Gunny walked into the garage and angled towards the office, planning on getting a cup of coffee before he started back to work on the custom rebuild he was doing for one of the Chicago members. As he moved through the building, he scanned the bays, noting they’d all been straightened and cleaned recently. He let his gaze travel beyond and his feet came to an abrupt stop. Jock was in the bay next to his, a bagger up on the lift. What the hell? The man seemed comfortable in the garage, looking over his shoulder as he chatted with one of the Rebel OGs, Tugboat, who was supervising a prospect’s oil change. Coffee first, then questions.
Retrieving his tools, he glanced up from the workbench when Jock called his name. “Hey.” Gunny picked up his coffee and opened another toolbox. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jock rise to his feet from the low stool he had pulled up next to the lift.
“Is this okay?” Surprised by the question, Gunny turned to see Jock standing with shoulders slumped, fingers nervously turning a wrench this way and that. “Me being here, I mean.”
“Yeah?” Shrugging, Gunny studied the man carefully. His face was drawn, features taut, and he didn’t look rested. “How’s it goin’? You doin’ okay over at Domino’s?” It had only been a couple of weeks since Jock had been over for dinner, and he hadn’t looked like this then. “Brother, everything all right?”
Jock’s lip curled, his body’s instinctive attempt at control of his expression. Licking his lips, he nodded, turning half away. “Mighta missed a couple of appointments.” Without looking around, Gunny quickly put up the few tools he’d laid out. Picking up his coffee, he waited, and Jock finally asked, “What?”
“Put your shit up. Let’s go.” Jock twisted to face Gunny, surprise on his face. “You know I’m not a patient man. I’m also not one to bullshit. You look like hell, brother. Tellin’ me you missed an appointment would be bad, but you said a couple, which probably means four or five if I were to start digging. So, put up your shit, and let’s go.”
Jock swallowed hard but didn’t move. Gunny saw Tugboat take a step closer to his back. “Gunny won’t steer you wrong, Jock. He’s throwin’ you a lifeline, man. Don’t turn your nose up at it.” Jock’s neck twisted and he turned to look at Tug, then back at Gunny, and he nodded. With jerky movements, he began gathering and dumping the tools into the boxes lining the bay. Gunny texted Sharon as he waited, smiling down at his phone when she responded in the affirmative immediately. Sipping his coffee, he noticed more than one member glancing their way, and even those small attentions seemed to ratchet up Jock’s anxiety. He was thankful when it was all done, and without a word, he turned and led Jock outside, thumbing the button on his keychain to unlock his truck.
They’d been driving for a few minutes when Jock shifted in his seat, clearing his throat before asking, “How long does it take?”
“To get to the docs? Another ten minutes, brother. Sharon’s called ahead. He’s set, you’re golden.”
“No.” Barked and loud, the edges of that single word were rough with anger, and Gunny glanced over to see Jock staring out the windshield. “I mean how long does it take before I stop fucking up everything? How long? How long before everything’s back to normal, brother?”
Lie, and have Jock know he can’t trust me to be straight with him? Or tell the truth, and wonder every day if it’s the right decision? Gunny knew what he would have wanted, back when he was sitting where Jock was now, so he gave it to him straight, the unvarnished truth of how different their lives were from what came before.
“Never. Things will never be back to normal.” Jock sucked in air, but Gunny pushed through, wanting to get all his words out before Jock interrupted him.
“What was normal before doesn’t make sense now, not after what we’ve seen and done. After what we’ve survived. It’s the surviving that does it, you know? Twists things so all the innocence is stripped away. It never goes back to what was normal. But if you work it, you can find a new normal that’s just as good.” He turned the wheel of the truck, steering the vehicle into the office parking lot. “Look at me. Ten years ago I was fucked up. So fucked up I was chasing ghosts through the forest. Strapped all the time, it’s a fuckin’ wonder I didn’t shoot someone just for breathing some days. So fucked up, brother, if it weren’t for people like Tug and Deke, like Mason and PBJ, I wouldn’t be here talking in your ear. But now, I’m good. Got kid number three on the way, a boy, a namesake. Something to live for. Every breath is precious these days, and this, brother? This is my new normal. We just gotta help you find how to get to yours.”
