Page 124 of Guitars and Cages

Morgan knew. That was all I could think about. As if he didn’t already think less of me, now he knew the worst of it. There wasn’t gonna be any forgiving that; there wasn’t gonna be any earning my way back into his good graces.

My stomach heaved and I had to stop to vomit. I felt the hot tears spilling over and leaned hard against the streetlight I was clutching, needing it to help me stand. I’d done a million things in my life that I wasn’t proud of, but I had never felt more ashamed than I felt then, never felt so sickened with who I’d become than I did as I leaned there, Conner’s words echoing in my ears.

He was never going to look at me the same way again. And as I thought about that, and remembered all of the moments he’d shared with me—the fishing and football games, pool and darts, the conversations over whiskey at five a.m.—I felt like a part of me had died. One thread at a time, everything was unraveling. What the hell was I even hanging on for? Why the hell was I trying so hard to change?

Dr. Hozman would tell me to do it for myself, but what was the point in doing it for yourself if you ended up all alone. Maybe that was the thing I feared the most: being alone, losing everyone I cared about. I kept trying to hang on, but it seemed like the tighter I was trying to hold on, the more and more things were slipping through my fingers. Like Cole and Alexia. Dammit, I wished I could tell Morgan how badly I would love to slug the hell out of Cole for the way he was acting. If slugging him or having a knock-down drag-out brawl would change his damned attitude I’d have done it already, but I knew that would just strain things more between him and me.

Okay, so maybe I was a coward, and maybe everything Morgan had been saying was right—but dammit, didn’t he get it? Alexia was smart; she was in school and she was gonna be something one day, I knew it. She had too much talent not to succeed. And when she was gone, she’d prolly be like Michael and not want a damn thing to do with the rest of us anymore. So that left me and Cole, that was it, ’cause we were the same. We weren’t smart and we weren’t talented and we weren’t gonna ever go anywhere unless there was a road and a Harley involved. If I lost my brother, he would be the last piece of my family gone. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fight with him and risk ending up all alone.

Yeah.

I was a coward of the worst kind.

I staggered up the block on shaky legs, finding my way back to my bike. I was glad Conner wasn’t back yet; no way I wanted to see him right then. I yanked the helmet from the side of the bike and hurled it at the stairs, listening as it made a loud bang and then bounced off and rolled along the sidewalk. Glaring at it as it came to a rest, I felt a momentary flush of happiness at the thought of Conner’s face when he saw it. So much for his efforts at getting me to be safe.

Yeah, ’cause he cared so fuckin’ much, right? Cared enough to betray my trust, the bastard. Though even as I thought it, it hurt, ’cause I’d let myself hope that something might come of the fact that both of us had admitted we were attracted to each other and wanted to try to be more than friends.

Like anyone could ever love a whore, the voice in my head mocked.

The bike fired up loud, and I closed my eyes and leaned against the handlebars, letting the bike’s vibrations rock me. God knows I needed the comfort. And that’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks, and I nosed the bike back toward River’s End. I was done with all this, done trying to be something I would never be, done hoping for anything good in my life.

My mind made up, I gunned the bike faster, wanting to get it over with, but before I got close to the waterfront I could see the flames and hear the sirens. I sped up even more, winding down narrow alleys, wondering what was going on. What I saw when I got there made my blood run cold.

River’s End was in flames; the whole damned tavern, the docks, and the warehouse beside it was a big, angry fireball lighting up the sky. I started scanning the crowd, looking for the familiar gray mustache bobbing as he ordered people around, but all I could see were stunned eyes, sooty faces, and chaos. I parked the bike and started walking through the gathering of people, listening to snippets of conversation about Molotovs and retribution. Firemen were carrying people out and there were others being treated next to a cluster of ambulances. I slipped around a cop to get closer, trying to keep my eyes away from the covered bodies on the ground. The smell of burnt flesh was everywhere.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there with the lights hypnotizing me before I saw two firemen come through the smoke and flames at the front of the building, carrying something between them. Someone. At first, my brain refused to acknowledge that the man being dragged between the two was the man I’d come down here looking for, but no one else had that mustache or that long, gray curling hair. Most of the hair was gone, though, just a few soot-covered chunks curling over the shoulders of what was once a bright purple dress. A charred heel was still strapped to a red and blistered leg. He looked like bloody burger meat, crispy along the edges.

That was it; my stomach rebelled again.

The cop I’d slipped past grabbed my arm and hauled me back behind the line the police had formed to keep the crowd safe, but it was too late to erase the things I’d seen. Catfish was dead.

It wasn’t a very noble end for the man who had ruled River’s End with an iron fist. I wondered how many others had seen them bring him out. I wondered if they were as confused about it as I was, or if it would hit them later. Would they laugh? For some reason I found myself hoping they wouldn’t, even as I watched the firefighters cover the remains like the rest of the dead they’d found.

A small voice in the back of my head popped up then, whispering that I was free, but I wasn’t ready to explore what freedom meant yet. All I could do was stand there and watch River’s End burn, thinking over and over how that was my last safe place to run to in the city. Two refuges gone in a single night. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so lost. The sky opened up and rain began to fall, and most of the crowd began searching for shelter as the rain helped the firemen deal with the flames.

Me, I stood there watching until there was nothing but ashes, and the ambulances were gone and the coroners had come to haul the bodies away. As I watched them load Catfish in, with that one high heel still peeking out from beneath the sheet, I found myself whispering the only prayer I still remembered, though I couldn’t tell you if it was for him...or for me.

Chapter Forty-One

Isat down in the padded leather chair in Dr. Hozman’s office stiffly, trying not to lean against the arm. Between the bruises from the fight and getting myself slammed into the wall of one of the stalls at work, I was hurting pretty good. Go figure he’d notice.

“What happened?” he asked after only a moment.

“The last twenty-four hours,” I muttered, letting my eyes drift out the window. I still hadn’t figured out what I felt about Catfish’s death. Relieved, maybe, that I didn’t owe him anymore, but I was scared, too. River’s End had been the place I ran to for so long. Now it was gone, and with it, maybe the only person who’d ever accepted me for me.

I pictured Conner, for a moment, until the anger welled up again and I felt myself clutching the arms of the chair, digging my fingers into the padding. Why had he said those things? Why had he told Morgan what he’d seen and the things I’d done? I’d worked so hard to make sure Morgan and my brothers never found out I was selling myself, and Conner had spilled my secret in an instant. How the hell was I supposed to forgive that? How the hell was I supposed to forgive him?

My stomach hurt and my chest felt tight. I could feel how upset I was getting, and then Dr. Hozman’s voice was there, bringing my attention back to him. I blinked and realized he’d moved, that he wasn’t sitting across the desk from me anymore, but instead was in the chair beside me, watching me as I made imprints in the leather.

“What’s happened in the last twenty-four hours, Asher, and how did you get hurt?”

“How could you tell?” I asked him, shivering, still not ready to answer. It was usually warm in here, but today I was cold, and my side and leg really hurt.

“You were limping when you came in, and I saw you press your hand to your side when you went to sit down. It was hard to miss how careful you sat down, too, like you didn’t want to move too fast.”

I sighed and grumbled about nothing getting past him.

“It’s my job to notice those things,” he pointed out. “So why don’t you stop stalling, and tell me what’s going on?”

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