Page 53 of Gonzo's Grudge
“No,” I said, frustrated. “You’ll do my time while I figure out how to end it.”
He sat back. “You gonna kill a judge because I don’t see how this ends, Pops?”
“Don’t say that into that phone.”
He grinned then, a flash of the kid who used to put plastic soldiers in my boots and laugh when I cursed. It faded as fast as it came. “All jokes aside. You get him, Dad. But get him clean. I want out because we burned liars with truth, not because we added ash to the pile.”
“I hear you,” I agreed. It felt like another weight added but necessary.
The guard tapped the glass. Time.
“Keep breathing,” I reminded.
“You too,” he remarked, and they led him away like he was a danger because that’s easier than admitting he’s a man like everyone else.
I walked out under the towers and made myself feel the wire with my eyes. Men built this. Men break it. Both things are true, and the distance between the buildup and the breaking was always cost.
Back at the cabin, the world had moved half an inch without me.
The bed smelled like her hair because smells lingered like bastards. I didn’t lie in it. I sat on the floor with my back to the mattress and pulled out a pad of paper because sometimes the only way to make noise shut up is to write it down.
IvaLeigh,
You were never in my plan like this. That’s the problem and the miracle. I had a line to walk: son first, club always, judge and mayor piece by piece. Then you. You weren’t leverage. You were a hand on my chest that made the old wiring stop sparking long enough for me to see life smoothly for a change.
Somebody came to you. He told you a story about me that had just enough truth in it to feel right when it’s wrong. I won’t chase you. I won’t come knock until you open the door. But I won’t let him keep drawing this version of me for you either.
I’m not a good man. I told you that shit. I’m loyal. Sometimes that looks the same. Sometimes it doesn’t. With you, it does.
When you want me, call. If you don’t, I’ll keep my promises anyway—to my son, to my brothers, to the version of me you saw that night when the smoke dropped and I wasn’t pretending to be anything but yours.
— G
I stared at the page until the lines blurred and then folded it, slid it into an envelope, and wrote her name. I didn’t know if I’d mail it. Maybe it was just a way to move breath past a place it had been stuck.
My phone buzzed. Burn again.
“Talk.”
“Two things,” he stated. “One, we got the campus footage. It’s clean. He went in alone. He left alone. No security. No escort. Two, got the media looped in. Somebody leaked in another county that funds went missing and contractors with no trucks got paid for roads and repairs on buildings that don’t exist.”
“Good,” I stated. “Keep them hungry to share a story but make sure it releases when we say so.”
“And three?—”
“You said two.”
“Consider this one a bonus,” Burn added. “Your ex’s key don’t work anymore. She apparently tried and came to the clubhouse to let you have it. I educated her on not stepping into a man’s place uninvited.”
“Thanks, I think. I’ll deal with her shit once I got GJ free. She’ll chill once she can hug her boy again.”
“You want me to talk to Cat? GJ is one of us. He’s gonna get that patch. She needs to come to terms with her place in your life and his.”
“No,” I stated. “She said what she wanted to say. Nothing you can say back changes any of it. She will calm down and go back to being quiet Cat again.”
“You gonna tell IvaLeigh Cat was right about old you?”
“I already did,” I shared.