“It feels like I can’t catch a break, brother. I get good, and then it all goes fuckin’ sideways on me.” Jock struggled with his seatbelt for a moment, the clasp defeating his fumbling fingers. “I just want…one fuckin’ day where I feel like I did before.”
“Ain’t gonna get it.” Gunny knew his words sounded bleak, because they were. But he had a longer view of things, a different perspective he could use to help shore up Jock’s defenses. “What you will get is better every fuckin’ day until you’re no longer counting them. Better enough to know it was worth it. But whatever you’re looking for in the past, you won’t find it. Gotta move forward, soldier.” He reached over and thumbed the button, releasing Jock’s seatbelt. “Thing is, you aren’t alone. I’m here. Tug’s here. You got friends, brother.”
“You think that can be enough?” Jock opened his door, slipping one foot out to rest on the ground. “Think I can get where you are?”
“I didn’t do it alone. You gotta remember that, Jock. And yeah—” Gunny stood, closed his door and walked around the hood of the truck, meeting Jock by the bumper. “—I know you can get here, brother. I know you can.”
The sky had darkened when they walked back to the truck, shading towards the deepest indigo along the horizon. Jock’s movements were freer, his arms swinging naturally instead of stiff at his sides. Gunny felt good about the efforts of the day, and Sharon was insisting Jock join them for dinner. In the truck, Gunny waited a moment, flicking the radio seek button several times until he found a channel he liked. A commercial for dog food came on and prodded his memory, making him laugh.
“What?” Jock asked, resting one elbow on the windowsill.
“You. You’re a miracle man, you know that?” Gunny pulled out of the lot, angling across the lanes to get to the turn that would take them home fastest. “Called PBJ a couple weeks ago, asked for the breeder’s name where you got Tank. Called the breeder while I was waiting in the lobby just now. Wanna tell me what you think she had to say?”
Jock chuckled, the humor-filled sound relaxed. Amazing what a single afternoon can do, Gunny thought, then focused in on Jock’s words. “If you were calling about pups, she probably told you she had a litter in the oven, due in about six weeks.”
“Yeah, she said two pups were already spoken for. I’d led by sayin’ I knew Tank’s owner, and she gave me the joyous news that you were shoppin’ for pups. Tell me, what in the hell are you gonna do with three mastiff dogs?” Gunny laughed, shaking his head.
“I’m not.” Gunny glanced at him, seeing lines of tension back in his shoulders, lifting them by an inch. Shit. “Those pups are for you and Sharon. Cade and Kitten, mostly, but…” Jock took a deep breath. “Sharon needs a mastiff, man. These’ll be full brother or sister to Tank, and the breeder is known for her dogs’ dispositions. It won’t make up for takin’ your dog, but it’s the best I can do.”
“The fuck? You didn’t take my dog. Tank’s yours, man.” The price the breeder quoted for a puppy was reasonable, given the quality, but the idea of Jock dropping that much money on a gift for him made Gunny uneasy. “Jesus. I called because Sharon wants a puppy. She was hoping to get one before the baby came, but the timing isn’t going to work out right. Our boy is due just after Thanksgiving, and she said the pups won’t be ready to go home until Christmas.” He turned into his driveway, pulling up beside several bikes, recognizing three of them as belonging to Mason, Deke, and PBJ. “You can’t…that’s too much, man. I can buy my own dog.”
