I watched Gauge look my thin, weak, broken body over before looking away, embarrassed. I was glad that he didn’t say anything about it.
Gauge grabbed my jeans from the chair in the corner and threw them over to me. “I’ll meet you out there. I don’t need to see your junk,” he grumbled, and left the room.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I shoved my feet through my jeans before pulling them on. The material felt rough, almost like splinters of glass being dragged against my skin. My flesh had become overly sensitive to everything. But it also felt good to be wearing clothes again. The familiar scent of denim, and soon leather when I put my cut back on was like a dream come true. It was damn sight better than the smell of burn cream and sanitizer, that was for sure.
I turned, realizing that Casa was still there painting whatever it was on to my wall. “You stayin’ to see my junk?”
He snickered but didn’t say anything, continuing to paint, and I shook my head and grabbed a T-shirt from the floor before pulling it over my head. It was cotton and should have felt soft, but again it felt rough as jagged ice, and I winced. I refused to take it off though. Sooner or later I had to get used to this. Sooner or later the pain would subside and this would just be the new norm.
I shoved my feet into my boots—the soles of my feet where nails had been driven into them were only a little painful to walk on—and then I turned to leave. I threw a backward glance to Casa, scowling as his hands moved quickly. He was lost in whatever world he went to when he painted, cigarette ash falling at his feet as he worked his magic.
“Don’t fuck around with any of my shit,” I grumbled, and left the room. “And that better not be a picture of your grandma’s pussy. Can’t be jacking off to that every night.”
He laughed again but continued to ignore me, and I stepped out into the hallway, slamming my door shut behind me. This wasn’t my actual home, just my room at the clubhouse, and I suddenly realized that I hadn’t been home in over a year. My worries washed around me. Thoughts of bills, of cleaning and cooking, of living on my own again. It was strange how you got used to things. My pulse spiked at the thought of being in my own home, away from my brothers or Belle.
Just alone.
Like I’d always wanted.
Yet now the thought made me uncomfortable.
I scowled and told myself to get my shit together.
Heading down into the main clubhouse, I took my steps slowly at first, letting the scent of stale beer and motor oil invade my senses. As I turned the corner a huge round of applause broke out, and I automatically reached for the gun at the waistband of my jeans, but of course it wasn’t there.
And thank fuck too, because it took me a moment to get my bearings, but once I did I realized it was just my brothers, my friends—my family—welcoming me back into their fold. Again.
Shooter stepped forward and handed me a bottle of water. “Sorry it’s not something a little stronger, but your nurse was pretty adamant on the no alcohol and drugs front for a while, and after the shit show last time, I’m inclined to do as I’m told when it comes from her.” He smirked and I twisted off the cap and took a huge swallow of water before lifting my now half empty bottle into the air.
“Cheers, fuckers!” I called, and everyone lifted their glasses in the air and cheered.
Can’t lie. It felt good. Better than the first time around, after leaving the hospital. I pulled my cigarettes from my jeans and lit one, inhaling the smoke deep into my lungs and giving a small cough.
Shooter patted me gently on the shoulder. “Got something else to show you.”
“A surprise? For me?” I batted my eyelashes at him. “You shouldn’t have.”
He chuckled and started walking. “Come on, asshole.”
I followed him outside, noting that Gauge, Rider, and Dom were also following us. I passed Lola and a couple of the other sweetbutts and she smiled almost shyly. I swallowed and ignored her, following Shooter outside and around the side of the building.
“So, your nurse said—”
“Can we stop calling her that?” I grumbled.
“Your nurse?” Shooter said, looking over his shoulder.
“Yeah.” I shrugged, wincing as the cotton rubbed against my sensitive skin. “She’s just Belle or the nurse. Not my nurse, you got me?”
Shooter frowned but nodded. “Anyway, so Belle said we had to start helping you build up your muscle again, but slowly.”
“Right, because my granny is stronger than you now, and she’s six feet under,” Rider laughed from behind.
I glared. “I can still aim a gun, asshole.”
Rider smirked and Dom patted him on the shoulder. “Better watch him, you know how he gets with his temper.”
“Can we focus for five minutes?” Shooter snapped as we turned the final corner that led to the back of the clubhouse.
It was normally overgrown with weeds and crap piled up that the club didn’t use anymore. Even the little kids didn’t play back there because who knew how many snakes were hiding in the long grass. But that was all gone now. The grass was cut short, right up to the perimeter, and gym equipment was set out. A large canopy was overhead, keeping it all in the shade, and even a water fountain had been installed to the back of the clubhouse.
Benches, bars, weights—it was all there, and as I let my gaze look over it all I noticed that there was a running track laid out too, which seemed to go around to the way we had just come and came back on itself from the other side.
I didn’t know what to say.
I just stood there and stared at it.
Grateful that I had these men to call a family but equally sad that Echo wasn’t there to recuperate with me. He’d been my gym buddy for years, but now he was gone and he’d never train with me again.
Gauge walked past me and pointed to a couple of wooden benches, like the ones you saw in parks. “Got our fallen brothers’ names carved here so that they’re always with us training in spirit,” he said, pointing to the gold plaques fitted across the tops of the benches. “And some trees and shit, in their memory too.” He pointed to the trees growing by the fence.
“Are they fruit trees?” I asked, my words sticking in my throat.
Gauge turned and smiled, a big, shit-eating smile. He didn’t smile often, so when he did you knew it was because of something good. “Yeah, that was Laney’s idea, actually. She said we could pick the fruit when it grew and they would feed the club’s kids and stuff.” He shrugged. “Like, our brothers were still providing for our families, even in their death.”
I looked over at Shooter, who was smiling, a cigarette hanging between his lips. “Something fucking poetic, ain’t it?”
I threw my cigarette to the ground and walked forward slowly, my eyes taking in everything the men had done for me. Everything they had given me and continued to give me. That was what family was: providing for, protecting, loving, helping, respecting. Family gave and took in equal measures, and you all loved infinitely.
I stared down at the benches with our fallen brothers’ names imprinted onto small gold plaques.
Fester.
Gash.
Dice
Nasty.
48.
Axle.
Echo.
Those men lived in our hearts. In the club’s hearts. They’d sacrificed their lives for us at one time or another. They were our fallen heroes. All of our names would go onto these benches one day. I wondered when the day would be for me to follow in their footsteps.