“I had a woman like that once. Paulette. Remember her?” I remember, but I don’t say anything. He isn’t paying attention to me anyway. He is lost in some memory.
What I remember of Paulette is that she was a nice woman. I’d only seen her a few times because Roach didn’t bring her around a lot. She was different from the other women. Quiet and kept to herself. “She’s married now. Got about ten grandkids and lives over in Montana. I thought about killing her ol’ man, then showing up at the funeral and taking advantage of her vulnerability. But she’s happy. I reckon I can’t kill a man for doing something for her that I never did.”
Roach grabs his pipe, taking a hit then offering it to me, knowing I’ll decline. “I reckon what I’m trying to say is this. You ain’t had a good upbringin’. Black didn’t deserve a kid no more than I did. But, he got you and he did what he thought he had to, to make you a man. He did and you owe him that. I know sometimes you hate yourself, Dirk. I know you hate Black just as much. But Black’s dead. He’s gone.
“The only reason I let you do it was because I knew that was the only way you could get closure—move on from the past and start a future. I know you hate him for the things he did to ya. Hell, I hate him for the shit he did to ya. I hate I couldn’t do more to stop him. But you can’t blame the man for the rest of your life. We got one shot, Dirk. One fucking shot in this life. Make it count. Don’t be like me and die an old man all alone ’cause ya think Black beatin’ on ya fucked you up too much to be loved. Let that woman love you. And if you smart, you’ll love her back.”
Roach’s eyes are pleading. They are begging me to take his advice. I don’t know if I will. I don’t know if I won’t. In this moment, all I know is that if I choose not to, looking at Roach is like looking in the mirror at the man I’m destined to become.
12
I’M SITTING OUT back, and my conversation with Roach is back to what it’s always been: business. We’re discussing the chapters, the problems with other clubs, and finances, when a patch holder comes barreling out the door. When he doesn’t look the least bit sorry or concerned about busting up our meeting, I know something is wrong.
“Dirk, you got a call.” I’m on my feet, knowing that whoever is calling doesn’t have my cell. Which means that it has to be someone that I know isn’t connected to the club. I’m hoping like hell it’s some bitch wondering if I’m in town, but my gut tells me it’s Saylor. That she needs me and got the number for the bar where she hopes I’m at.
Maybe she wants to know a paint color. Maybe she’s having issues with my card. Maybe the truck broke down. I’m playing every scenario imaginable in my head, but in the few seconds it takes for me to get to the phone, I know it’s nothing like that. If she’s calling here, it’s important. I snatch the phone off the counter and bark into it.
“Yeah?” I say, waiting for it to be any voice other than hers.
“Um, Dirk?” It’s a man. A young one. Maybe even a teenager.
“Who the fuck is this?” I ask, not confirming who I am.
“Yeah, um, my name is Nate, I work over at Greer’s Grocery, and this lady told me to call and see if I could get you on the phone.” He pauses and I want to kill.
“What lady?” I growl, wishing he would just tell me what the fuck is going on.
“Sir, I’m not sure. She just fainted and . . .” I drop the phone and run to my bike, passing a nervous Shady on the way. I throw my helmet to the ground, knowing the second it takes for me to put it on is too long.
Fainted? Is she hurt? Is she okay? She had to be conscious to tell them to call me, but how bad was it? I pull the throttle back on my bike, going as fast as possible without killing myself on the curvy road that leads to town. It doesn’t take me long to get there, and my heart sinks when I see an ambulance parked outside the front door.
I push through the crowd of people roughly, my feet taking me to the group huddled in a circle by the frozen food aisle. I push a medic to the side and look down to see Saylor taking deep breaths through her white lips. I drop to my knees beside her and take her hand in mine. Her other hand is on her forehead, holding an ice pack to it.
“What happened?” I ask. When she hears my voice, her neck cranes to see me.
“I fell,” she says noncommittally. I’m calling bullshit, not that I have to. The nervous voice that called me tells all.
“No sir, she passed out. I watched her.” I look up at him and his cheeks turn red with embarrassment. I’m sure he was watching her. I never thought I would be grateful for someone ogling my woman.