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“I,” I start, but immediately stop and rub the back of my neck. “I met someone, and I need to talk to you about it.”
He gives me an odd look before letting out a little laugh, “Unless you started sucking dick, I don’t see how I can help.”
He’s still giggling when I look at him and silently plead—hoping that what’s going on comes across because I can’t seem to find the words.
“Wait. Hold up. When you say that you met someone, it’s not a woman? It’s…it’s a man?” he asks, his eyes wide.
“Yeah, it’s a man.”
“Cheeseless -crust. Wow. Okay. That’s…. I’m not gonna lie, man, that’s unexpected. I thought that I was the only gay man here.”
“I’m not gay. I…fuck, how do I explain this?”
“Just come out and say it, man. I’m assuming that you wanted to talk to me because I’m gay. So, talk. The last person to judge you will be me.”
I know he’s telling the truth, but it doesn’t change the fact that this is hard. Yes, I accepted that I’m obsessed with Whitley and working my way to loving him, but this is ours. This insane experience is just ours. Yet, I can’t shake the other feelings. I need to know that I’ll be okay.
“It’s only him. I’ve never found another man attractive.”
“Ouch. That’s rude.” he smiles, and I can’t help but give a little chuckle, appreciating the break away from the serious.
“Shut up,” I say while still laughing. It doesn’t last long, though, because I really do want to talk to him. I’m going crazy with constantly questioning myself. “Anyways, it’s only him. He’s lit this fire inside of me, and I am completely and utterly consumed by him. I just…. I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.”
“Because he’s a man?”
“No! Fuck no. I don’t care about that at all. I thought I would, but something clicked, and when it came to that fact, it turned out it was the least important thing.”
“If you aren’t concerned about the fact that he’s a man, what has you so worried? This club isn’t going to care. Not a single one of them. Zombie might be mad that I know, and he doesn’t. Wait, does he?” he asks, and I shake my head no. “Yeah, that might make him mad, but he isn’t gonna care that you like a dick now.”
“A dick? He’s not a dick.”
“Not what I meant. Can’t say dicks if you don’t want all of them, can I?” he winks at me. “But yeah. If it isn’t that, it’s something. I’m here to help you, brother, with anything that I can. But I can’t if you don’t let me in and let me know what’s wrong.”
I take a breath and attempt to decide how I should say it. But ripping off the bandaid and just putting it out there seems to be the best option.
“He’s a cop.”
The silence is deafening. I wish I had a pin because I know I would be able to hear it drop. Looking at him, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I can’t tell if he’s about to ask me what the fuck is wrong with me or tell me it’s fine. Fuck I hope for the latter.
“He’s a cop? One of Connard’s?”
I can only nod my head because that fear from earlier has taken over my body and multiplied by a significant amount. I need to make my mouth move. I need to explain. But I was too slow.
“What the fuck, Knuckles?” he practically yells as he shoots up from his seat. “One of Connard’s! How could this? How did you? Fuck!” he’s pacing around the room, and I know that this is the moment I have to tell him the truth, or he’s going to go to Prez, and I’m gonna end up getting my ass kicked again.
“Turd,” I attempt to say with conviction, but it comes out as a plea. He stops in his tracks and looks at me. “He’s new to the force and is a ticket bitch. He’s a motorcycle cop for Wyman, that’s it. He doesn’t work with Connard directly. Think of it like Copper before he left. He was there but not for Connard.”
“How do you know that, though, Knuckles? How do you know that he isn’t playing you?”
“I can’t explain it, brother. He’s a gay man working in a station that treats their employees like shit. He’s terrified about what would happen to him should Connard or anyone else finds out. He doesn’t want anything to do with them but knows that nothing will change while Connard is still Sheriff.”
“Have you been talking to him about what’s going on?” he asks me angrily, getting in my face. “I swear to fuck, brother or not. I will take your ass to the ring again if you’re betraying us for dick.”
I appreciate the anger because it shows his loyalty, but at the same time, I wish he would use some of that loyalty to wonder why he just asked me that. I would never betray my brothers. Never.
“No. I don’t talk to him about anything that goes on in this club, and the fact that you think I would, that fucking hurts. I attempted to walk the fuck away from him when I found out he’s a cop, but I couldn’t do it. It was fucking killing me. I wanted nothing to do with life because all I could think about was how fucking miserable I was because he was gone. He doesn’t ask me about the club. I don’t ask him about work. He told me he was scared, and I believed him. We asked each other to keep this between us, but it was also killing me thinking about how I could be betraying y’all without even trying to. This club is my fucking life, but he came in and completely flipped everything for me. I can’t walk away from him. I just….”
I was confessing my soul to Turd, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t fathom being without this club or without Whitley, and I’m now going to be asked to choose. I can feel it. That’s what he’s gonna tell me to do—choose. I plop back down into my chair. I couldn’t even tell you when I got up and put my head in my hands.
