The Song of David(93)

“Tag Taggert is the best fighter in the universe,” he implored. “The best fighter in the universe.”

I don’t know how I ever thought Henry wasn’t a good communicator.





“I NEED YOU to pull over, Mo,” I insisted, my hand on the door handle. I was sitting in the back with Millie, and Henry was in the passenger seat beside Moses. We were on our way home from Las Vegas, and the trip couldn’t have been more miserable if they’d tied me to the roof like Aunt Edna in National Lampoon’s Vacation. I was trapped. I couldn’t disappear again. I was on anti-seizure medication, and I was informed that it was illegal to “operate a motor vehicle for three months in the state of Utah after suffering a seizure.” Some states, like Colorado, never allowed you to drive again. Legalize pot but don’t let someone like me ever drive again. Made no sense to me.

Mo’s eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. He had only spoken to me in grunts and single syllables since our heated conversation at the hospital, and I could feel his anger and frustration battling my own.

“Pull over,” I barked. He could pull over or he could clean up my puke in his back seat.

He ground to a halt, gravel and debris kicking up as his tires dug into the asphalt on the side of the road.

I pushed the door open, climbed out, took several steps, and threw up all over Mo’s rear right tire. He was going to be so pleased. I should have known better. Pain pills always made me sick. Now I was shuddering, braced against the truck, dizzy and weak, and it all just pissed me off. I was a badass. I had worked hard to become one. I was tough, I was powerful, and all I could do was sway and cling, begging the world to hold still so I wouldn’t fall down.

We were north of Cedar City, south of a town called Beaver, which left nothing but open space and endless room for contemplation. The fields dotted with purple flowers on either side of the highway rolled serenely as the mountains looked on like indulgent parents. It was all so tranquil and benign it made me furious. It was such a lie. All of it.

“Do you need to pee, Tag?” Henry called from the interior of the truck. “Does he need to pee, Amelie? Can I pee too?”

Millie climbed out and gingerly felt along the side of the truck, her hands out-stretched until her fingers brushed my back. I heard Henry ask Moses if he could get out too, and Moses asked him to wait for just a minute. I appreciated that. I loved Henry, but I didn’t want an audience. The fact that Millie couldn’t see me was comforting. She was comforting.

She handed me a bottle of water without comment, and I took it gratefully, swishing my mouth and spitting a few times. I felt better and took a few careful breaths, filling my lungs to see if the nausea was gone.

“Better?” she asked softly.

“Yeah.”

“You can lean on me, you know. Rest your head in my lap. It will make the rest of the ride easier if you sleep.”

I had held myself stiffly the first few hours of the trip, keeping distance between us. She hadn’t touched me, and I hadn’t reached for her. There was so much to say, and so far, no chance to say it. Guilt and confusion and sorrow had been warring in me, especially in the last few days. I had had a plan—a shitty, terrible one—but still a plan. But it had been shot to hell, and now I couldn’t see my way forward.

I realized I’d said the last words out loud and turned to look at Millie, whose up-turned face was suddenly close enough to kiss. We hadn’t been this close since the night before my craniotomy, the night when we’d made love. I was such an *. I’d made love to Millie and then I’d run. Guilt sliced through me. Guilt and remorse and desire, and the nausea returned.

“I can’t see my way forward,” I repeated, giving her my back, willing the churning in my gut and the swaying in my head to ease.

“I can’t either,” Millie said softly. “But it hasn’t stopped me yet.”

I couldn’t reply. I couldn’t do anything but breathe and brace myself until my stomach settled. Eventually, Millie and I climbed back in the backseat, Henry took his turn outside the truck, and we resumed our journey.

Millie reached for my hand, and when she found it, she tugged, urging me toward her. I was a big man, and it was a bit of a press, but she cradled my head in her lap and pulled my coat up over my shoulders. I pressed my fists against my eyes like a child, holding back the helpless tears that wanted to fall. I kept them there until I fell asleep to Millie’s hands stroking and soothing, forgiving me, even though I didn’t deserve it.