Except I swore to myself that I would protect Bronco. If I break that promise, I’m just as disloyal as everyone expects me to be. As long as he’s president, I can’t walk away from the Executioners.
My head swims from too many beers and a whole lot of second-guessing. I finally ask Topanga if she’ll check on Pixie. Lana goes, too. I imagine Pixie throwing up all the food I encouraged her to eat. However, the blame for the wine is on Topanga. Her solution to anxious women is to fill them with high-end booze.
Lowell sighs. “Why is everyone so fucking tense tonight?”
“Because this was supposed to be a birthday party that got turned into something else,” Wyatt grumbles from nearby.
“Nobody asked you, asshole.”
Wyatt turns toward the club’s VP as if ready to take him on. Lowell doesn’t even glance back. For months, they’ve poked at each other more often. I never say anything when it happens, keeping my gaze instead focused elsewhere while the men argue. I know the score, though.
Bronco wants to fuck with Wyatt, and Wyatt wants to fuck with Bronco. They can’t really get into it, though. Not with the younger man’s mommy and daddy always around. So, Wyatt and Lowell fight instead.
I really don’t care. They’ll throw punches on occasion. Never enough for Bronco to tell me to break them up. I view their bickering as play fighting. Wyatt is practicing for the day when he takes on Bronco. I still don’t know how I’ll stand by and allow the younger man to claim this club. More likely, I’ll snap his skinny neck and let Bronco punish me for it later.
Desperate to remain buzzed so I can hide how miserable I feel, I finish another beer. Should I check on Pixie? Can I just walk into the ladies’ room? With my size, the answer to most questions is yes.
I chuckle to myself at the thought of anyone standing in my way if I wanted to enter the restroom. Then I see Pixie, and my brain can’t figure out what she’s doing.
Is she wet? Has she been crying? Why is she running? The pot and booze keep me so blitzed that I stare dumbly when Pixie throws a watermelon at DeAnna and nails the dumb bitch in the face. Only when Bronco bursts into laughter behind me do I wake up enough to register what I’m seeing.
Pixie isn’t playing. Taryn and DeAnna are wrestling around with her, kicking and hitting. She’s getting ganged up on. Now, Wyatt is rushing over to help them. Bambi and Rooster might join in. too.
Everyone is fucking with my honey!
I yank one of those bitches off Pixie and then another. They’re lucky I’m so buzzed. If I were sober, I don’t know if they’d survive this experience. When I hit Wyatt, I almost forget to pull the punch. I’ve killed men before by slugging them in the gut. He gets lucky tonight, thanks to the pot and beer.
My buzz fades a little when I see the terror in Pixie’s eyes. She isn’t afraid of them. It’s all me—the monster, the Antichrist, a man unworthy of her love.
Now, I’ll lose her. A part of me always knew this moment was coming. Everyone turns on me eventually.
Pixie’s expression changes and she reaches for me. She isn’t ditching her grand sequoia yet. I still have more time with her. I lift Pixie into my arms and carry her wet body out of the clubhouse. I don’t hear the people behind me. Fuck them! If they aren’t on Pixie’s side, they can eat shit. I only see her.
But I feel uneasy. Why did I not put my foot down and say she wasn’t coming to the community party? That other idea with individual dinners made more sense. I could control them better. People would be on my territory. Instead, I let myself get pushed around. I’m a giant, scary motherfucker. Why can’t I take charge?
As we drive back to Bronco’s house, Pixie shivers next to me. I don’t know why she’s wet. I’m afraid to ask. What if she hears the barely restrained rage in my voice? I can’t scare away Pixie. I need to remain in control.
“How did you get wet?” I ask, self-sabotaging as usual.
“If I tell you, I’ll get upset. I’d rather focus on the bright moon,” Pixie says, stroking my hand on the steering wheel. “I wish I tried the dumplings earlier. My stomach was too full by the time I saw them.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t offer them. I’ve never tried any before. They looked gross.”
“They do look gross,” she says, smiling brightly as if the world didn’t turn upside down for us less than ten minutes ago.
Pixie can’t understand how much she means to me. She grew up with a family that loved her. The only person to completely love me is this woman I let starve for months and now failed again. She can’t understand the burden I feel to redeem myself. She just smiles at the moon.
“I love all your hair,” Pixie says as I pull into Bronco’s driveway. Her fingers reach for my head. “I love the ones on top that get all the attention and the shy ones on the bottom.”
I turn off the SUV and sit silently. My gaze remains frozen on the garage door. On the surface, I’m stoned and drunk. Underneath, I feel my temper rising.
“I like your house better than Bronco’s,” she says, trying to get me to focus.
The Woodlands is so appealing at night when the streetlights cast interesting shadows against the houses. I used to walk around after dusk and admire how peaceful the world is when I’m not faking shit for people.
“Except I like how he has pictures of his family on the walls,” Pixie continues. “I wish I had a picture of my papa to put up, but the Village made us burn our beloved mementos to prove our loyalty to the Volkshalberd. Now, I
