It doesn’t matter how many years have passed, I still come here and pour my heart out to the first woman I loved and lost. Realistically, I know I’ll never hear her voice again, but part of me hopes she’s still with me in some way. That she looks in on me from time to time and when I’m making a mess out of my life, I pray she sees me through it. That she veers me off the path of destruction.
Last night after Lacey threw me out of our house, I rode around for a solid hour trying to fight temptation. In the end, my weak ass wound up at a liquor store. Armed with a bottle of Dewar’s and a flask of Jack Daniel’s, courtesy of my good friend Ralphie at Union Street Spirits, I took my pipes here. Apparently, I left an impression on the clerk at the liquor store and when I got sober, he felt the loss of my presence. Or rather his pocket felt the loss of my habit. The flask was a gift to commemorate my return to hell.
The cemetery was closed when I got here and so I parked my bike outside the gates, climbed the fence and dragged my ass through the lush hills of Green-Wood. By the time I finally found Christine’s grave, I was six sheets to the fucking wind and forgot why I was here. The last thing I remember was dropping my ass on the grass in front of her stone.
Patting the pockets of my kutte, I find the flask and pull it out. Another drink won’t matter. The damage is already done. I unscrew the cap and take a swig. The alcohol slides down my throat and I welcome the burn in my gut. So much so, I take another gulp.
With the liquid courage floating through my veins, I push off the stone and scramble to my feet. I stumble as all the blood rushes to my head.
“Shit,” I groan, bracing my hand on the stone. Once I’ve got a handle on myself, I move my hand and take a step back. My gaze wanders over Christine’s name and instead of bringing the flask back to my lips, I bend and lay it next to the old bouquet.
That was us.
The hardcore devil and the vibrant rose.
She was so beautiful.
So full of life but loving me ruined her.
She will never be a mother and it suddenly feels wrong to share the news of Lace being pregnant with her. Still, it’s the reason I came here.
“I’m going to be a father,” I say, kicking the grass with the tip my boot. “I know wherever you are, you’re smiling.” That was Christine, she didn’t get many moments of joy in her short life but that never stopped her from being happy for others. “I also know you’re disappointed in me,” I say, tipping my chin to the flask. “That’s why I’m not going to ask you to keep watching over me. Instead, I want you to stick with Lacey and the baby. It’s going to be a long road before the baby is born and well, I’m not sure what’s going to happen. The doctor says Lacey needs to lay off her meds or the baby might be born with a heart defect.”
Saying those words out loud causes my heart to clench. Lacey thinks I couldn't care less about our kid, that I wasn’t affected by the possibility of there being something wrong with our baby. More than anything I just want them both to be healthy. Apparently, God has his limits and for me, that’s asking too much.
“Anyway,” I continue. “If you could…you know…put in a word with the guy upstairs,” I croak, pointing my index finger up at the sky. “I’d appreciate it,” I rasp.
Bending down, I lift the empty bottle of scotch from her grave.
“I’m sorry for this,” I say, standing tall. “And I’m sorry I forgot the flowers.”
Without another word, I turn around and make my way towards the trash can. Depositing the empty bottle, I spot the groundskeeper staring at me from the end of the row.
“Take care of her,” I call out, not sure if he can hear me. Stumbling, I make my way down the hill and trek through the cemetery to the front gate, hoping my bike is still where I left it. I feel my pockets for my phone and realize I don’t have it on me. Instead of hiking up the hills to see if I left it at Christine’s grave, I walk out of the cemetery and spot my bike. Reaching it, I open my saddlebags and find my phone. Leaning against the seat, I cross one foot in front of the other and struggle to look at the screen. It takes a minute for my eyes to focus and for the double vision to subside. When it does, I notice I have over twenty missed calls from Lacey and a handful from Riggs.
Not ready to deal with Lacey yet, I bring up Riggs’ contact. I’m about to hit send when my phone rings. Jack’s number fills the screen and I hang my head.
“Fuck,” I hiss. He’s either calling because Lacey phoned him when she couldn’t get a hold of me or he’s calling because he’s set the deal with the fucking Sinaloa cartel. There’s no avoiding him and the sooner I get this shit over with, the sooner I can pass the fuck out. As I accept the call, I hear the distinct sound of a motorcycle. Lifting the phone to my ear, I turn around just as Riggs pulls up next to me.
“Yeah,” I say into the phone, watching Riggs kill the engine on his Harley. He drops the kickstand and pulls his shades from his face, tucking them into the neckline of his shirt as he strides towards me. I shake my hair away from my eyes as he moves closer. His gaze narrows on me as Jack’s voice booms over the line. Before I can look away or listen to a word of what Jack is saying, Riggs comes to a stop in front of me. His arm rears back and his fist collides with my jaw. The phone slips from my hand and I stumble back, falling against my bike.
“What the fuck was that for?” I shout, spitting blood as I peer up at him.
He doesn’t answer me as he bends to grab the phone. Shoving it in my face he, he clenches his jaw and tips his chin, signaling me to take the phone from him. Glaring at him, I hold the side of my face with one hand and grab the phone with the other.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I dropped the phone.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“No,” I reply, keeping my eyes on Riggs. I may be fucking drunk but that won’t stop me from pummeling this motherfucker into the cement if he decides to throw another punch.
“Round up the guys and meet at my house in twenty minutes. It’s showtime, Black.”
“Twenty minutes,” I repeat, sobering to the best of my ability.
“Yeah, I don’t want to give this motherfucker a chance to change his mind. I’ll brief everyone once you’re all here.”
Swallowing, I step away from the bike and drop my hand from my aching jaw. I tear my eyes away from Riggs and turn to face the street. Jack doesn’t have to brief me on shit. I know all too well how this plays out and how it fucking ends.
“Black?” Jack calls into the phone.
“I’ll see you in twenty,” I say hoarsely before disconnecting the call. Sliding the phone into my pocket, I turn to Riggs. “Get your ass on your bike—”
“You’ve been drinking,” he sneers, cutting me off.
“That ain’t none of your business.”
“It’s my fucking business when your wife calls me and asks me to look for you. What the fuck are you doing?”
Ignoring him, I stride towards my bike and throw my leg over the seat. Straddling the machine, I turn my beady eyes onto him.
“We’re all going to Hell motherfucker, I’m going drunk.”
“Drunk and miserable,” he volleys.