Biker's Virgin

“Why not?” he asked. “I haven’t seen him in two and a half years. If I had been in his position… I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Stop over thinking,” I told him gently. “Let’s just take this one step at a time, shall we?”

“Ugh…was this a bad idea?” Phil asked with his head in his hands.

“No,” I said firmly. “It was a great idea and long overdue.”

“About two years overdue.”

“Hey,” I said. “You’ve been beating yourself up about this all morning, and I get it, you’re feeling guilty. But you’re trying to correct that mistake now—that has to count for something.”

“When you’ve been the one hurt, it takes more than realization to get to forgiveness.”

I wondered if he was really talking about himself, or was that aimed at me. I decided not to ask. Instead, I just sat there with him and tried to ease his concerns.

“Have you thought about visiting Brent?” Phil asked suddenly.

I hesitated for a moment. “Yes, I’ve thought about it,” I admitted. “But I decided against visiting him right now.”

“How come?”

“Umm… I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, looking down.

“Please,” Phil implored. “Tell me. This is a safe space.”

I gave him a half-hearted smile. “I don’t know…”

“No judgment, okay?” Phil promised.

I sighed. “I’m still angry at him,” I admitted.

“For dealing or for getting caught?” he asked.

“Neither,” I replied. “I’m mad at him for trying to frame you. And I’m mad that he convinced me that you were guilty, and he was innocent.”

“Oh…”

As Phil looked down, I sighed. “Mostly, I’m just mad at myself for falling for it. I knew you, and I knew Brent; I should have seen through his lies immediately.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I… I don’t really know,” I replied.

Phil nodded and turned away from me, and I felt deflated. I knew the reason I had fallen for Brent’s lies, but for some reason, I felt ashamed to admit as much to Phil. We left the park and walked around for a long time, each one of wrapped up in our own thoughts. Once the sun started going down, we headed back to the car and then drove to a motel close by.

At the counter in the tiny lobby near the motel, I stepped up to the cashier, not wanting to assume anything. “I can pay for the room,” I told Phil.

“No don’t worry about it,” he said immediately. “I invited you. I’ll take care of the room.”

“That’s not necessary, Phil.”

“I insist,” Phil said, handing the teller his credit card. “Do you mind if we shared a room for tonight? I’ve requested a room with twin beds.”

I swallowed my disappointment and nodded. “Of course.”

We headed to our room, which turned out to be a lot nicer than I had expected. The single beds were separated by a short chest of drawers with an antique-looking lamp on its surface. The curtains were a dark blue, the carpets were soft and clean, and the television sitting in front of the beds looked like it functioned pretty well. Phil set the bags down and then collapsed onto the bed on the right-hand side of the room. He was staring at the ceiling, and I could tell from his expression that he was thinking about the visit to the prison tomorrow morning.

I sat down on the edge of my bed and faced him. “Worrying about it won’t help, you know,” I pointed out.