Page 98 of Not So Goode

He pulled me aside when it was over.

Tall, wiry, lean, hard, tattooed from head to toe, black hair in a graying ponytail, wearing a denim cut over a black T-shirt and blue jeans, chewing on a plug, his hard-bitten eyes assessing me.

“You look like shit, boy.” Rough, dark voice. Same as ever.

I hugged him, slapping his back. “Thanks, old man. Good to see you, too.”

He laughed. Shoved me off. “Where’s that girl of yours?”

“Alaska,” I bit out. “You called it.”

“How long she been gone?”

“Not long enough,” I said, without meaning to. “Too long.”

He drilled a stare into me. Seeing me as only a wily old fox like him could. “You love her.”

“Shit, man. What the hell is love, anyway?”

He snorted. “Quit the bullshit, son. That maudlin philosophical horse dick ain’t gonna impress me.”

I growled. “What can I do, Tran? She saw what I did, heard what you said, and got the story. It was too much. She was soft, and good, and everything that’s sweet and light in the world, but with a hidden wild side.”

He laughed, cracking me across the back of the head. “You love her, ya dumb fuck. Go get her ass.”

“And offer her what? More bar fights? Another manslaughter charge?”

“That’s taken care of. That Yak character was wanted in three states for rape, kidnapping, sexual assault, and human trafficking. You did the world a favor, and I persuaded certain powers that be to see that. It’s gone. No worries.”

I sighed. “It’s…the whole life, Tran.”

“You ain’t in the life anymore, kid.”

“But I’m always a patch, and I ain’t ever gonna be some tie-wearing Harvard type.” I winced. “Yale, I mean. She’d correct me.”

“She wants you to be that?”

“Well, no. That was her ex. He was a piece of shit, didn’t appreciate her. Cheated on her.”

“And she asked you to be somethin’ you’re not?”

I growled. “No, but she still left. Said shejust couldn’t. Whatever that means. Figured it just meant a man with a past like mine is no good for a woman like her.”

“I may be not much but a crusty old road dog, but it sounds to me like she’s just scared of loving you. You’re a hell of a lot of man to figure out, not sure you’re aware of it.” He roughly cupped the back of my neck and shook me. “You’re scared of her.”

I snarled at him. “I ain’t scared of shit.”

“Then go see her, son. Better yet, quit this job you’re wasting your talents on, empty out that storage locker, and haul your shit up to Alaska. You know damn good and well that if you took a mind, you’d be every bit as good of a luthier as your gramps was. You got the gift. I still got that piece you made me, and it sounds sweet as honey to this day. You are wasting your fucking life away as a guitar tech, Corvus. Quit bein’ a goddamn pussy and go get the life you want.”

Corvus. He was the only person, ever, to call me that, and he only used it when I was being stupid. It stung. Cut worse than the scar on my ribs had.

“That was a phase, man,” I muttered. “I ain’t touched wood since I got locked up.”

“Because you still think you ain’t worth enough to put down roots.” He rubbed his stubbled jaw, fingernails skritching. “Shoulda never patched you in, like I did with Myles. You got talent beyond being some enforcer in an outlaw MC. Worst mistake I ever made.”

“Bullshit, Tran. I was born into it.”

“Don’t mean it’s all you are. Music is in your blood. Na’ura had talent, but she wanted what Coyote had—freedom. Doing what he wanted. Living dangerous. She grew up sheltered, protected, guarded, and she resented it. But she coulda been something, just like you could.” He jabbed a finger into my chest, eyes boring into me. “Do us both a favor, Crow.”