WAYLON (Ruthless MC 1)

I have to let out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding until I ran out of air, but I keep going. “I guess they took me to some kind of psych ward for a twenty-four-hour hold. And the people there were really sympathetic. They kept saying I was traumatized by what I saw. They spoke to me with these gentle voices, and they seemed to understand when I said I didn’t want to talk about what happened. I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand.”

I swallow down the painful lump that’s formed in my throat. “But when I got home, Ant was gone. He took the fall. He told them he was the one who stabbed the older brother, and I guess they figured he was just some violent brown kid. So they sent him away with real violent kids. And he became what he became. And there was nothing I could do. Everyone thought I was lying to try to save him, and the foster mom ended up sending me away too when I refused to take back what I said. So yeah, I lost it. And now Ant’s a criminal just like my dad, who never did anything for my mom or me. And yeah, that’s all my fault.”

I've been living with this situation for a long time, and everything inside of me feels old as I tell Waylon the story, completely dry-eyed. The old anger sparks as I recount what happened—what was done to me. But the old guilt douses it with dirty water, screaming that everything that happened was all my fault.

“Ant wouldn't be a criminal if I hadn’t done that,” I point out to Waylon. “Maybe he would've become a professional or something if not for me.”

Waylon made me understand why he was the way he was, and I’m expecting him to understand something after telling him my story. That I’m not worth this house. That I’m not worth any of the obsessive feelings he thinks he has for me.

But he just leans back on the steps with both elbows. “Take it from another man who came out of a bullshit situation. Some of us do what you do and try to improve ourselves—you know, serve the greater good. And some of us vow we ain’t never going to be put in that position again.”

“Ant and me—we’re not so different. Yeah, he went to juvie. But then, he decided he was never going to be powerless again. I did the same thing after I got out the army. And Ant didn’t just join a gang. He started one like Hades and me. And believe me, you don't start running criminal organizations because you're interested in living a nice, normal life like you’re wishing for him and letting some big boss tell you what to do all the time. So, you can let that guilt you’re carrying go. Ant would've become Ant no matter what you did. You telling me that story actually makes me more confident about working with him.”

“What?” I start to sputter. “That’s not what you should’ve gotten out of that story at all.”

Waylon shrugs again. “You’re the should’ve person. I’m the guy who listens to that story and sees the girl who was damn right to stab that fucker. I see the woman in the church who finally listened to what her heart and gut was telling her about the douche she was about to marry. I’m the guy who trusts his gut. I can teach you how to trust yours. If you’re willing, I got more lessons waiting for you. You know why?”

My heart trembles at his question.

“Why?” I ask because I really don’t know.

He looks over at me with a lazy smile. “Because I like that heart you got. I like that gut instinct to stab and hit, so you don’t ever feel helpless. Them other guys who tried it with you before me should be happy you don’t carry several guns like I do. And you know what? I like that you trashed Charlie’s store because you were pissed off about a naked woman answering your man’s door. I like all that crazy you’ve been trying to hide. And am wondering if there’s more where that came from. Because I think there is. But you know, as touching as this afterschool special we just made has been, it’s not the main point of this conversation.”

I stare at him. And stare at him some more. My brain crashing and rebooting and crashing several times again at his version of logic.

But then I have to ask, “Okay, what exactly do you think is the main point of all of this?”

He jerks his chin and points at the house. “What we’re talking about is this house I built for you. It doesn’t matter if you think you deserve it. It’s yours. We don't do deeds in Angel Pond—because everyone understands my word is law here. But if we did do paperwork, your name would be on this place, not mine. The house belongs to you. You can move in now if you want, and you don’t ever have to let me through the door again. I even put a bed up in the master so you'd have somewhere to sleep.”