“Don’t take that tone with me, Logan,” my mother warns.
“Don’t talk to me as though I’m a petulant child,” I shoot back.
“Then stop acting like one,” she all but hisses. “And keep your voice down. We’re in public, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Why don’t we all just take a breath and order some lunch, OK?” my dad puts in, trying to play the peacekeeper. “Let us treat you to a nice meal, Logan.”
“Sorry Dad,” I say firmly. “I seem to have lost my appetite. Besides, I wouldn’t want to go on mooching off your generosity. I think I’d better just leave you to it.”
“You’re overreacting as always, Logan,” my mom sighs. “But if you must go blow off some steam, then by all means do so. We’ll see you at the ceremony tomorrow.”
“Actually Mom, I don’t think I’ll be attending graduation,” I say, rising to my feet. “But you two are welcome to go and have a good time.”
“Why are you doing this?” my mom hisses. “Why can’t you just show us a little bit of respect, Logan?”
“Because you can’t seem to show me any in return,” I say sadly. “Maybe, once I’ve shown you that I can support myself while doing what I love, you’ll start to see what I’m made of. But honestly, Mom, I’m not holding my breath. Enjoy your lunch.”
I turn away from my parents and hurry away from their table. The last thing I want is for them to see the disappointed, frustrated tears that stream down my cheeks. Nothing I’ve done in the past has ever been good enough for them, but I honestly thought that this job might finally be the thing to impress them. Maybe even convince them that I’m as determined and intelligent as they always hoped I would be. I guess that was just more empty, wishful thinking.
Boston is absolutely packed with happy families in the midst of graduation festivities. I pick my way through the boisterous, smiling groups as I walk back to my apartment alone, unable to hold back my tears. I’d give anything to have a whole, supportive, loving family. A group that always had my back, no matter what. Maybe Juliet had the right idea, seeking one out somewhere else.
By the time I finally make it back to my apartment, I feel like I’ve been hit by an emotional wrecking ball. Emma is out gallivanting with her artsy friends for the afternoon, so the apartment is totally empty. I glance around at the threadbare space, listening to the muffled city sounds filtering through the walls. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this lonely in my life—not when I left home for college, not even when Juliet left. With no one around to see me, I sink onto the dusty hardwood floor and have the good, honest cry that’s been building up inside me for longer than I care to admit.
I don’t know how much time goes by before I feel like I can solider on. But my tears have been restorative. By the time I rise shakily to my feet once more, I’ve come to a decision. I’m not going to let doubt or uncertainty hold me back any longer. So what if I don’t have a support system holding me up? That’s not going to stop me from stepping out onto the high wire any longer...no matter how risky and downright insane that might be.
With steely determination, I sit myself down in front of my laptop and compose a new email to Elliot Simmons.
Hi Elliot,
It was really wonderful meeting you this afternoon. I’m so thrilled that you called me in to discuss a position at FootSoldier. I know I told you that I’d like the day to think about your offer, but a few hours have been plenty. I’d be happy to accept my first assignment—the story we discussed this morning—and will begin working on it immediately. Thank you again for giving me this incredible opportunity. You won’t regret it, I promise you.
Sincerely,
Logan Farrah
I’ve only just hit send and stood up from my desk when a response from Elliot comes whizzing into my inbox.
Logan,
Fantastic news. Glad to have you with us. Go ahead and start your preliminary research at once. You’ll have all the resources you need from FootSoldier along the way, that I can assure you. You’re going to do a great job—let me know if you have any questions.
Cheers,
E.S.
You’re going to do a great job. I read those words over and over again. Encouragement is such an unfamiliar concept to me that it almost feels like a foreign language. But no more moping about that. I’ve got work to do.
I spend the rest of the evening combing through my classmates’ social media pages, university forums, and obscure chatrooms, searching for ways into The Club. It’s surprisingly easy to figure out which of my college acquaintances have been there before. In no time, I stumble upon a Facebook exchange between a few well-off girls who lived in my freshman year dorm. Their ringleader, a girl named Kari, seems hell-bent on visiting The Club, and is trying to talk her friends Ani and Brie into coming along.
Sounds like just the ticket to me.
Chapter Five
Devlin
The Circle of Death Clubhouse
Coastal Maine
Bracing myself against the solid oak bar, I draw a huge breath into my lungs. The smells of whiskey and woodsmoke fill me with ease and satisfaction as I drink them in. Goddamn, it feels good to be home.
My every muscle aches as I lift the cool bottle of beer to my mouth. It’s a good ache, though—the ache of a long, hard job well done. My brothers and I have been on the road for a solid week, tightening up our operations along the coast. There were a few heads that needed knocking together, a little roughing up to be done, but all told the Circle of Death MC is stronger than ever. And I don’t mind taking a hell of a lot of pride in that.
“What’re you drinking, Dev?” someone asks from over my shoulder.
“What else?” I reply, lifting my bottle as I turn to see my right hand man, Packer, standing right behind me. Even now, in the safety of our own clubhouse, he’s got my back. That’s what I call loyalty.
“Looks like you could use another. And that makes two of us,” Packer says, striding around the bar and snatching a couple of cold ones from the beat up but well-stocked fridge. He pops open the bottles and slides one across the bar to me. “To another successful run,” he says, clinking his bottle against mine and taking a long swig.
“Fuck yes,” I grin, savoring a deep gulp of ice cold beer. “We’re unstoppable these days, my friend.”