Jock didn’t move to exit the truck, and Gunny turned to meet his stare. They sat like that for a moment. Then Jock lifted his chin. “What price is my life? What price can you put on that, Gunny? We’re friends. I feel that in my gut. You do shit like you did today for me without even thinking. Because that’s who you are. That’s what we are. I owe you more than I can even put words to, man. I owe you, not money, but my existence. You and Tank. I can’t give him up, but I can gift you and your wife, your kids. I can gift you with something that might someday match in worth.” Jock nodded towards the house, and Gunny turned to see the door open, Sharon standing in the light, rounded belly telling everyone how blessed he was. “She’s amazing, and I hope to God I find one like her someday. Two pups? Doesn’t put a dent in my debt—” Gunny opened his mouth to speak, but Jock shook his head. “I owe you. Pups will be a gift from me, to you and yours.” The corner of Jock’s lips quirked sideways, and he finished speaking as he got out of the truck, the slamming of his door putting a stop to any comebacks Gunny might have had. “I’m buyin’ ‘em. Done deal.”
***
“Almost there, baby.” Gunny reseated his grip on Sharon’s leg, focusing in on her face as she breathed quickly, panting. “You’re doing great.”
The labor had progressed faster than he expected, but Bulldog didn’t seem concerned, and Sharon was just glad things were more normal this time around. The contractions had woken her in the middle of the night, but there’d been plenty of time to call Mercy and Deke over to watch the girls. Once at the hospital, Gunny hadn’t been surprised when the nurses started whispering about the bikers in the waiting room, because he knew Deke would have started calling as soon as Gunny and Sharon drove away.
“Okay, Sharon. Another big one coming up.” Bulldog’s voice came from near Gunny’s hip, but he didn’t turn to look. As long as he didn’t see the man with his face all up in Sharon’s pussy, he didn’t have to kill him. “Monitor’s showing this is a good one. I want a big, big push.”
Sharon nodded, focused on Gunny’s face as she echoed the doctor’s countdown. “Three, two, one…” Her face twisted, fingers digging into his arm as she pulled herself upright. Gunny kept her leg up and steady, holding her open. The epidural meant she didn’t have any pain, but it also meant she needed some assistance with the mechanical aspects of delivery.
“Doin’ great, baby. So good. Such a good momma.” She cut her eyes down to the doc, then back to him. “God, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.” He wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of his hand, threading his fingers through her tangled hair. “My Rose of Sharon.”
“Don’t.” She grunted the words, still pushing hard. “Say the eff-word.”
Bulldog called a nurse over, telling Sharon, “Hold off a minute. Stop pushing, okay? He’s crowning now.”
“Baby, little Lane’s preoccupied with getting his head smushed. He’s not listening to me saying fuck.”
“Don’t call him that. His name’s going to be Jason.” This had been the ongoing disagreement in their house, starting as a joke, but then became something she had latched onto. Gunny smirked. Not happenin’, darlin’.
“Okay, Sharon. Almost ready for another big push, okay?” The nurse stepped up on Sharon’s other side, gaze flickering across the equipment with casual competence. “Doctor will tell you when.”
“Baby, I ain’t naming my only son after your brother.” Gunny leaned in, pulling back when she snapped her teeth at him. “Shit, Sharon. What do we tell the girls? No biting.”
“Jason.” She took a deep breath. “Oh my God, I feel something. I think it’s wearing off.” Her panicked eyes glanced all around the room. “I feel something. Get him out. It’s wearing off. I know it is.”
“No, it’s not, Sharon,” Bulldog reassured her, as he had a dozen times in the last hour. “You’re doing great.”
“Lane, baby.” He shifted until Sharon’s knee was pressed to his side and rested his hand on her belly. “That’s my boy in you. I want him to have my name.”
“Okay, Momma. Give me another big push. Big, big push, okay?” Bulldog spoke as if they weren’t having a serious conversation right over his head. Sharon locked gazes with Gunny again and mouthed the words as Bulldog counted down, “Three, two, one.”
Eyes squeezed closed, she tucked her chin towards her chest, and strained, face red. Sweat trickled down her temples and Gunny stroked the side of her face, other hand on her belly, feeling the muscles contracting strongly. He felt a shift when the baby moved, Sharon’s stomach jerking slightly as Bulldog told her, “His head’s out. Give me a minute to adjust for his shoulders. Gunny, brother, you got a linebacker here.”
