Page 9 of Better as It

The separation, even self-imposed, hardened me. I’ve learned to breathe with the elephant sitting on my chest. The time away taught me to carry my weight in silence.

Here I am, back in the mix I left behind. The silence feels loud now. The emotions screaming from inside me. My return is for her, but somehow I’m struggling with the idea of seeing her again.

Red, Pretty Boy, and BW are already at Jack’s Crab Shack and Bar waiting for me with beers in front of them. The place hasn’t aged at all. Still smells like seafood and beer with the beige walls and old school wooden booths.

BW slaps the bar stool next to him. “About time.”

Red grins, his eyes crinkling, “Look what the Carolina wind blew in.”

Pretty move laughs in a way that the scar on his face scrunches up, “you came all the way here to catch more shit. Damn, Toon, you a fuckin’ fool to put up with these two knuckleheads.”

I smirk, “y’all always this desperate for company? I’m not worth this shit.”

BW laughs handing me a beer, “only for your sorry ass do we wait. And you damn sure ain’t worth it, but we kind of like you so we made an exception.”

I take the long neck and click bottles with each of them. It’s good to be around my brothers. The ones who know my history and don’t need me to explain a damn thing.

We shoot the shit for a while. Casual. Club shit, old memories with prospects who didn’t make it or our days earning the rockers. Red leans in attentive like always, BW nods occasionally, the way he always does when he’s listening but calculating something behind his sharp eyes.

The air shifts, I should have known it would come quick.

BW drains the rest of his beer as Red looks at me. “You heard about Clutch?”

I nod slowly, “BW came to visit. Didn’t know the man well, but he seemed solid.”

Pretty Boy and Red look to BW in shock. He really didn’t tell anyone he was coming for me. Everyone in the club loves Dia. But for Red, she really is the sister he never had. Tank and Sass, his parents have four sons. Red is the oldest, followed byCrunch, Pretty Boy, and Tommy Boy. Sass is best friends with Doll, BW and Dia’s mom, while Tripp is the President and Tank is second in command as VP. They have spent their whole lives weaved together in this big family. I’m sure there was a time where Doll and Sass probably wished one of the Oleander boys would fall for Dia. It just didn’t work out.

But fall I damn sure did.

Red looks to me, leaning back with a tight expression, “Dia’s not doin’ good, brother.”

Her name hits me like always, fast, brutal, and uninvited.

“She’s shutting everyone out. Karsci, Kylee, hell even Maritza can’t get her to answer the phone or leave the house.” Red explains what BW already told me. “No one is getting through.”

I stare at the wood grain pattern of the bar top. “She lost the love of her life,” the words twist in my gut like acid burning a hole in metal. Once there was a time, I was the love of her life and it was supposed to be me and her forever. Then I walked away and she had to move on. She found love and that’s a gift Clutch gave her. I owe him for putting a smile back on her face after I took away her happiness. “She’s grieving. Give her space.”

“She lost more than love. She lost herself.” BW adds with a grim tone to his voice.

“I came,” I reply to BW. “I make no promises I can help her. But I’m fuckin’ here. Leave it at that.”

Thankfully, they take the hint. I nurse the single beer long after they carry on talking about anything and everything that isn’t Dia Nicole Crews. There is a poker run coming up, the garage builds, and more that I get caught up on. I’m here, but not fully listening. The things in my head have me all fucked up in my head.

My mind is on her. Dia.

I picture her curled up on the couch in her condo with that menace of a dog that only lets me come in without going into ateeth showing snarl and wanting to attack like she does everyone else. Dia’s eyes are probably swollen from crying, poor Skye unable to help her human, while Dia clutches a shirt or picture of Clutch in her arms. She is probably sitting in the same spot for hours on end trying to figure out how to let go.

Clutch was good to her. I met him a few times when he came through Catawba on runs, but avoided any kind of real talk after we had our talk.

“Clutch,” I walk up to the man wearing a damn black polo under his cut, “thinkin’ we should talk.”

He studies me. I’m sure trying to size me up.

I stand six feet, three inches to his maybe five eleven height. I’m broad shouldered and muscled while he’s more soft dad bodied. The ink covering my arms and up my neck is all done in color. Archie comic strip style, Batman pow cartoon, Popeye the sailor, Brutus, and Olive cover different places. I have a little of this and that, even my serious ink is done like a cartoon. My Hellions insignia on my back is the only thing not done in the same style as the rest of my body. Although, I have one miniature insignia that is a cartoon. It’s on the black and white Mickey and Minnie Mouse bride and groom Dia joked about me getting cover my heart. She doesn’t know it because that part wasn’t finished back then. Mickey has a Hellions cut. Clutch doesn’t need to know that. While I may be covered in all visible areas in cartoons, I’m not someone to take for a joke.

He knows it.

He reads me.

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