Chapter Four
Viper
"You're so fuckin' angry, man. Relax."
My buddy Ox is one to talk. He's one of the biggest assholes I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.
I laugh off his comment and toss back the last two pills in the jar with a shot of whiskey. Probably not the best choice, but it's the one I'm making. The one I've made enough times to know that I'll be fine if I stop here.
"Leg's doing good, I reckon?" He glances up at the television in the bar and sips at his IPA.
"Great," I lie, trading my whiskey glass for water. If it were up to me, I'd suck the bottle back, go home, crawl into bed, and call it a life, but the guys keep pushing me out. It's probably for the best they do.
"Bullshit. When are you gonna tell someone what's going on with you?"
I pull a handful of peanuts from the bowl in front of me and set them on the bar, cracking them one by one. I've never seen the point in talking about things that can't be changed.
"Nothin' to tell."
Ox glares toward me. "Dude, what the hell's up with you? You're hiding away, you're always fucking pissy, you haven't been down to the clubhouse in months… maybe it's time you talk to someone. Ya ain't been right in a while."
I laugh. " Therapy? Can you imagine that? What the hell would I talk about?"
He shrugs. "Maybe that girl."
My eyes widen as I glance toward him. "What?"
"The girl. The one from that night like what… ten—"
"I know what you're talking about. How the fuck do you know that?"
He looks away then back again. "Reaper told me."
I'm going to murder him. "What did he say?"
"He said you got drunk one night and started talking. We all thought you were having trouble with your leg and that's why you were depressed, but man… if this is about a girl, you can fix it."
I laugh and stand from the bar. "Do you really think you can just figure me out on the drop of a dime like I'm some simple bitch? Apparently I don't need a therapist, because I've got a bunch of them all waiting at the clubhouse for me. When did our MC turn into an episode of Doctor Phil?" I grab my hat and turn for the exit. "I'm done with this tonight. Good luck with your future shrink gig. I need to sleep."
"No… come on. Don't walk away. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."
I appreciate the guys give a fuck about me, but we aren't ones to sit and ‘kumbaya' around about our feelings, so this is just fucking weird.
"My leg fuckin' aches is what's going on."
"No, man. That ain't it. Talk to me." Ox stands. "Let's look for this girl. We hunt bounties every fucking day. We can hunt down a woman you've met."
"Alright, I'll play along. Assuming the reason I'm acting strange is because of some woman, it'd be real hard to find her when you don't know her name."
"You didn't get her name?" He says it like I'm a fucking idiot.
Calm the fuck down, Ox. I already know I'm a fucking idiot.
I shake my head. "I don't want to talk about this."
"You check the hotel she was at? They'd have rec—"
"Now why the fuck would I do that? She's married! It was an hour of my life. An hour I should've long since forgotten about. Now drop it." My tone is curt, and it's clear I'm frustrated.
Ox leans in. "You know I'd kill a man for ya, right?" He's joking, but the idea is tempting. Hell, if I'd been smart enough to get her name the day I left, I'd have probably taken her husband out myself, or at least run the man off. Whoever he is, he doesn't deserve her.
Alone in a bar, drunk and crying, just one week after her mother dies? She had to resort to going back to that grungy old hotel room to cry on a stranger's shoulder.
I shake my head and swig my water bottle. It's not enough. I need dark liquor. I've beat myself up for not going after her for years. She may have turned me away, but at least I'd have known I was a psycho for feeling what I did that night. That, and it would've saved me from years of bullshit dating. Woman after woman, trying to find the same feeling I had with that one girl. It's not possible. I've tried.
"You contemplating the removal of the husband?" Ox laughs. "We've done worse."
"Have we?"
He laughs. "Pretty sure. I'd bet this piece of shit has some dirt on him."
Maybe it's a good reason I stayed away from that woman all these years. I'm a fucking mess.
"Thanks for the pep talk, man. I'm heading out for the night."
"Can't. We were going to watch the game. Rockies are playing the Mariners. It'll be their first win all season. I won't say another word about the girl. Scout's honor." He holds his hand over his heart. I've known Ox for what feels like forever. We met when he joined the MC a while back. He's a brute of a dude, but even in his aggressive nature, he means well.
"One inning and then I'm gonna go. I'm exhausted tonight."
He lands his hand on my shoulder and squeezes as I sit back up on the bench and order another drink. My eyes stare toward the television mounted above the bar, but my mind is on the woman.
The phantom. The long-lost memory I can't seem to get rid of.
Maybe I'm losing my mind. Maybe I got drunk that night, and I remember a version of her that's not at all accurate. Maybe she's happily married with three kids, a golden retriever, and never thinks about me. Or maybe she's out there, thinking about that night too, wondering why I never came back.
The batter hits a home run and the crowd cheers for the Rockies, taking me out of the headspace I've been lost in.
Ox is right. I've got to do something, or the dream of this phantom will be haunting me for the rest of my life.