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“What is going on with you? Why are you so hostile towards her?”
“I don’t know. Every time I’m around her, something about her rubs me the wrong way. She makes me feel things. Things I have no right feeling.”
“What things?” Scribe asked curiously.
Shaking my head, I didn’t know how to answer them. “I can’t explain it because I don’t know. It’s just whenever I’m around her, I get so angry. She’s so damn innocent and when she smiles...”
“What?” Gunner smirked, leaning against the piano. “What about her when she smiles?”
I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t find the words.
Nothing made sense.
“King, Gunner, may I please have the room?”
My brothers looked at Scribe, then nodded before leaving.
“Take a seat, Chase.”
Doing as he said, I sat in one of the comfortable chairs. I didn’t know what Scribe wanted to talk to me about, but he rarely got serious like this. When he did, he meant business and was known to be decisive and cunning. The man saw way too much, in my opinion.
Taking a seat himself, Scribe began. “I’ve been a close friend to King since our time in the Marine Corps. We’ve survived a lot of shit in our time in the military. Seen some shit too. We don’t talk about the military because the memories are too close to the surface most of the time. We all have nightmares, Chase. Shit we can’t shake. Most of my dreams are from a mistake I made. I won’t go into detail, but I can’t forgive myself. I don’t know if I will ever be able to, and I think you are feeling the same thing.”
“I sleep just fine.”
“Do you?” Scribe countered. “It’s close to midnight and you are awake. For the last five years, I’ve seen you frequently walking the clubhouse or grounds alone at night. I’ve said nothing because you never took your anger out on anyone.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Yes, you are,” Scribe stated. “You are very angry. Have been for a while now.”
Feeling my temper rise, I snarked, “Well, tell me, Obi-Won, why am I angry?”
Scribe smirked. “I think you know that answer, but if you want to be a dick about it, then I will tell you. I think you are angry that Ellie is dead. I think you are angry at yourself because you blame yourself for not driving her that day. Instead of going with her so you could protect her, you stayed at the clubhouse.”
Balling my fist tightly, I growled, “I’m not talking about her with you.”
“That’s just it, Chase. You’ve never talked with anyone about Ellie. We all mourned Ellie. We all miss her, but Ellie is dead. She isn’t coming back. This anger you are feeling is normal. It’s part of the grieving process, but for some reason you can’t get past the anger to acceptance.”
“Shut up,” I sneered angrily. “Stop talking about her.”
“Her? Her name is Ellie. Eleanore Eugenia Montclair. Ellie.”
“Stop it.” My fist tightened until I saw the white on my knuckles.
“Say her name, Chase. You haven’t said Ellie’s name since the funeral.”
Before I could stop myself, I launched myself from the chair I was sitting in, slamming my fist into Scribe’s face. Hitting him over and over again, I released an anger I didn’t know I kept bottled up, until someone hauled me off him. Held tightly by powerful arms, I sneered, “Don’t you ever mention her name again!”
“What the fuck is going on here?” I heard King say angrily.
Scribe wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking. “Nothing, King. Just having a friendly conversation. That’s all.”
“Enough of this bullshit. Scribe, go get cleaned up,” my brother ordered, before turning me around to face him. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on in your head, Chase, but if I ever see you beating on a brother like that again, I will have your ass running the obstacle course until you collapse. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“Get the fuck out of here before I lose my temper.”
