Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC #7) Page 35

  Therefore, they would not be able to understand why I could not stop loving her.

  After tremendous thought and prayer, I decided for me to continue to live on this earth and not have Karter as my lover would be impossible. If I was alive and allowed to wander this earth, I realized I would do so with Karter as my lover or not at all.

  I watched in the rearview mirror as his car pulled into the driveway. I unzipped my bag and removed the Sig Saur pistol from the holster. As I rested it in my lap, I inhaled a deep breath. I exhaled slowly as his car came to a stop alongside where I was parked. I rolled down my window, and peered in his direction.

  He opened the door to his car and began to step out. I gripped the pistol in my hand and placed my finger against the trigger. As he stepped from the car, he began to speak, “I don’t know what you were hoping for Jak, but I have the results.”

  “Stay in the car, Commander,” I demanded in a military-esque voice.

  He stopped in his tracks, “Kennedy?”

  “That’s right, Commander. Jak’s gone. Kennedy needs an answer, and he needs it now,” I demanded.

  My hand in my lap and out of view, I gripped the pistol firmly, “Commander?”

  “November Oscar, Kennedy. The DNA is not a match,” he responded.

  I sighed and closed my eyes. I tossed the pistol in the bag and removed two marked envelopes and zipped the bag closed. I held my arm out the window with the envelopes gripped tightly in my hand.

  “Kennedy?”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” I sighed.

  “Kennedy? God damn it…”

  I dropped the envelopes onto the concrete drive and shifted the car in reverse, “Same test, same time frame, Commander.”

  As I backed the car from the drive, I momentarily closed my eyes.

  One more thing.

  Provide me strength

  KARTER. The fact I was driving the U-Haul van home from Dallas and it was empty of all my art should have made me happy. I was far from it. I had not heard a word from Jak in over two days. Nothing. My wallet filled with a forty-thousand dollar check and my heart filled with pain, I merged the raggedy assed van onto I-35 North and pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

  Painting and riding my motorcycle had become what I called my escape from reality. After having Jak in my life, I was able to describe them in a more accurate sense. They were an escape from me. In Jak’s presence, I was as close to normal as I suppose I could ever expect to be. In Jak’s absence, I was becoming a complete emotional wreck.

  I was becoming myself.

  As a child, and not having outlets for my discussing my fears or desires, I expressed myself in fits of rage. I often lashed out with cussing and screaming. The curse words became second nature, and as an adult my mouth was as foul as any man. My mother spent all of her time drinking, and she gave very little consideration to me as a child. When I wanted or needed something, I asked. When she didn’t respond or appear to care, I often cussed and screamed to get her to pay attention to me.

  The attention rarely came.

  I never quite understood what I may have done to deserve the treatment she gave me. For a mother to all but abandon her daughter mentally and emotionally was one thing. For her to not express any form of love was contrary to what I would have considered to be basic maternal instinct; and something which I found very difficult to accept. When I finally told her I wanted to seek emancipation through the courts, and that I intended to separate myself from her, a small part of me hoped she would oppose the idea.

  In my mind, at least at the time, it was a last ditch effort on my part to give her an opportunity to try and make things right between us. She had no interest in doing so, and seemed relieved when I announced my eagerness to leave and begin a life on my own. Even as I explained I had no desire to ever see her or speak to her again, she seemed at peace with my decision.

  Almost as if my leaving her was a relief.

  I don’t miss her. Not even in the least. I had lived my life prior to leaving her alone, and my time away from her was no different. Since the age of sixteen, I had always believed I needed no one to assist me in my journey through the puzzle of life. Jak happening into my life changed my views entirely. Initially, I tried to be standoffish and rude. It lasted all of about an hour. Everything about him provided me with a level of warmth and comfort I never knew existed. I’m sure most women yearn for such a man. I had no idea such feelings existed, as I had never felt them, therefore the desire was never present for me.