Dragging in huge breaths, Sharon’s head sagged backwards against the pillow. Eyes closed, she whispered something Gunny didn’t catch, so he leaned forwards. “What, baby?”
“Joshua.” Gunny froze, trying not to smile at what Sharon was saying. “Joshua Wade. Yours and Ace’s middle names.” She lifted her head and glared at him. “I. Feel. Something.”
“Okay, Sharon. Finish line’s in sight. Another push, not as big.” The nurse had returned to stand beside Bulldog, a towel in her gloved hands.
“I feel something, too.” Gunny stared at her. “Love you, my Rose of Sharon.” She held his gaze this time through the push, and they were still staring into each other’s eyes when the sound of a baby’s first hiccupping cries filled the room.
***
“Gunny, can you get the door?” Sharon’s voice filtered through the Christmas music she had playing. She was upstairs, and he knew that, which meant when the doorbell rang and the dogs barked, he was already on his way towards the door.
Rolling his eyes, he responded, “Sure thing, baby. Soon as I finish this movie.” He was grinning up when her head popped into view, eyebrows drawn nearly to her hairline snapping down into a fierce frown as she took in his expression. She mouthed the word, “Asshole,” to him and he laughed. “Sharon, don’t call your babies’ daddy an asshole.”
“Honey, don’t say the A-word in front of the kids.” Swinging her hand out, she indicated Cade and Kitten playing on the floor, and Josh in his portable crib set-up nearby. Shaking her head, she disappeared to finish getting ready. They were hosting a bunch of the Fort Wayne Rebels for a party tonight, all the couples with kids would be arriving early and then heading home in time for Santa to come visiting at their houses.
“You started it,” he called up the stairs as he opened the door. “Hey, brother,” he greeted PBJ who had his arms folded awkwardly around a box. Something solid hit Gunny’s thighs and he looked down to see Tank actively wiping slobber on his jeans. “Hey, big guy.” He leaned down in time to catch a swipe of Tank’s massive tongue across his face, standing up laughing as he wiped with one hand. “Jesus, asshole.”
“The A-word,” Sharon said from behind him, and he looked to see both PBJ and Jock grinning. “Don’t say it.” She leaned around Gunny and ruffled Tank’s ears, capturing the dog’s face in both hands and bending to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Who’s a good dog?”
“Y’all come in,” Gunny said, shuffling Sharon and the dog to one side. A moment later, Tank abandoned her as Cade caught sight of him, her excited cries of “Tank, Tank,” taking precedence. “Whatcha got there, PBJ?”
“Just carryin’ ‘em for Jock.” PBJ turned, shoving the box into Jock’s arms. “Cade, what about your Unka Pee? Got a little love left for me?” Jock stepped inside, and Gunny closed the door, reaching out to pull Sharon close to his side. He expected waterworks from her, not just because she was only three weeks past giving birth to their son, but because of what Jock had in the box. They’d worked this out between them, keeping it a secret from Sharon after Gunny had let her down easy that the breeder wouldn’t have puppies until after Josh was born. “Kitten,” PBJ called, laughter rising from both girls at whatever he was doing, “Gimme some belly.” Giggles competed with the sound of wet raspberries in the background as Jock stared down at Sharon.
Gunny glanced behind him and froze. Tank was actively shoving a kitchen chair across the floor, angling it towards Josh’s crib. There was no way the little fold up piece of furniture would support the dog’s weight, but just as he was about to open his mouth to scold the dog, Tank got the chair in place and put his front feet on the seat, leaning on the side of the crib to get his head down to where Josh lay sleeping. Even from here Gunny could see the dog’s ribs rise and fall with a sigh. Another moment and Tank lifted his head and looked across the room, clambering down from the chair to fall with a groan beside Cade.
“What’s in the box? You didn’t get the girls a gift, did you? Having you here is all the gift they need. Cade misses you so.” Sharon looped one arm around Gunny’s waist, slipping a finger into one of his belt loops. “I’m so glad you could come tonight.”
