Page 174 of Bitter’s Sweet

“You’re making it club business by doing it in the damn garage.”

Hyde closes his eyes, probably wondering why presidency did not come with better health insurance.

I should go upstairs.

I know that.

Instead, I hear myself ask, “Then what was I?”

Mercy whispers, “Sweet.”

I look at Bitter.

Only Bitter.

His face changes for half a second.

Pain.

Real pain.

Then gone.

I know what he is about to do before he opens his mouth.

I still cannot stop hoping I am wrong.

“A woman I fucked.”

The garage becomes very quiet.

Not biker quiet.

Church quiet.

Funeral quiet.

The kind where everybody knows something just died.

My fingers go cold.

Bitter keeps going because apparently he has decided one bullet is not enough.

“You wanted it to mean more.”

Every person in the room disappears.

There is only him, me, and the lie.

I stare at him.

He stares back.

I know him well enough now to see what nobody who met him five minutes ago would see.

He is miserable.

Good.