Bull (Kings of Mayhem MC 6)

“There’s nothing to tell.” I raised an eyebrow. “And just for the record, I’m not fucking goofy-eyed. You’re just stoned.”

“Don’t lie to me, son. I might be one step closer to the bucket, but I haven’t kicked it yet. I see what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on.”

“Then there’s something terribly wrong if a strapping young man like you isn’t getting any tail.”

“I do okay.”

“Come on, Bull, even I’m getting more than you, and I’m almost eighty years old.”

You never knew what was going to come out of Sybil’s mouth. Ever.

Despite myself, I chuckled. “Thanks, Sybil.”

“Well, it’s true.” Again, she patted the bed next to her. But I opted for the arm of the visitor’s chair. “It’s been a while since you and I have talked.”

Shortly after Wendy’s death, Sybil and I had gotten close. I was a grieving young man, and she was a tough-as-nails first lady. She took me under her wing. Lent me an ear. Gave me a shoulder. Helped me put one foot in front of the other until getting through the day wasn’t agony, and I could sort of start to live again.

She was intimidating as fuck. Then and now.

But she was also capable of great compassion and empathy.

“You know, I’ve watched you struggle with this for years. Now, I’ve never said anything because it wasn’t my place. But now…well, I’m old, and I don’t care much for what I should or shouldn’t do. I could check out for good tomorrow, and as far as I see it, that gives me a free pass to say whatever I damn well want.”

“Okay, let’s hear it, then,” I said, humoring her.

“You have to get over it, Bull. It wasn’t your fault.”

When she didn’t say anything else, I gave her a wry look. “That’s it?”

“That’s the short version, yes.”

“Okay,” I said, bracing myself for the longer version.

“I know what it’s like to lose a great love. But life is for the living, Bull.”

Just then, a familiar song floated down from the speaker in the ceiling, catching my attention. “Blue Bayou.” Wendy’s favorite song. But I pushed the sting away, which was easier to do these days. The moment the cold trickle of guilt or grief entered my veins, a flood of warmth was close behind it, surging forward to overpower it.

Things were changing.

I was changing.

Even if I didn’t want to admit it.

“My point is, life is a gift. And a life with someone special is a precious gift. Don’t waste any more time living it alone.”

I appreciated what she was saying.

But it was pre-emptive. Nothing was happening. And nothing was going to happen.

I had my rules, and they were non-negotiable.

If anything happened with Taylor, then it would be purely physical.

“Duly noted,” I said, leaning forward and pressing a goodbye kiss to her forehead.

After I left Sybil’s room, I noticed an elderly lady sitting on a chair farther down the hall.

She was humming “Blue Bayou.”

Obviously remnants from what had been playing on the overhead speakers still in her mind.

I gave her a polite nod, but as I walked past her, she reached out and grabbed my hands with her bony fingers. “It’s a lovely song, don’t you think? She sings it all the time, you know.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “Who?”

The old lady’s watery eyes grew very round. “The lady in the floppy yellow hat.”

I pulled my hands away as if she had burned me. “What did you say?”

“She’s got a message for you.”

I started to back away from her.

“She said that it’s okay.”

I kept walking backward until my ass hit the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She smiled dreamily, lost in whatever delirium she was having. “She said that it’s about time.” She giggled. “She’s laughing, you know, saying she doesn’t know why it took you so long.”

Frowning, I pushed through the doors and crashed into the afternoon sunlight, feeling uncharacteristically shaken.

By an old lady.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

It was the mention of the floppy yellow hat that did it. Wendy was damn obsessed with her sunhat and wore it whenever she had the chance. I could still see her gripping onto the edges of it as she twirled around in the sunshine, laughing and smiling like she never had a care in the world.

Oddly, the memory didn’t bring the searing pain it would have a few weeks ago.

I frowned as I walked to my bike, trying to work out what that meant. Come to think of it, I hadn’t felt the agonizing pain of loss for some time.

For weeks now, things had been changing.

I didn’t wake up aching.

I didn’t feel that hollowness in my chest.

Somewhere inside me, buried deep beneath years of grieving, a light had begun to shine, and the heaviness had started to lift.

I climbed onto my bike but took a moment, feeling fucking rattled.