“I got…it’s for the girls, and Josh. But…” Jock’s voice trailed off and he shifted the box, a sliding sound coming from inside followed by the softest whimper. “It’s mostly for you, Sharon.”
Her head tipped to the side, pressing into Gunny’s ribs. “Me?”
Gunny glanced across the room again. PBJ was having a semiserious conversation with Kitten, passing a toy back and forth between them. She was their giving child, always handing over whatever she had in an effort to make someone smile. Like her mother, she found strays of all kinds and took them in, whether it was a broken toy or a lost kid in the mall. Her goal in life seemed to be to make things better. Cade was their thinker. She would study things and people in a way that made you believe even though she was not quite three, she was marking what was said and done. She loved puzzles, too. Sharon said she was a lot like her daddy, and Gunny grinned. Right now, she was sprawled out across Tank’s back, mouth to his ear, whispering her thousand secrets of the day.
Jock hefted the box again. “Can I sit this down? It’ll be easier to show you.” Sharon nodded and stepped back, Gunny moving with her to give Jock ample room. Jock stared down at the box as he set it on the floor, eyes fixed on the flaps held in place by his fingers. “When I got the letter from my wi—my ex-wife, I was pissed, so pissed. We went out on patrol that night, and all I could think of was a hundred versions of ‘how dare she.’ She’d taken something I wanted more than life, and torn it away.” His gaze flickered up then down, too fast to have registered anything other than Sharon’s sadness. “I knew she was carrying a boy. My son. We had picked out names and everything, video chatted during the ultrasound so I could see him. I couldn’t be there, but she was strong, and it was all going to be okay. That’s what I’d held tight to. Then she tore it all away. ‘Not your child’ and ‘sorry’ in her letter kept running through my head. We’re on patrol, and all I can think of is her and how to fix it. How to fix it and get her back, get my family back.”
He looked at Gunny, who had heard most of this story before. Most, but not all, not the important parts. “You know how it is. You need to be focused. Gotta be on point, all the time. I wasn’t on point. My entire world had slid sideways, and I wasn’t on point. Then the world blew up around me, and people died.” Tears welled in Jock’s unblinking eyes; this was a confession he felt he had to make. “It’s taken me a long, long time to figure out they didn’t die because of me. I wasn’t in the lead, wasn’t even on the side the attack came from. But I believed if I’d just been paying attention, I could have saved everyone.” He swallowed hard as Gunny reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly. “It wasn’t my fault.” Intended as a statement, still his voice rose on the last word, compelling Gunny to answer him.
“No, brother. It wasn’t your fault.”
A scratching sound came from the box, and Jock looked down, swiping a forearm across his face. “I got back and found out Tank was gone, too. But, he wasn’t. He was here, waiting on me.” Jock breathed deeply, shoulders rising and falling with the motion. “He was here, and he was paying attention. Your world started sliding sideways, but he caught you.”
Sharon answered this time, and that was right, because it had happened to her. “Yeah, he did. He’s a good dog.”
“He is a good dog.” Jock opened the top of the box to reveal two dark lumps nestled into the blanket covering the bottom. “A really good dog. These are his brothers.” Looking up at Sharon, Jock told her, “I got them for you. They’re not replacements for Tank, but…I think you need them.”
***
Jock
He leaned his shoulders against the wall, watching with a smile as Gunny’s terrier rolled to his back, growling playfully at the puppy who was trying to scale his side. The mastiff pup weighed nearly as much as Rocky did, but that wasn’t dissuading the terrier from establishing who was the dominant one. For now, at least.
Sharon was perched on Gunny’s lap, talking animatedly as she leaned far over so she could pick up her water from beside the chair they were in. Gunny’s big hand held her secure, wrapping around the side of her waist. No way would he let her fall, and she knew it, trusting him to keep her safe. The woman she was talking to, Bex, was married to one of the Rebels. He and Brute had chased up some acquaintances in common, running through deployments and barracks-mates, laughing at how some things never changed.
