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Chapter Twenty-Three
Nick
My opinion was all that mattered. If someone didn’t share my views, they were wrong, because I was always right. Being exposed to life-changing events seemed to be the only thing to ever get me to look at life – or myself – with honest eyes.
Pee Bee and I stood in the shop, solving the world’s problems, one at a time. The conversation soon included talk of Peyton, and to my surprise, he didn’t accept it well.
“How the fuck am I supposed to answer that? I’m not you, and you sure as fuck aren’t me. It really don’t matter what I say, you’re gonna come back with some bullshit and tell me I’m either dumb or crazy. When we’re done talkin’, you’ll be right. Because you’re always fuckin’ right,” Pee Bee said.
I kicked a small stone across the floor of the shop, then met his gaze. “I asked you. I want your opinion.”
“I think you’re reacting to what Whip and them did. You know, in Pete’s bar.”
I shook my head. “I think it’s more than that.”
He shrugged. “Like I said. I give an opinion. You shoot it down.”
“I didn’t shoot it down.”
He picked at his fingernails for a few long seconds, then cleared his throat. “All I know is this. Been knowin’ you for damned near ten years. You ain’t never had – and you ain’t never wanted – an Ol’ Lady--”
“I didn’t say I wanted--”
He leaned forward and shot me a glare. “Motherfucker, let me finish.”
I took a drink of my beer and nodded. “Fine. Finish.”
“Where was I?” His eyes fell to the floor. He rubbed his beard for a minute, then looked up. “Oh, yeah. So, you always say how you don’t need an Ol’ Lady. Fellas with Ol’ Ladies aren’t devoted to the club. When Stretch had that Ol’ Lady from El Cajon, you told me his devotion to the club went to shit, and he needed to get rid of her. Remember that?”
I nodded. “I do, but--”
He raised his hand in the air. “Motherfucker, I ain’t done.”
I sighed. “Continue.”
“Okay. So you don’t like Ol’ Ladies, and you bang bitches like the rest of us. Hit ‘em and quit ‘em. Some cute little bitch with an attitude comes along, and you start beatin’ that little pussy of hers up. Well, here’s my point.” He crossed his arms and shot me a glare. “All you was doin’ was fuckin’ her. That’s it. Never would have amounted to shit. When she was done with that article, I guarantee you that you’d have kicked her to the side.”
“What’s your fucking point, Peeb?” I tossed my empty bottle toward the trash can, missed, and it crashed to the floor and shattered.
He nodded his head toward the trash can. “See what I mean? There you go, tryin’ to intimidate me.”
“What?”
“Bustin’ bottles and shit. Subliminal stuff. You ain’t tryin’ to hear what I got to say.”
I shook my head and turned toward the fridge. “I missed the trash can. And your little speech made no sense.”
“I was tryin’ to be nice.”
“Since when are you nice?”
“Fine, motherfucker. How about this,” he snapped back. “Until Whip and them fellas raped her, you didn’t give a fuck about her or how she felt. All you cared about was dippin’ your dick. Then, they raped her. All of a sudden, you feel like you gotta take care of her.”
I opened my beer and stared back at him. “Not true.”
“True as fuck.”
I shook my head. “She’s been different since she came to the shop on the first day.”