  Jak had brought so many new thoughts and feelings into my life. Experiencing them and having felt the love Jak filled me with now caused me to yearn for what I had grown accustomed to being provided.

  Jak’s love.

  I glanced at my hand as it rested atop the steering wheel. I tilted it toward me and smiled. The diamond glistened in the sun as the van shimmied down the rough Texas highway. I shifted my gaze to the seat beside me.

  Empty.

  For an instant I closed my eyes.

  Without you Jak, I feel empty and alone.

  JAK. I sat in the driveway with the window down. Waiting had never been one of my strengths. I stared into the passenger seat at the photo album from my past. Reluctantly, I opened the cover. My last entry, a series of photographs of Graham and I before and after our pre-Navy haircuts was on the page facing me. On the top of the page, long locks of each of our hair taped against the page with twenty-year-old Scotch tape. We had each saved them as a reminder of our friendship. Who would have guessed then how useful they would become later. I felt my heart rate increase as the Commander’s car slowly entered the drive. As he cautiously inched his vehicle beside me, he rolled his window down and remained in the car.

  Resolving the mystery and moving forward with my life was something I felt I desperately needed to allow me to find peace. Attempting to make sense of everything and fully understanding it would certainly be impossible. Proceeding with living life and allowing myself to heal from the wounds of my past would provide me with a comfort twenty years of fighting could not.

  “Kennedy, I’m going to remain in the vehicle. I have no idea where your head is right now,” he explained as he leaned out of the window.

  “Match?” I asked.

  He nodded his head.

  “Positive?” I asked.

  I knew a DNA match would be positive. I needed to hear it.

  “That’s affirmative, Kennedy. It’s a match. Father-daughter, no doubt,” he nodded.

  “Toss it in the window, Commander,” I sighed.

  I stared down into my lap. As tears welled in my eyes, I realized I was beginning to cry for more than one reason. Filled with emotion and free of sleep for almost seventy-two hours, I was on the verge of a breakdown; but the tears came naturally from two simultaneous feelings. Love and pain. As the envelopes and a plastic packet landed in the seat beside me, I stared at the thighs of my jeans. His stern voice caused me to look his direction.

  “We done here, Kennedy?” he asked.

  I cleared my throat. A single tear dripped down my cheek, “Jak, Commander. Remember?”

  “Glad you’re back, Jak,” he said as he opened his car door.

  “I’ve got to hop on a bird and get back to Wichita. This investigation is almost over, but we’re done here,” I said as he leaned in the window of the car.

  Another tear worked its way alongside my nose and collected on my upper lip. Yet another followed. Still focused on me, and never having seen emotion from me whatsoever, his eyes widened.

  “Jak, you need a cup of coffee? A place to sleep?” he asked.

  “No sir,” I responded as I shifted the car in reverse.

  “I need to pick a girl up off the floor until her legs dangle,” I smiled as I wiped the tears from my eyes.

  “Fair enough,” he grinned.

  He had made the statement many times over the years. I’ve always said we mimic those we admire. I pressed my foot firmly on the brake and
smiled the best I was able.

  “Fair enough,” I repeated.

  As he stood from the car window, I backed out of the driveway. Sitting in the street, I shifted the car into drive and held my foot on the brake as I lifted the DNA test and envelopes from the seat and dropped them into the bag. As difficult as it was for me to accept or understand, I now knew the answer to my little mystery. The top envelope was clearly marked by my hand writing. The name I had scribbled onto it before giving it to the Commander, without a doubt, was Karter’s father.

  Graham.

  JAK. Although it wasn’t necessary, I felt I had one more thing to do for my peace of mind. I pulled my ball cap tight onto my head and lowered my gaze to the floor as I walked past the security camera. I really had nothing to hide, but I didn’t want Karter to know what I was preparing to do. With the bag over my shoulder now filled with a few tools and a flashlight, I pressed the security code on the keypad. As the magnetic lock on the front door buzzed, I pulled it open and walked to the elevator.

