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In the dark, he asked why I never mentioned the name of my Da’s club in my journal. He also chuckled when I didn’t answer. “I see. Fiery Tierney is well-trained to not leave a trail back to the club. I respect that. Can you at least tell me the meaning of your Dad’s club name?”
I agreed and told him the meaning of Da’s club symbol was an Irish folklore mythical creature. A rider on a black horse who carries his head in his hand.
He was too drunk to remember such details, right?
When he didn’t ask or say anything else, I asked why he wasn’t worried that I had been followed to the Stallions’ club. He was far too relaxed, proving he wasn’t concerned.
“Nothing happens in this town without me knowing. No outsiders are here.”
I didn’t question that logic. The same went for Da’s club and where we live. But I did question Legend why I wasn’t free to leave.
“Your journal could be a well-planned set-up.” He changed the subject to what was my main driving force. “What’s your next move to find your sister?”
I stared at the ceiling, even though I could barely see it in the dark, and told him reading my journal meant that he knew my means.
“You’ve been searchin’ a lot of years,” he quietly said. “You know you may be chasing a ghost, right?”
Angry at the ludicrous insinuation, I sat up in bed and guaranteed I’d never give up. Not as long as there was air in my lungs. Years or not, without a body to prove otherwise, there was a chance my sister would be found.
“Found,” he repeated as if I had spoken gospel. Then admitted, “You’re right. Never give up. I’m sorry I insulted you.”
Drying tears which I was thankful he couldn’t see in the dark room, I lay back down, pulling the blanket to my chin. It didn’t help the chill in my bones, praying Maeve was still alive.
After a moment of thought, Legend asking such a personal question gave me the guts to ask one myself. And only because he was drunk do I think I got a straight answer.
He exhaled, long and hard. “Why am I not getting laid? Truth is, I had the best. No one will ever love me or fuck me like—” He stopped. My breath hung in the silence between us until he finally said, “My wife and I made love the night…” He stopped again, then his voice lowered. “I haven’t been with a woman since the night she was murdered.”
“Oh, fuck.” I sighed in grief. Learning my father had suffered greatly caused me pain.
Lynx being a young man at this point in the journal meant Legend’s wife had been dead for almost a decade.
It seems I’m not the only one chasing ghosts.
Sadly, I think pain is an unwanted companion to both me and Legend, but also a connection. We are both very lonely, missing someone dear.
I thought Legend had fallen asleep when the music ended and lots of grunting began, but he chortled, “I guess I need better insulation in these walls.”
I giggled, too, until I thought of how many times I’d been one of those girls. From the sounds of it, they were hoping to be making such an impact that they would be invited to stay. Maybe even become an Old Lady.
I asked Legend what kind of revere Old Ladies held in their club.
His answer left me breathless and hurting for the man I had only known for hours. “Losing one—the queen we adored—has made this club realize Old Ladies are priceless.” His voice cracked as he vowed, “And to be treasured and protected, at any cost.”
Choked up by the raw emotions floating in the dark room, I whispered how sorry I was for his loss, and that of his men, and his son. I told him I was happy his wife had given Lynx a valiant road name.
“That is what he got the day she died.”
I covered my mouth, aching for the father and son who were changed forever one brutal night. I knew it was brutal because I’d heard men laughing over the rumors of that night. I never felt an attachment to the mention of some Old Lady going down. That was part of this life. But, after feeling Legend’s never-ending agony, I knew I’d never hear of another Old Lady dying without thinking of her. And Legend.
“Yeah,” Legend growled, “there wasn’t a club on earth who hadn’t heard of me searching for her murderer.”
Hearing his fierceness, I thought about how slim my chances were that I would ever be an Old Lady myself. Would I ever have a man make the earth tremble with his rage or pine over me for a decade if I passed away?
“Are you crying?” Legend asked, a little shocked.
I was crying. Something deep inside told me such a commitment wasn’t part of my fate.
He asked, “Are you crying for the President chasing you? In your journal, you seemed so conflicted about the ‘relationship’.”
