“Babe, I’ve survived worse than a little concussion.”
She huffs. “You’ve already had one concussion too many. You’ve got to be careful about your head.”
Chuckling, I can’t help pointing out. “I didn’t exactly plan for the building to collapse.”
But it’s too soon for joking, as her disgusted glance suggests. I suppose I was lucky, I only had time to react and do my best to survive. She had to fucking watch me. I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I’ll do better okay?” Or I’ll try. Even inadvertently I never want to hurt her. Another worry hits me. We’ve got Gun, there’s no danger to her now. “You’re staying, aren’t you? Not running off to Kentucky?” Please let her say yes. I don’t want space between us. I can’t let her go.
She sighs. “I meant what I said, Finn. I love you. Maybe it took nearly losing you to show me, and I want to get back to the woman I was. I’ll stay, but you’ll have to be patient. I’m going to try, but it’s going to take time.”
She’ll get there. She might not realise but she’s no longer flinching from my touch. Small steps, in one way, huge in another.
“We’ve all the time in the world,” I tell her. I lift the cup placed within reach of my good hand, and down the life-giving coffee. “You going to be okay while I take care of business?”
Her mood lightens. “Apart from the kitchen which I’m not going near, I spoke to Snatcher earlier. He’s assigned the prospects to me, and we’re going to clean up the place and make it habitable. Brute’s already arranging to pick up new mattresses and couches.” She giggles softly. “I don’t know that Snatcher considered his wisdom of putting a nurse in charge of sanitising.”
I chuckle with her, then her words hit me. “You’ve been downstairs?” My eyes widen.
“Well, you have been asleep for hours. I kept checking in on you.”
I don’t mind her leaving me. I’m pleased as hell she’s confident enough to go down to the clubroom without me.
“So we’re staying here for a while,” I surmise from her comments. I suppose it makes sense, though this old clubhouse isn’t really what I had in mind for starting our new life together.
“Apparently so. Snatcher thinks it just needs a woman’s touch.” She rolls her eyes, and giggles. “Swift told him rather firmly to count her out.”
Swift would, but as for Cat, I think Snatcher’s right. Left to us men, we’d pretend not to notice the squalor around us.
I sit up, realising I’ve no fresh clothes to change into. But I won’t be the only one. I’m still wearing Grinch’s oversized-for-me sweats and t-shirt, I notice as I start to get to my feet.
“Here.” Cat jumps up and brings new crutches to me. “Someone went out first thing and replaced them.”
Someone needs my grateful thanks. It had been hell without them.
Now ambulatory again, I go to the bathroom, piss for what feels like hours, happy there’s no sign of blood, then splash my face with water.
“Hey.” I grin as I return to the bedroom, a thought having hit me. I give her a mock salute. “I’m a prospect, so you’ll be bossing me around. Yes, ma’am, no ma’am and all that.”
“I will, won’t I?” Her face lights up.
I growl. “Make the most of it.”
I’m not looking forward to this, but hey, I agreed. I said I’ll take my punishment and I won’t take that back though the joke isn’t lost on me. Yesterday it was a sniper rifle, today I’ll be armed with a sponge or a duster. But I’m alive, and Cat’s promised to stay with me. What man could ask more than that?
Downstairs the room is full but a quick glance at Cat shows she doesn’t seem uncomfortable. Giving her a task to focus on probably helped with that.
Oh fuck. I hear him before I see him. It’s Drummer, the mother chapter prez, his voice bellowing out even though he’s probably speaking normally. For a second I wonder if I can escape back to the room and plead concussion or something. But knowing I may be many things but I’m no coward, I clump my way down the stairs, the crutches and my uneven gait giving me away immediately.
“It’s a fuckin’ corpse walking!” Someone, I think it’s Blade, the mother chapter’s enforcer calls out.
Drummer swings around to face me and barks a laugh. “What does it take to kill you, Stormy?”
Snatcher answers drily, “Well if two explosions, being beaten half dead, crashing a motorcycle and a fall from a three-storey building didn’t do it, I think we can safely say even Satan doesn’t want him.”
The words make me smirk. Sure, there’s probably some truth in that. Hopefully, though, in six months, even if Satan still doesn’t, his Devils might. I eye Brute and Igor, and start to make my way over to them.
“Where the fuck you going?” Thor stops my progress.
“To join the other prospects.” I shrug.
“Nah. Debrief. That’s why Drummer’s here. He wants you here.”
“Church?”
Thor’s eyes go up and back down again. “The old fuckin’ meeting room’s being used as a storeroom, and the table was moved to our now defunct clubhouse and all that’s left are charred matchsticks. Drummer said we might as well have the meeting here.”
Now I notice men are beginning to move tables aside and arranging the chairs in a circle. Cat’s already in conversation with Gears, who’s waving a piece of paper.
“Hey!” Bolt shouts. “Make sure the jeans you buy have extra room in the crotch area.” He mimics jerking off a cock that’s at least a foot long.
“And no jokey slogans on the shirts,” Piston yells.
“What’s going on?” I must have missed something.
Thor replies, “They’re off to get clothes and necessities for everyone. I told them just to buy out the store, it’s probably easier.”
I notice Cat’s got a gleam in her eyes, and it seems she’s viewing the forthcoming shopping trip with pleasure. I raise my chin as the four disappear out of the door, suppressing my momentary panic that she’ll be out of my sight. I trust my fellow prospects to watch over her. All three proved their worth last night.
“Gears okay?”
The VP nods. “Yeah. Like you, he’s using a stick.” His face scrunches up but there’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “Think we should rewrite the regulations and demand prospects have two working legs.”
My finger rises automatically. He barks a laugh.
Once the prospects and my woman have disappeared, Drummer bangs a glass loudly on the bar then glares at it as though it’s the poor inanimate object’s fault it’s not a gavel. “Sit the fuck down. Let’s have church.”
I’d prefer not to draw to myself, but the clack of the crutches is loud, and my slow progress and necessity of arranging of my cast covered leg means I’m the last to sit down.
Drummer’s, “Nice of you to join us,” causes a burst of snorts and laughter. It’s a required release of tension after the events of the day before.
In the absence of a gavel or table to bang it on, Drummer stamps his foot for silence.