  As the elevator door opened into the lower floor parking garage, I stepped around the corner and into Karter’s parking stall. Her motorcycle was parked right where she had left it before she went to the art show. As it was two o’clock in the morning, I had very little doubt Karter was doing anything but sleeping - something I clearly needed to join in on, as I had not slept in days.

  I stood beside Karter’s bike and stared. The past I had spent two decades forgetting was all too clear now. Graham had worn a helmet religiously and I never quite came to an understanding of why he wasn’t wearing a helmet on the day of his accident. We had been drinking, but neither of us would have been considered drunk from a legal standpoint. Post mortem toxicology tests on Graham did indicate he had consumed alcohol, but supported the fact he was not drunk. As Graham and I had the same amount to drink, and we were the same size and weight, I always assumed I wasn’t legally drunk either. I never really drank before the accident; and I had not one single drink of alcohol since. As Commander Warrenson always said, men who don’t drink always have a story associated with why.

  It seemed I had one too many.

  We were not racing, but it was difficult for anyone to believe it. We were riding back to town on a twisting road. Both of us were knowledgeable about where we were riding and the layout of the road. As I came around the second corner, Graham shot passed me at a high rate of speed. I was traveling approximately 60 m.p.h., and I expected Graham’s speed was in excess of 100 m.p.h. When I got to the fourth curve, I saw his bike in the ditch. He was against a tree beside the road, dead at the scene. His head impacted an eighty-year-old oak tree without a helmet to protect it. To explain the accident scene as grotesque would be an understatement.

  It wasn’t the first time Graham had wrecked his bike. A terrible wreck almost a month prior to his death smashed his bike up pretty bad, but his helmet saved his life. We had spent nearly two weeks solid repairing his bike prior to the second wreck, and almost immediately after the repairs, the second wreck took his life.

  The damages to his motorcycle from the first accident required a repair to the exhaust port of the motor. A bolt had been pulled from the exhaust flange and out of the cast iron head during the collision, stripping the threads. A permanent heli-coil was added to repair the damaged exhaust bolt hole. At the time, it was much cheaper at ten dollars than a two-thousand dollar engine. If my suspicions were correct…

  After removing the bolts from the head, I pulled the exhaust to the side and pointed the flashlight in the bolt hole. Even though it was over twenty years old, the heli-coil repair we had made in my mother’s garage was unmistakable. I lowered myself to the floor and pulled my knife from my pocket. On the underside of the frame in a location where it would never be detected, I began to scratch the paint from the frame. After scratching through two coats of clear coat and a few of the black away, I didn’t even need my flashlight. The dark green paint was undeniable.

  Karter was riding Graham’s old bike.

  And she had no idea of the bike’s origin or who used to ride it. Two things still lingered in my mind and troubled me. I didn’t need the answers immediately, but my curiosity was killing me. For one, I wanted to know why Shelley told me Karter was my daughter. I could see no real reason to support her making such a statement, especially when she knew who the father was. Secondly, I wanted to read the letters Shelley wrote. I stood in an almost trance-like state and recalled what Shelley had said prior to me asking about Karter.

  “Why didn’t you respond to my letters, Jak?” Shelley asked when I was preparing to leave.

  “What letters?” I had responded.

  I stared at Karter’s bike and considered Shelley’s response.

  “The letters, Jak. Don’t be stupid. I wrote you for a year. You never responded. Maybe once a month for a while, then I wrote once a week for a few months. I never heard from you.”

  I wondered what the letters may contain. I didn’t need to know immediately, and they wouldn’t change a thing. As far as I was concerned, Karter needed to know nothing of any of my recent findings. My secrets should remain just that, secrets. There would be zero value in Karter finding out her mother had cheated on her high school sweetheart with his best friend and became pregnant. There was a reason Shelley had never told Karter who her father was. To do so would be to admit she was a liar and a cheat. Undoubtedly, Shelley’s knowledge of Graham being the father had haunted her for a lifetime. In a town of 900, to admit what she had done would cause the small city to brand her a whore and a cheat.

