Page 131 of Lost Lyrebird

After crouching down, I reach out and feel the headstone by touch to center myself.It’s blurry, and the words engraved on the front blend together.

I don’t know what he wants me to do.All I want is some freedom from the pain, for a day, for an hour, for a fucking moment.That’s not achievable without the pills anymore.I’ve tried everything Alister recommended—more sleep, changing my diet, limiting my caffeine intake, cognitive and physical therapy.I took time away from the club to avoid the loud music and lights.

Nothing works.

I’ve gone under the knife twice in the past with no improvement, and the recovery was a nightmare.I can’t go through that again.

It’s gotten to the point that everything’s a trigger.Pushing my brain to work through a simple puzzle brings pain.Working with my saw or any loud equipment in my shop does the same.Using my muscles to chisel and sand, or overexerting myself in any way, is rewarded by a migraine.Being on the road alone and surrounded by silence is my only escape from it all.But I have to wear earplugs.The roar of my bike has to be muted to even enjoy the one thing that I used to enjoy most in the world, and that’s no way to live.

Time makes it worse, and it’s the one thing I can’t run from or avoid.

There’s no fixing this.Agony or functionality are my only two options.

The number of people getting hurt in my wake is growing by the day.Hodge.Bethany and her kids, Axel and Medda.The girls who are being retaliated against because I got Larissa out.Not being able to put a stop to Veno and letting him profit from these girls weighs on me, too, but my hands are tied.

And what I did to Lily is inexcusable.

It replays over and over again in my mind, the look on her face when she slapped me.

Yeah, she’d been into it in the end, but what if she hadn’t been?Would I have stopped?I want to say yes, but the truth is… I’d been at the end of my rope, so fucking furious and jealous.Fed the fuck up with watching another man put his hands on her.She’d been laughing and rubbing up against Griz all night, and then disappeared upstairs with him, and I just knew I couldn’t fucking do it anymore.

These are the regrets I’ll take to the grave with me.

That and the fact I can’t take Veno down on my way out because it would blow back on the club and my brothers.

Taking my sobriety coin from my pocket, I lay it over my father’s headstone.When I first got sober, I came here and promised him I’d stay clean, that I’d use my time here wisely, and help those I could.That I’d do no harm, only good.

More broken promises to add to the list.

I pull out the small black and silver compass from my cut.It belonged to my father’s friend Ben.He’d passed not even a year after my father, and gifted it to me in his will.They’d been in a long-term care facility together, and though my father was in the Army and Ben was in the Navy, they hit it off like they’d known each other for years.Just two old Vets giving the nurses a run for their money, or so Anita, the head nurse, used to say when I’d call to check in on my dad.

Now, I could throw a stone and hit Ben’s grave with how close it is.And even though I know that neither of them truly rests at peace here, it comforts me, in case I’m wrong.

The compass has a surprising weight to it.Flipping it over, I run my thumb over the inscription.I am the master of my fate.I am the captain of my soul.

If only that were true.

I lay it beside the coin on the headstone.Then I run my fingers over the letters and numbers that tell the world very little about the man this grave marker stands in place of.

TRENT MATTHEW MCCOWN

BELOVED FATHER AND FRIEND

1946-1997

He was the kind of man who knew how to fix everything and turned every conversation into a lesson about life.If I asked for money so I could go on a date, it was a sit-down session where he’d impart wisdom on me about how to treat a woman.If I came home late after a night out with my friends, or got pissed off after one of my games, nothing slid.They were opportunities to share what he’d learned about life, and looking back, I’m thankful for those moments.Though at the time, I hated them immensely.

God, what I wouldn’t fucking give to have one of those sit-downs now.Pour my heart out to him and let him tell me what to do, how to fix my life, how to get rid of the holes and fight this fucking abyss I’ve fallen into, maybe be my guide me back to the light.

If only I could go back.There’s so much I’d change.I’d sit and listen with rapt attention to the wisdom he’d impart.Perhaps not to gripe so much about what I saw as meaningless babble.It’s funny how we can only see that shit looking back.We just fly right past these monumental moments that are the best parts of our life and don’t see them for what they are until they’re in our rearview.

I look up and stare at the bright stars overhead, and get lost in the night sky as I talk about it all with him.I talk about Elle.About all I’ve done to find her and how all of the notes I have led me to believe that the woman in my life, the only one I’ve come to care about in all my years on this earth, seems to be one and the same.But I don’t trust my own mind, because well, it can’t be trusted.

I talk about my dreams, Veno, the woman I’ve helped, my brothers, the club, and the people there, and lastly, the things in life that used to make me happy.

When I’ve spilled my guts and confessed to it all, I pull the gun from my waistband and hold it in my right hand.It’s a choice.A last resort.A way out of this madness.I came here to pour my heart out and seek answers, but if that doesn’t happen, then I guess that’s answer enough, right?

I’m hoping for a sign, something, to tell me to hold on.