the spirit of the get-together continuously rising.
“What is it, prez?” Tempest notices Ky’s face first. It’s fallen faster than I can say boo.
“Pops,” Ky calls for Gerard’s attention. We are all immediately concerned.
Ky shows Gerard the message, and Gerard’s expression mimics that of Ky’s. Sad, solemn, troubled.
“Well, what the hell is it?” I voice.
“It’s the Bowman.” Gerard looks directly at me. “He’s dead.”
2
Damon
“Who’s the Bowman?”Kristen asks.
“An old friend,” Gerard explains. “Ran with the club for years. Our kids grew up together. Breaker, too.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The refined brunette lovingly runs her hands along her rugged husband’s shoulders and gives him a hug.
“Does it say how he passed?” I swallow a small lump that spontaneously formed in my throat.
“Heart attack, it looks like,” Ky answers.
I nod silently, worry beginning to niggle deep down inside me. “That’s a damn shame.”
“Sure is,” Gerard agrees, a tad more than troubled. “He wasn’t too much older than me.”
“No, but he ate red meat like it was going out of style and smoked two packs a day. I hate to say it, but he was a heart attack waiting to happen,” Ky argues.
“Maybe, but he was still a good friend who met the Reaper way too soon.” Gerard shakes his head.
“Sorry, Pops.” Ky places his hand on Gerard’s shoulder, and the rest of us follow suit. It’s nice to see the band back together. Ky’s riff with Gerard put a mound of stress on all of us. Who knew that fateful day when Kira walked into the Lion’s Den looking for Ky that it would spark a whole new course and bring a family back together?
“To the Bowman.” Hawk lifts his bottle.
“To the Bowman,” the rest of us echoes as a little bead of stress sweat trickles down my temple.
The Bowman is gone. I’m in a quiet state of shock. He’s been a staple in my life for as long as I can remember, and ever since my father passed, God rest his soul, he’s been a lifeline. A private preservation. He knew all my secrets and kept them safe, just like me.
The Baum Squad’s bookie was a hard-nosed biker. He was opinionated, crude, and slicker than oil. He was also smart, funny, and a wicked-ass poker player. I lost count of how many afternoons Ky and I spent with Gerard, my father, and the Bowman playing cards in the back room of the Den, placing high-staked bets with M&Ms and getting drunk on Dr Pepper. Those days were so easy, so carefree. They were the best times of my life. And I miss them. I miss my dad. For a long time, I missed Gerard, and now, I’ll miss the Bowman.
“You all right there, Breaker?” Fender nudges me, pulling me out of my drifting thoughts.
“Yeah, man. Just taking a quick cruise down memory lane.”
“I get that.” Fender crosses his arms and stares out into the distance, where the Pacific's blue waves break against the shore. “Fuckin’ past. It’s a bitch to hold on to and a bitch to let go of.”
“Truth, brother,” I agree.
“On that note” — Fender drains his beer — “I need to bounce out of here so I can get ready for tonight.” He tosses the empty into the nearby trash can. “Can’t keep all my fans waiting,” he jokes.
Fender has some fans, all right. When he performs, nearly every woman in the place drops their panties for him. Musicians have it made.
“Special request?” I ask.
“Sure.”
