Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nash
A squeak, high-pitched and grating, starts me awake. I force my eyes open, and it feels like my whole body is tingling as I come back to alertness from my doped-up nap. It’s annoying as hell feeling like every waking moment I’m wading through a fog as thick as soup, but it’s better than the alternative — any time these meds start to wear off, I’m reminded that having bullet holes in your body hurts like a bitch.
“Bear? You awake, hon?”
It’s Samantha, sounding as quiet and gentle as I’ve ever heard her. That alone is jarring enough to bring me back to alertness. Gunney’s by her side.
“Hey. Yeah, I’m up. As much as I can be, considering how damn high I am.”
“If you’re sick of their drugs, there’s a dispensary that opened up down the street. Sam and I could pick you up something,” Gunney says, grinning. “Course, we’d have to call you a fucking hippie for a while.”
“I’ll be fine. The drugs aren’t so bad. Fuck, if I were still a dumb kid, I’d be enjoying the hell out of ‘em,” I shake my head. “But now, I just think about the problems they give me; that they dehydrate me enough that it feels like there’s sandpaper behind my eyelids. Not to mention the fact that it blocks me up like none other.”
“I got some of that fiber drink stuff and some laxatives at home, I can hook you up once you’re out of here,” Gunney says.
“You got that stuff just laying around?”
“Course I do. I’m in my fifties, brother. It takes a lot of work and some supplemental help to look as good as I do,” he says.
Samantha rolls her eyes. “Please. I had to let out the pants on your dress uniform earlier.”
“It’s not my fault that my wife’s cooking blows away anything you can find in an MRE,” Gunney says.
“An MRE? Is that a compliment? Am I supposed to feel proud that my cooking’s better than something you get from a tinfoil sack that you just have to add water to?”
“For fucks sake, Sam, I took a bullet just the other day. Lay off.”
“That’s right. You’re wounded. Remember that. It wouldn’t take much effort for me to shove this wheelchair of yours down the stairs and finish the job. And I doubt you have the strength to fight it,” Samantha says.
“I love you too, darling,” he says.
She leans in and kisses his forehead. “And I love you,” she says. Then she turns to me. “We wanted to be the first to come in and tell you the news.”
“News? Is she here?” I sit up, shaking my head clear. I’m suddenly aware that I must look like shit — bandages and tubes everywhere, and I’m probably paler than an albino in a fucking snowstorm. Normally, I don’t give a damn, but I don’t want my daughter’s first memory of meeting me to be seeing me looking like I’ve got one foot in the grave.
“Good news,” Sam says.
“The judge made a decision in your case, brother,” Gunney says.
“And?”
“It’s the best that we could’ve hoped for,” he says. “The judge wasn’t too enthusiastic after finding out that Abigail’s father was currently laid up after taking multiple gunshots in a firefight with police and a rival club.”
My stomach sinks.
“You’re not building up my confidence here, Gunney. Give it to me straight,” I say.
“Bear, hun, he’s just trying to set your expectations right,” Sam says. “Gunney spoke up for you, and every one of the boys was there, either in their old uniforms or in fucking suits and ties.”
“Seriously? Even Ozzy?”
“Even Ozzy,” she says.
I can’t even picture that. I’ve seen old photos of Gunney in uniform, and some of the other guys as well, but that all seems like it’s someone else’s life. In my mind, my brothers wear cuts; it’s part of who we are, part of what unites us, and the idea of them wearing something else seems almost alien. But even though I can’t picture it, I’m humbled by it.
“It felt good standing up for you, brother. You’ve been through a lot, and you’ve always been here for the club, it’s the least we could do,” Gunney says, clapping my arm gently. “Once you’re on your feet, you’re going to meet your daughter. Supervised, of course. It’s going to be supervised for a while. But, you keep out of trouble and the judge is going to revisit your case. And then you’ll be talking to him about full custody.”
I stare at Gunney and Sam — my oldest friends, my closest family. None of this feels real — there’s so much of my life that I’ve written off, things that I accepted I just never would really have, because of the life I live, the choices I’ve made. I probably don’t deserve to be a father.
But that’s all changed.
“Fucking hell, I’m going to be a dad,” I say, and it feels so good I have to say it again. “I’m going to be a dad.”
“Damn right you are,” Gunney says.
I’ll never get tired of it. I repeat it again because, there’s a part of me that worries that, if I don’t hold onto those words, I might lose what I’ve fought so hard to gain.
“Don’t fuck it up,” Sam says. “Or there will be hell to pay.”
“Not everybody gets this kind of chance. So if you act like a dickhead, I won’t get in the way of Sam here when she comes to kick your ass,” Gunney says.
“As if you could,” she says.
“I won’t screw this up. My little Abigail’s worth more than anything else in my world,” I say. Even through the painkiller haze, my face hurts from smiling. Until a thought hits me. “Where’s Roxy?”
The two of them share a look and I have a feeling I’m going to hate whatever comes out of their mouths — I’d hoped that, despite what she’d said, that she might have changed her mind. I’d hoped to have her by my side while I feel like I’m on top of the world.
“She didn’t take it well,” Sam says. “She didn’t say anything — and believe me, during the hearing she was all smiles — but it was hard for her to be there. It reminded of her dad.”
“After the case, Roxy and that friend of hers, Maria, went to go help her mother sort things out. Both of them looked about ready to lose it, there were tears in their eyes” Gunney adds. “That’s a mess that’s going to take a long time get a handle on.”
I settle back, quiet. As great as I feel to finally see an end to this hell that I’ve been living through for weeks, I can’t shake the need to be near my firecracker. The thought of her suffering strikes me deep. I can’t let her go through this alone, even though she’s made it damn clear she wants to do this on her own.
I owe her too much. My daughter is going to be in my life, and it’s all thanks to her.
“Look, forget about anything else right now,” Gunney adds. “You need to focus on getting back on your feet and back on your bike. You’re no good to anybody if you’re stuck in bed.”
“You’re right,” I force myself to admit. I share a hug with Gunney and Sam and thank them a thousand times over for all their help.
When they leave, time slows to a crawl.
And then from that crawl, it freezes.
Sleep is hard to come by.
Even sitting still is difficult. Things that shouldn’t itch, itch. Things that shouldn’t bother me, drive me up the wall. I medicate myself more than I should, all to make the time pass faster. This is what I’ve been fighting for, and the end is so close, but victory feels hollow because one of the two people in the world who means more to me than anything, who’s proved herself time and again, is out there suffering through hell and I can’t do a damn thing about it.
I should be there by her side. She shouldn’t suffer alone.
And I swear to myself, when I get out of here, she won’t. She’s worth it, and she deserves everything I can give her.
I can see it clearly now: I love her.