Christopher

 

I knew it couldn’t last, the whole “let’s not ask personal questions” stage. Now that we’ve had sex, the floodgates are open. She doesn’t know there’s no future for us.

 

I watch her now, as she sleeps. I know she wants more. It’s always obvious when a woman wants more. They start asking questions. How long have you lived here? Where did you grow up? Who’s that woman in the picture you haven’t been able to take off your dresser in the two years since she died?

 

I shut down after telling Amanda the picture was of Michelle. I didn’t even give her the name, leaving it at “late wife.” I felt sorry for her; I still do. She was upset, I guess because she didn’t mean to pry. I hadn’t given her any idea that I used to be married. It’s not her fault. It was an honest question.

 

After that, I sort of shut down. I didn’t want her to keep asking questions, which I knew would grow progressively painful and awkward. If she had, and if I’d answered honestly, Amanda wouldn’t be asleep right now. She’d be out in the snow, running away from me. Even freezing to death would seem like a better fate.

 

I didn’t tell her how Michelle died.

 

And I didn’t tell her the whole town thinks I did it. Or at least that I’m responsible for it.

 

They’re right, of course. I am responsible. She died thanks to me and my fucked up life.

 

I joined the club when I was a kid, too stupid to realize what it was really all about. I remember how good it felt, the idea of having a family. A circle of brothers, people I could count on. They’d have my back. I’d spent my whole miserable childhood on the fringe. My parents a couple of alcoholics, Dad in and out of jail. No brothers or sisters at home, all of them only half-siblings anyway. There were four different fathers among the six of us, and I was the youngest. I was always alone.

 

The club was going to save me, give me a new life. I’d always loved motorcycles, and when I saw The Wicked Angels ride through town on their bikes, my imagination would race. They were the coolest thing I’d ever seen. The gossip about them, the way folks would wrinkle their noses and turn away, all of that just egged me on. They already felt that way about my white trash family and me, anyway.

 

So I joined up. I met Michelle through them. She was one of the hangers-on, so to speak, always at the parties. Serving beer, sitting on members’ laps. But she wasn’t like the others. She was smart, and she wouldn’t do everything she was asked. A lot of the girls were so broken they’d suck any dick waved in front of their face as long as it meant they got to hang around. Michelle was different. She wouldn’t stand for any of it. I knew she was the one for me.

 

I don’t even remember how things went downhill, but they did. I was so busy with the club I didn’t notice the way we were falling apart until it was much, much too late.

 

I stepped away after she died. I couldn’t be a part of it anymore. I didn’t need the club to survive either. I’d managed to stay away from any serious charges during my time in the club, so it wasn’t impossible for me to get a job. I started landscaping, needing the air and sun. Something good, something fresh. All I’d ever known was darkness and rot and stink.

 

Now here’s this girl. She wants me. I can’t deny wanting her. She’s a pain in the ass, a sarcastic brat. She’s perfect right down to the freckles on her nose and arms. But I can’t bring her into all my shit. I’m too fucked up; I’ve done and seen too many things. I’m dirty, and I’ll never be clean. She deserves so much better than me. She’s a good woman. She has a future. I don’t.

 

I always hurt people in the end. It was unfair of me to bring her closer, to give into the need I felt for her. She’s not the type to screw ’em and lose ’em. She’s the real deal. She has a good heart. Now, we’re more connected than before, and it’s going to be even more painful for her once she realizes who I am and what I’ve done.

 

Because she will, of course. She hasn’t been here long enough to hear the rumors. Or maybe she has, but she hasn’t put two and two together yet. She doesn’t know about Michelle, how she died. How I killed her. Once she finds out, it’ll break her heart.

 

But how can I push her away when I want her so badly still? Even after fucking the hell out of her, I want her again. And I want to fight with her and watch her yell at me. I want to watch her cook, since that’s where she’s in her element. I don’t want to let go of her now that I’ve had her.

 

And I don’t want to leave her open to that son of a bitch Lucas. She needs to be protected from him. I’ve seen what guys like him can do to a girl like her. My chest tightens at the thought of her being hurt that way. She’s mine now. I won’t let anyone hurt her.

 

But what happens when I’m the one who winds up doing the hurting?