Jackson

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

There is a knocking on the door to our room.

“Dammit, Deacon, go have church with your workout alone!” Trapper yells from the bed. “I have a hangover.” He looks to me, “that man treats his body like his fuckin’ religion.”

Normally, Trapper would be up and running with Deacon. I don’t know what he runs from but for a man who can’t sleep without a drink, he keeps up with the former SEAL.

“Collector,” is announced from the other side of the door. I look to the bedside clock, it’s six in the morning. “Rowdy, need a word.”

Trapper groans and yells out, “Go fuck Sonnie. She needs some protein for breakfast, let her have your meat.”

“I’m gonna beat your fuckin’ ass, Trapper,” Collector yells as I rise and make my way to the hotel room door.

“Make it hurt good, brother.” Trapper mutters as I flip the flimsy lock back.

It’s a small place like we usually frequent. Single floor, unit doors are on the outside of the building with large windows. For less than fifty bucks a night what can we really expect, not much that’s for sure. All the places are the same with a stale mildew smell on the beds and in the space. It is our new normal. Growing up like I did, it reminds me of home.

Pathetic to most, but peace to me.

My mouth feels like cotton balls have spent the night occupying the space with a slight hint of mint from my toothpaste from the night before. Every muscle in me aches from a night on a shitty mattress. After eight years on a cot with a single one-inch plastic pad to give cushion, these cheap mattresses aren’t so bad. Age is a bitch though and the older I get the less my body wants to tolerate the abuses I have put it through.

I pull the door open standing in just a pair of boxer briefs in front of the man I owe more than my life to. Collector and I are of a similar height and build. He jokes that my biceps are bigger to which I tell him time in a prison yard leaves room for growth. I have never been big on religion or reading so I spent all my time working out.

My long hair is down and tickling my back. I used to keep my hair cut short in a buzz style because Michele used to love to rub my head and feel the soft hairs on her palms after a cut. She even used to shave it for me. It was cheaper to buy a set of clippers with a guard and let her do her thing. I can still remember the feel. She would use a two guard on the sides and back and a four on the top to leave a little for her to rub her hands through.

I tried to get my hair cut once in prison. It didn’t feel right so I grew it out and haven’t even had a trim since. It’s not a fashion statement, even if Trapper gives me shit for wearing a man-bun, it’s a comfort thing.

Typically, I would pull my hair back before dealing with anyone, but for Collector to be at our room door this early something serious must be going on. The morning light comes in through the door as he steps inside our room.

Trapper throws the covers over his face dramatically. “Swear to fuck, you’re worse than a teenage girl with the drama, Trapper.” I tell him before I look to Collector.

His face is tight. His features are etched in something I can’t read.

“Think you should sit down, brother.” He instructs and I instead remain standing.

“Lay it on me.” I order as my mind races with what kind of news he would need to bring to me.

I have no family left. There are no connections from my past. Everything and everyone is gone or dead.  Every person who mattered abandoned me when I was nailed with a guilty verdict. Even after Collector helped me find a lawyer to have my conviction overturned, no one showed up to support me.

The state of Tennessee even had to pay me a settlement that I still live off of because of their faulty justice system. Except money doesn’t buy happiness and in the end I was left alone with restitution. If I could have time back with Michele they could keep their fucking money.

“How certain are you that your wife in fact died?”

I turn my back to him to stop my instincts to deck him for even questioning it.

“Fuck, man, I know this shit sounds whack, but I got a call.”

I turn back around and face him, glaring. “Life has been a twisted bitch that has more than fucked with my head. Not gonna listen to this shit.” I grab my duffle bag and head to the bathroom.

Getting dressed, I fight the ache I feel in my chest. Brushing my teeth, I let the time pass. When I emerge, Collector is still in my room leaning against the wall. Judge and Deacon are leaning against the door and X sits on my bed with his legs crossed at the ankles.

“Get. Out.” I command to which none of them move.

“I tried to kick them out. Even told them I was gonna rub one out and these sick fucks stood around like they were waiting on my cock show.”

X shakes his head while Deacon laughs. “Ain’t no one got glasses bro. We ain’t gonna be able to see your cock much less whatever show you plan on putting on.” Deacon says laughing harder.

I don’t laugh.

I don’t even feel the urge to tip my lips up in a smile. “This ain’t time to fuck around. Get. Out.” I tell them all once again.

“Can’t brother.” Collector says. “This shit is deep and need to know what you know of Esther Forbes.”

“She’s Michele’s mom. Nothing more to tell.”

“How would she know to contact me to get word to you?” Collector asks and immediately the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

“What did she tell you?” I ask suddenly needing answers.

“After she introduced herself she said she knew I was Lee Bates partner and that over time I had reached out to you. I confirmed to which she acknowledged my aid in your exoneration. This is where shit gets whacked.”

I blow out a deep breath.

“Brother, she says Michele is alive and in trouble.”

The room spins. The world stops. Pain radiates through my body.

“Fuck no!” I yell reaching out to the television on the dresser and throw it down onto the floor the loud bang resonating with the thundering of my heart. “She wouldn’t! No, fuckin’ way!”

Everything is a blur. It’s a haze until X comes to stand in front of me. His face stern with his five o’clock shadow and his eyes dark.

“I feel you brother. Had a ghost from my past turn out to be my angel alive and not so well then, but Hadley is safe and well now.”

Fighting my instincts, I calm knowing X thought Hadley was dead. He knows how I feel better than anyone. I can’t have this be a cruel joke. I can’t allow myself to have hope. I’ll never survive losing her again in my mind.

My eyes meet his. “Now let your emotions calm the fuck down, Rowdy. The time to get riled is when we sort out where your woman is and who the fuck is posin’ a threat.”

Collector lifts his phone, turning the screen to me and time stands still.

The flake of gold that spark through her green eyes shine through as she stands beside a Chicago-style deep dish pizza shop sign. She looks the same but different.

A little sad, almost.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking.

“Don’t know how long ago this was taken but I’m thinking she’s a little older than twenty in this picture which means that marker is for an empty grave brother.”

Stunned, I can only ask, “And you’re sure you talked to Michele’s mom and she reached out for me?”

Deacon grips my shoulder, “Why don’t you take a seat and let’s sort out what’s what?”

I can’t.

Everything inside me tenses.

The walls are closing in.

Michele might be in trouble.

Not dead, buried in a grave with a bullshit marker, but alive and in some shit.

I can turn my back on people. Society once turned their backs on me.

Can I turn my back on love though?