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“All night?” Cyrus pops his head around the door frame. He strokes his long gray beard as he watches me for the lie.
I did drive around, but then I went to the one place no one knows. A place that can soothe my soul. “I haven’t slept yet.”
It’s an answer in a nonanswer and he accepts it. “Second day of school was today.”
The combo of the fight with Dad and no sleep would have made me a lit fuse. Olivia said a smart man knew which battles to fight and which ones to abandon. I waved the white flag on the war otherwise known as school.
Cyrus reenters the living room with a cardboard box in hand. “Your dad reached out to the club to find you. You should call him. Let him know you’re okay. Oz and Chevy went looking for you. You should reach out to them, too. They didn’t like you being MIA.”
Funny how Dad didn’t call or text me, but Oz and Chevy did. I messaged them this morning that I was good, but they were pissed I wouldn’t confess where I was holed up. They didn’t tell anyone we had contact because the three of us are still tight.
“None of us liked you being AWOL.” Eli strolls into the house and pats my shoulder as he walks past. “Why didn’t you come to me or Cyrus last night? You know we’re safe havens.”
They wait for an answer. I’ve admired Cyrus my entire life and then worshipped Eli the moment he rolled into town when I was ten. Before today, before I was patched in, I relied on Eli and Cyrus like a second skin, but after Dad’s admission that the club considers my membership the equivalent of a handout, I’m not sure what my relationship with them is anymore. In fact, I feel like a poser still wearing the cut, but I can’t bring myself to remove it from my back.
Eli’s gaze flickers from Cyrus to the box Cyrus holds in his hand. “This is the moment? Did Olivia choose this specific day or was it an event?”
“Event,” Cyrus answers in a gruff tone. “Makes you scared, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it does.” Eli cracks his neck to the side. “Let’s do this.”
Eli motions for me to sit on the couch. I do and Cyrus settles into his recliner as Eli pulls a wooden chair out of the kitchen and straddles it across from me. Eli rubs the stars tattooed on his forearm. The guy is hardcore, but ask him what his tattoos mean and most women will weep.
Cyrus gives Eli the box. This package is like a coiled and pissed-off cobra. If you’re careful, you can escape unscathed, but if you move wrong, the result will mess up your day.
Eli strokes his thumb over the box. “Do you know what’s in here?”
“Some of it.” Odds are it’s Olivia’s ashes. Chevy, Oz and I have theorized this was Olivia’s grand plan. According to her final wishes, Olivia’s ashes were separated several ways, but how many ways and who the ashes were for was kept a secret.
“Do you know what’s in it?” I return the question.
“Some of it.” Eli steals my answer. “The unknown scares me. Cyrus, why now?”
Cyrus steeples his fingers as he leans forward. “Olivia’s instructions were to give it to Razor when he walked out on his dad or when he no longer trusted the club.”
Knife straight to the gut as those are both viable options.
“Fuck,” mumbles Eli. He adjusts the box as if he’s weighing it, then offers it to me. I accept and the room shrinks with the two of them studying me like I’m under a microscope.
I run a hand over my head. I can do this. I can open a box. I can deal with what’s inside.
This summer, I said goodbye to Olivia and I made my peace with her death. This box contains a piece of her, not the part that’s important—not her soul.
Peeling the tape off the box, I remove the same wooden box I’ve seen in Oz’s possession. I flip the lid and inside is a plastic bag and I divert my eyes away from Olivia’s ashes to the white envelope with my name written in Olivia’s script.
My heart stalls. This is the last thing I’ll receive from her. After this, it’s all memories. I release a long breath, then slide my finger under the edge of the envelope.
There’s a packet of stapled papers inside, and the front page is a simple handwritten note:
Thomas, I wrote Oz a long letter, but you and I know how you prefer brief.
I chuckle and an ache forms along with the slight smile on my face.
Won’t lie, you’re a ticking time bomb, but you’re the type that implodes instead of explodes. As a child, you were a talker, and as each year passed your silence felt like a slow, silent death. If you’re reading this, it’s because either someone cleaned out the closet and found this box or you’re physically pulling away like you have emotionally.
I love you too much to allow that to happen.
Read the attached. Read it often. Carry it with you. Memorize it. This is the life preserver you have been searching for. I apologize that it took my death to throw it out to you.
