I still respond in kind. “Goodnight.” My words hang like shooting stars and a wish before he leaves me alone.
The cabin might be away from Hart. It might be a different place, different scenery, but we’re still the same people. I don’t have the right words. I don’t know how to make this better. I do know that I’d pay whatever it was to find them and mean them, even if it was far more than James owed those men. Of course it will be. The cost of a soul isn’t measured in money.
Chapter 9
Wizard
Martyr.
That word rings in my head down the freeway as I head back into Hart. I got Dravin to come in and cover for me, and then I was out, tearing down the road. I needed a long ride before I could even think about heading to my parents’ house. I needed to get my head on straight and my thoughts right, or at least as straight and right as they’d go.
Martyr. That word reverberated inside my skull, louder than the growl of my bike. More intense than the engine’s vibrations. It had a cloying, sticky scent to it far stronger than the gas and oil that filled up my nose.
I don’t think I was a martyr. I wasn’t trying to wound myself or hurt myself or make myself into some kind of hero. I wasn’t trying to suffer for the sake of suffering. Was it lonely? Sure. Have I been consumed with lonely moments since then? I have, but I’ve also had so many happy ones. I didn’t put my life on hold and justsuffer. I tried to make myself happy. Tried to find fulfilment. I’ve learned, I’ve grown, I’ve become a better man. At least, I hope I have. That was always important to me. I didn’t use that time to sit and sulk and stagnate.
Esme’s tear-streaked face stuck in my mind the entire ride. I knew that if she ever found out, even if it was me eventually doing the telling, I’d have to explain myself and do it well, or she’d be quick to blame herself for all of it.
I rode for hours before I turned around and headed back to Hart. I pass Patterson’s diner on the outskirts, then head down the maze of streets that will take me straight to my childhood home.
The compressed feeling hasn’t gone away with riding. I’m vibrating from the roar of my bike, but also from a weird buzzing that bubbles in my blood. I have electricity in my veins and the taste of acid at the back of my tongue. I might as well have guzzled straight jet fuel, I’m so wired.
I’m wearing my club vest.
I’ve never shown up at my parents’ place with it on before.
It’s not just electricity that thrums through me. I’m buzzing with a not so lowkey anger too. I pull up into their driveway and park in front of the garage. Have they even checked inside to find the wall of boxes I left in there, all of James’ things, because Esme was too nice to pitch them in the trash like I would have?
I kill my bike, tear my helmet off, and leave it dangling from the handlebars.
Am I sorry that I roared in here and probably woke up half the neighborhood, showing up like a thug, at god knows what fucking hour?
I can’t say I am. I’m not sorry about wearing my vest either. I’m sick of trying to get my parents to like me more, or want a relationship with me, so fuck it. For once, I don’t want to be worried about what they’re going to think. For once I’m just goddamnexhausted.
For once I’m going to beme.
I deserve to be a Satan’s Angel tonight. I deserve to be Wizard. I won’t just be Neal when I step through that door. I haven’t been Neal since I moved out at eighteen.
Martyr, martyr, martyr.
I can finally understand why Esme hates this place. A thousand ghosts own this town. Memories. Flashes of what could have been, what was, and what wasn’t.
The porch light paints the yellow siding and white trim a sickly golden. There’s nothing sinister here, and I’m not afraid of shadows, but I shiver inside my jacket anyway. I’m sticky with cold sweat. It pools inside the leather, soaking my t-shirt.
My hand hovers in front of the doorbell.
It’s ironic, that the only other person who’s known all this time was my brother. Maybe it wasn’t ironic. He’s always been very good at picking out weakness and exploiting it. He’s ruthless, cold, and hard. That’s what made him such a good businessman and such a terrible human being.
Part of me wants to accuse him of keeping Esme just because he knew I loved her and he wanted to make sure I burned to ash with it. He wanted to make my life as hellish as he could and he delighted in it.
I didn’t want to believe that, but I don’t know what to think. I have more knowledge. A few more pieces slipping into place to make up that terrible picture.
My hand turns into a fist, and I bang so hard on the door that it’s a good thing it’s solid wood. If there was any glass in it at all, it would probably shatter.
How fucking dare he?
How fucking dare James have stolen all those years of Esme’s life? It was common sense that a person who chronically cheats isn’t a good partner or the kind of man anyone should want to be with, but why?Why?
Maybe Esme was right and I shouldn’t be here tonight, feeling like this, ready to go to war. Ready to finally, finally speak my mind. Ready to tell my parents just what kind of man their precious James really is.
