Page 49 of Diesel's Perseverance
“You told me he thought you were having a thing with your art teacher, right?”
“Yes, but if I was cheating, why the hell would I do it at our house? I mean, I knew he had cameras in all the main rooms and areas, like the hallways.”
“I don’t know. Drugs make some people paranoid and fucked in the head.”
The screen door opened, and one of the prospects stepped onto the porch. He placed a shot of whiskey and a beer on the table in front of Diesel and then put a glass of chardonnay and a Diet Coke can in front of Myla.
“Thank you,” she said.
Without saying a word, the prospect walked back into the clubhouse.
“Did you have to do that before you became a member?” She leaned over, picked up the wine glass, and brought it to her lips.
“Yeah, and a ton of other shit. Being a prospect is brutal, but that’s how the club knows if a guy is Insurgent material.”
“Does anyone ever throw in the towel?”
“Oh yeah. I’m betting Tags isn’t gonna make it. The other two—Rubble and Welder—got what it takes. There’s no fuckin’ way he’s gonna make it through the rally. Being a prospect at a rally fuckin’ sucks.” He laughed.
“I guess it’s like an initiation to one of the fraternities at a university.”
“Maybe in concept, but those pussies couldn’t make it through one hour at an outlaw club.” He picked up his shot glass.
She took another sip of wine and looked over the rim of the glass at him. “Are the cameras the way you found out about Freddy and… me?”
He locked his gaze on hers. “Yeah. Fuck, Myla, why didn’t you tell me what he was doing to you?”
She placed the glass on the table and stared off into the distance. “I don’t want you to think what you saw was the sum of our relationship. It was a singular incident in a three-year relationship.”
“He never laid a hand on you before?”
“Not like that.”
“Like how then?”
She grimaced. “I don’t know if I want to talk about this.”
“You opened the door, but if you want to let it eat you up inside, that’s on you.”
She bit the inside of her bottom lip hard, then glanced over at him. “He’d slapped me a couple of times, and a few times he shoved me, but that was all.”
“That was enough. I never took Freddy for a pussy-assed shithead. Our old man wasn’t the best guy, but he never laid a hand on our mom. You should’ve told me. I would’ve straightened him out.”
A weak smile whispered across her lips. “The first time Freddy smacked me across the face, I was flabbergasted. It felt like it wasn’t real. Of course, he apologized profusely. Then the few times he shoved me, he brought home small gifts to show his love. He even took me out after the second slap across my face to one of the most expensive steakhouses in Denver. At that point, I started thinking about leaving him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? I used to see how my sister’s boyfriend treated her when we were in high school, and I’d tell her to leave him, that she deserved better, and that she had to respect herself and be strong. What a fucking hypocrite I turned out to be. It’s always easier to give advice to others than to take it for yourself.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
“Maybe.” She took another sip of wine and leaned back against the cushion. “I met Freddy in a dive bar on a snowy Saturday night. I’d had a shitty day at work and stopped by Hilltop for a couple of brandy shots before going home. I didn’t have any close friends, and I preferred to drink alone, so when a tall, nice-looking guy with a lopsided smile sat down on the barstool next to me, I had to smile back. Anyway, that quick stop at the bar turned into three hours. Freddy was affable and made me laugh a lot. Soon we were dating and then living together.” She smiled at the memory. “That first night, he told me all about you. I thought it was cool that he was so proud of you. And when we went to Hayes and I met your parents, I was blown away.”
“What the fuck?”
“No, really. I remember thinking that Freddy had an actual family. He had an older brother he idolized, a mother who was flighty but sweet, and a dad who didn’t talk much but would help if Freddy needed extra money. His parents were still together, and he had a home he could go to if he needed to. It just blew me away. At that point, my mother was on her fourth ‘forever’ husband and didn’t have time for any of us. I hadn’t heard from my dad in years, my brothers changed their phone numbers and never bothered to call me, and whenever I touched base with my sisters, they always seemed to be in chaos or uninterested, or both, so I just stopped calling. I was born into a family of seven, but I was alone in the world. Freddy”—she pointed at Diesel—“and you had afamily. And when I went to your parents’ house for Thanksgiving, it was the best.”
“My mom made Thanksgiving?”