He sighed. This was a good life, one he could get used to. Mason looked up from across the room, his sleeping daughter in his arms. Their gazes caught and Mason lifted his chin while Jock nodded. They’d had a fruitful conversation earlier about Jock wanting to join the Rebels. This whole group felt right; it was more a family than anything else, at least from what he could see. From some of the stories told at the bar when the women weren’t near, he knew it was more, too. But this was what he needed most of all.
Light laughter came tripping from the kitchen, and he turned to watch several of the women making their way back into the living room carrying drinks in their hands. One by one they broke away from the gaggle, going to sit next to kids or men. One woman continued on, aiming directly to where he stood. Jock looked to his left and right, trying to decide where she belonged, but he’d picked this spot to stand because it was slightly isolated.
“Hey,” she said, turning to lean against the wall next to him. She held out a beer by the neck, an unmistakable offer. “I’m Silly.”
“You are?” He reached out and took it, trying to remember how to flirt, because she’d made the first move and clearly telegraphed her interest. “How silly are you?”
Dark eyes dancing, she smiled up at him, pushing her light purple hair away from her face. Flicking a fingertip directly between her breasts, pulling his attention to her chest, she laughed as she said, “No, silly. I’m Silly.” Tipping her head to the side, she pulled that fingertip up to her throat, to her chin, and then positioned it on her nose. His eyes followed the movement, and he focused on her face when she clarified things. “As in, that’s my name.”
“Oh.” Stupidest response in my life. “I like silly things.” Only slightly better, Jesus. “I’m Jock.”
***
Gunny
Gunny looked down when Sharon’s elbow gouged him painfully in the ribs. “Ow. Fuck, honey.”
“Don’t say the eff-word in front of our guests.” By now her scolding was routine and he grinned at her. “Lookie, Jock’s making a new friend.”
He scanned the room, finding Jock against the far wall, beer in hand. A slow grin spread across his face when he saw who stood next to the man. Sylvia, or Silly, as she preferred to be called, was a tattoo artist from Chicago, down for Christmas to visit her niece, Carmela. Carmela had hooked up with Hurley, and the couple were spending the next six months here, after being in Mexico for the last several. “You don’t say?”
Sharon gripped his chin in her hand, angling his face down. “Did you set that up?’
“Who me?” Dipping his neck, he brushed his mouth across hers. “You like the pups?”
She dropped her forehead to his chest with a thud. “God, Gunny. I can’t imagine how much they cost him.” Lifting her head, she made a face, eyes wide. “Thousands.” He nodded. “You already tried to pay him back, didn’t you?” He nodded again, and she rolled her eyes. “Yes, they’re adorable and I love them. The girls…did you see Cade’s face when she saw them? God, I love her.”
Gunny kissed her again and cradled her head to his shoulder, letting her hide her tears for a moment. He swept the room with his gaze, taking in the family he’d built. Near the Christmas tree, Tank lay on the edge of a blanket spread as a pallet, a dozen or more kids in tangled piles around him. He was looking at Gunny, his tail beating a steady thump against the floor. Gunny grinned when Rocky dashed up to Tank the Larger, paused a moment to look over his shoulder, and then neatly hopped over the big dog, leaving the chasing pups stymied by the mountain of fur and bone in their path. A moment later they were gnawing on Tank’s jowls, tripping over his paws as they tugged and growled.
“Hey, Sharon?” At his soft call, she lifted her head and looked at him. “I want two more.”
Eyes wide, she stared. “Puppies? We’ve already got four dogs, Gunny. Two more? That’s too much.”
“Kids.”
Time seemed to stop and he waited for her response. She swallowed and opened her mouth, then swallowed again. “Kids?”
He nodded.
“Two?”
He nodded.
“Fuck me.”
“Baby,” he scolded through his grin. “Don’t say the eff-word.” Dipping close, he put his lips to her ear and whispered, “Josh is three weeks old, means you got three weeks to rest up, baby. Then,” he kissed the side of her head, “it’s on.”
~ Fini ~