He doesn’t push or say anything else. Just holds the bag while I keep going. Until my lungs start seizing. Until every muscle in my body screams. Until my vision tunnels. Until I drop to my knees, soaked in sweat, barely breathing.
“You done?”
“Yeah,” I rasp, staring at the blood-stained floor. “I’m done.”
“What happened?” Pops asks, stepping closer. “Besides the snake story. Heard about that. Clearly there’s more,” he drawls.
“I’m getting divorced, Pops,” I whisper.
He lets out a low whistle, and drops his ass next to mine.
I glance at him, face twisted. “What? No words of wisdom?”
He gives me a look of warning, not impressed with my snark.
“Already gave ‘em. To you. To Bones. To every dumbass in this club.” He pats my shoulder, firm. “Rule number one: don’t piss off a good woman. There are consequences. Always.” A pause. “You’re suffering the consequences now.””
“Thanks,” I mutter, voice thick with sarcasm. “That really makes me feel better.”
“You’re not supposed to feel better, boy,” he snaps. “You fucked up.”
He pushes off the floor like it’s nothing, standing faster than a man his age should.
“Now you’ve got a choice. Fight for the woman. Or let her go.”
I stare at the floor again. My voice cracks. “I can’t fight for her, Pops. She hates me. With good reason.”
He exhales. Loud. Annoyed.
“First of all, boy. Did I raise a fucking quitter?”
I open my mouth. He shuts it with a glare.
“No. No, I didn’t.” He points a finger at me. “Second of all, get it through your thick skull. Women are different from us. We’re single minded. We only see one way. Where we’d never see a path to forgiveness because we can only look ahead –not even left and right — women look all around them. They see everything. Every possibility. Exits and backroads and maybe-ifs. They just need a reason to take one.”
He leans down, his eyebrows rising. “Sometimes they need proof. That it’s not just another dead end. But don’t you ever think they don’t see it. Because they always do.”
I blink. “That is a giant pile of poetic bullshit.”
He grins. “Kids these days. You’re all stupid.”
Then he checks his watch and narrows his eyes. “You got less than fifteen to wrap your hands and shower before Church. Or you’ll stink up the whole place.”
I don’t say anything else. But his words keep ringing in my ears, digging inside my brain.
23. Split
Adora
After breakfast, it’s just the three of us left — me, Ria, and Temperance. Mama’s gone, left a pitcher of homemade lemonade behind and said she had to go deal with some stupid shit Pops did.
Ria’s perched on a stool, eyes bright and unblinking. “Sooo…” she drawls. “You really okay being here? At the clubhouse?”
I give her a crooked smile. “Honestly? I haven’t had a second to process it.” I twist the glass in my hands. “Last night I had a snake thrown at my face. This morning I woke up to Ghost looming in the doorway.” I take a breath, chest tight. “It’s a lot. I don’t know what the hell it is, but it’s… something.”
Temperance sighs, arms crossed. “I tried telling Bones you could crash at mine. But apparently one of those cult psychos already scoped out my place once. They’re assuming the rest of the bastards know Ria’s been visiting.”
“Bones is making me stay here too. Until they deal with it,” she mutters, then softens. “But I would’ve stayed anyway.”