  Regardless of who her mother may have been, I loved Karter and would always love her. I knelt down, quickly placed the two bolts back into the exhaust flange, and stood. After wiping my fingerprints from the chrome exhaust, I walked to the elevator. As I waited for the doors to open, I tossed my rubber gloves into the trash.

  As the elevator reached Karter’s floor, I sighed a sigh of relief.

  In an almost sleep like state, I slowly stumbled to Karter’s door. She was a light sleeper, and I expected she would wake up from my phone call. I scrolled to her number, pressed the icon, and listened as I heard her phone ringing through the thin walls.

  “Oh my God. Jak?” she answered after two rings.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I sighed.

  “I thought you were dead,” she breathed into the phone.

  “I’ve never been more alive,” I responded, “unlock the door.”

  The squealing I heard from the apartment followed by the thundering steps was enough to bring me out of my sleep like state. Having no knowledge of the last four days of hell I’d been through and what I had considered, I would be far more excited by holding her than she would be by being held, that much was certain. As the door opened, I stared into the eyes of the only woman I had ever truly loved.

  As she collapsed into my arms, I lifted her from the floor.

  And I let her legs dangle.

  JAK. “So you said we’d discuss it in the morning, it’s almost ten o’clock, sleepy head, you awake yet?”

  I rubbed my tired eyes and glanced toward Karter’s voice. She stood beside the bed in what appeared to be a pair of jean shorts and nothing else. I blinked my eyes and tried to focus. Sure enough, she stood with paint brush in hand, half-naked and barefoot. I smiled and rolled to my side as I admired her. Karter was just…

  Perfect.

  “I’m awake, let me get up,” I chuckled.

  The house smelled of coffee and bacon. I tossed my legs to the side of the bed and pressed my feet onto the floor. As I stood, I realized I was naked. I had no real recollection of even getting into the bed the night before, let alone getting undressed. I rubbed my eyes again and looked around the room.

  “On the dresser, I folded them,” she grinned as she tapped the tip of the paint brush against her lip.

  “I don’t even remember getting undressed,” I sighed as I walked to the dresser.

  “You didn’t. You passed out
. I undressed you. I like you naked more than I like you in boxers, so…” she tilted her head to the side as I pulled my boxers over my thighs.

  “You little shit,” I laughed.

  She tilted her head to the other side and smiled, “So, were you on a mission?”

  I turned to face her as I pulled my pants on, “Yes, and as a matter of fact, my last.”

  “You promise?” she asked.

  I nodded my head as I buttoned my pants, “Yes, I promise.”

  “Were you out of the country?” she asked.

  “I was in a place farther away than I have ever been,” I said softly.

  She shifted the weight on her feet as I approached her, bending her right knee slightly. The nipples were full on her tan perky breasts. Seeing her standing in the doorway half-naked was all I could take. To think my nightmare was over provided a relief of epic proportion.

  “What did you have to do?” she asked.

  “It’s classified, but I can tell you this. The Commander and I had to find someone. Someone only I knew how to find. It took several days, but we found him, and everything is going to be just fine,” I smiled as I reached around her and hugged her.

  “Was he okay?” she asked.

  I considered her question and before much thought, I responded, “No honey, he was dead. We knew he was dead; we just had to find him. But everything’s fine now. That’ll be the last time I ever leave you.”

  “I read about that. Never leave a fallen teammate behind. I like that,” she breathed into my neck.

  I was prepared to forget Graham, forget Shelley, forget the war, and forget the killing. It was time for me to begin my new life of loving Karter, and nothing short of doing so was going to satisfy me. As I lifted her from her feet, she squeaked and squeezed me in her arms.

  “What are you working on?” I asked as I carried her out of the bedroom and toward the kitchen.