Page 34 of Love is Blind

Ghost

Killingthe engine on my bike, I try to muster the courage I need to dismount, but that’s always the problem for me. I have no issue dragging my pipes through the gates of Knightdale Cemetery, it’s making my way to Abigail’s grave that troubles me.

I’ve yet to do it in six months.

Drawing in a ragged breath, I nudge the kickstand down and drop my boots to the ground. My hands tighten around the handlebars and I close my eyes. After a moment, I lift my ass off the seat and throw my leg over the chrome masterpiece. Memories of the day I said goodbye to my little girl flash before me.

The recession of bikes that followed the hearse.

Watching Maverick and Leftie carry her coffin to the grave site.

Standing there with my old man as they set her down.

The priest holding a bible in one hand and a tiny bottle of Holy Water in the other.

Dozens of pink roses and the soft blanket I held in my hand. It was the one we had wrapped around her when we brought her home from the hospital.

I blink and the memories disappear.

Gone just like her.

My eyes burn with unshed tears and the urge to flee pulls at me, but I push through and let my boots carry me across the thick grass. Finding her grave is easy since it’s the only one in the section without a tombstone. New grass cuts through the dirt that was turned after she was lowered into the earth and the sun has faded the marker that reads her name.

It looks so empty.

I glance around and notice flowers and trinkets on all the surrounding graves.

“I should’ve brought you flowers,” I rasp hoarsely, my throat dry as I bring my gaze back to the marker.

Isn’t that what dads do? I vaguely remember Maverick buying Tara flowers. I think it was for her dance recital or something. Abigail wasn’t born yet—hell, she wasn’t even a thought—but I remember us making a pitstop at the florist. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t just grab some from the supermarket, but then he emerged with a bouquet bigger than his fucking head and I knew he wasn’t going to find something like that at Kroeger.

Only the best for Tara, he said. A girl’s first bouquet needs to be special.

I crouch down and rub my hands over my thighs.

“Daddy will bring you a bouquet next time,” I whisper.

And it will be bigger than my fucking head because every girl’s first bouquet should be special, even if it’s just a dressing for her grave.

I don’t know how long I sit there staring at the faded print on the marker, but my eyes don’t leave it until I hear the rumble of a motorcycle. Turning my head, I squint through the sunlight catching sight of Leftie. He pulls his worn jeans up as he steps away from his chopper and starts to waddle toward me.

I’m really not in the mood for another lecture. I know he means well, but today is not the day. I’ve been tested and stretched too thin. I can’t take another fucking blow.

“Don’t you have a playhouse to run or something?” I growl as he comes to a stop a couple of feet away from me. Catching his breath, he narrows his eyes and fixes me with a glare. It doesn’t hold the same merit it did when I was a thirteen though.

“Yeah, well, Maverick and I agreed, I had another kid I needed to wrangle in so he’s back at the clubhouse with Theo.”

I look away.

“I’m thirty-eight years old, Leftie, I’m not a kid and I’m definitely not your problem.”

He scoffs, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his Wranglers as he rocks back on his heels.

“Cut the shit, Reed. Others may look at you and see a stone-cold killer, but all I see is the toothless boy who used to beg me to make him a grilled cheese sandwich night after night.”

I was three years old when my father moved me and him into the trailer next to Leftie’s. It was right after my mom ran off on us. Dad worked two jobs at the time and hired one of the teenage girls in the trailer park to watch me.

One night the girl decided her friends were more important than making five dollars an hour watching the little freckled face boy with no mom. She left me in the trailer by myself, said she’d be right back.

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