Road Captain. That’s my title—my position in The Kings of Retribution MC. It may sound egotistical of me, but I'm fuckin' good at what I do. As the Road Captain, I manage all the runs. I earned the position because I'm efficient at researching, planning, and organizing. Right down to the tiniest of details for things to run as smooth as possible. If something goes wrong on the road, it's on me. My brothers trust in my ability to stay on top of things and plan accordingly because everything can change at a moment's notice. I have their backs as much as they have mine. Amongst other things, I'm good with a gun. Doc taught me and my little brother Noah alongside Logan growing up. My pops, he taught me how to ghost out—not be seen. Over time it proved a valuable skill.

Am I a saint? Far from it. Have I taken someone's life? I've done things in my life for my club—for my family that would be considered ruthless and would do them again if it meant the end result kept them safe. Which is why my head is so fucked up. I've been laid up in this damn hospital and can't perform my responsibilities for my club. It's killin' me.

I thought losing my leg a few years ago was some of the toughest shit I had to try and overcome, but this… lying here in this shitty ass hospital bed all busted up with some loss of mobility to the lower half of my body because of swelling around my lower spine and my arm broken in two places is proving to be worse.

Waking up after the accident, I remember my first initial thoughts being of Alba and Leyna. Were they safe? Did Gabriel get to them in time? Eventually, everyone assured me both women were fine, and Alba and Gabriel had even welcomed their first child, but it didn't do much in ridding me of the guilt I felt that they were in danger in the first place. If I hadn't fallen asleep I would have been there sooner, and none of it would have happened. Not only that; I couldn't believe I missed out on one of my brothers becoming a dad.

I'm starting to get sensation back in my legs, but not nearly enough to stand on my own. It's been four weeks of lying in this bed, and it's starting to wear on my nerves. Day in and day out I lay here as people come in and out, poking and prodding me. Everyone tells me it will get better in time. Meanwhile, their lives are carrying on while mine is at a standstill. Sure, the guys have been coming in almost every day to catch me up on club shit, but it's done nothing to help my mood. The fact that I can't get up and walk on my own free will is fuckin' up my head way more than it should for someone who has already had to learn to walk twice in their life. Now I'm going to have to do it all over again.

A light knock on the door draws my attention away from the self-pity I'm rolling in. My nurse from the past few weeks, Vanessa, walks in wearing a smile on her face, "Good morning, Mr. Carter, it's time to work some more on you learning how to transfer yourself from the bed to your wheelchair before you get released today," she says.

Throwing my blanket to the side, I use my left arm and reach up for the support above my head and pull myself into an upright position, and attempt to move my lower half to the side of the bed. The nurse rolls my chair over, and I lower the bed.

"Okay, slowly shift your weight until you slide into the chair."

I'll have a better chair waiting for me at home, one I should be capable of handling on my own. It will be easier to use with my broken arm. I've gone from riding a 1973 Harley Davidson Shovelhead to a wheelchair. Frustration is getting the better of me, mostly because this damn cast hinders my ability to do more on my own, so I'm pretty much relying solely on my left arm to support the weight of my six-foot-two-inch frame. With a little assistance, I clear the bed and get my ass situated in the seat.

"Great, let's do this a few more times before the doctor makes his rounds this morning," she encourages me.

I have to give her a lot of credit. My nurse has put up with my moody ass for weeks. Even when I've gotten to the point I've wanted to punch myself for being such a dick.

"You know… I'm gonna miss seeing all those handsome men coming through here every day to visit you. It gives all us nurses something to look forward to," she playfully says with a smile as she stands close by in case I need her to assist me.

"I'm ready to get the hell out of here," I grunt as I finish hoisting myself across the edge of the hospital bed and into the wheelchair.

"You should be starting a more vigorous form of physical therapy soon. Don't worry, before you know it you'll be on your feet again," She tells me.

We do this several more times over the course of an hour until my muscles are on fire from the workout I've given them. In all, I only needed assistance one time. Vanessa helps me back into the bed before saying her goodbyes, "I have faith that in a couple of months you'll be walking. Stay positive." She says before walking out the door.

I'm closing my laptop after checking on the delivery status of the equipment I ordered a week ago when I hear someone rap on my door and Prez comes strolling in.

"Hey, Prez, what brings you here this morning? Thought you and the guys had a meeting with city council about the new building going up downtown." I ask.

"Still do. I just wanted to swing by and see if there is anything the brothers and I can do to help get things ready for you to go home." He states as he strides over to the chair across the room by the window and takes a seat.

I feel terrible that he has so much on his plate. Jake has taken over running the construction company with Nikolai while I'm laid up. Our company is brand new and is doing well. I know Jake is more than qualified to help keep things running, but hopefully, that will all change just as soon as I get settled into a new routine at home.

"Yeah, I have a guy delivering some equipment sometime today. Maybe have one of them hang out at my place for a while just in case I don't get out of here in time."

"Sure, they going to install this stuff too?" he asks.

"Yeah," I inform him. "And I'm sorry all this shit has been put on your shoulders, Prez,"

"It's nothin' I can't handle. Logan has taken full control of the daily running of the shop, and Quinn hired another mechanic to help. We got it all covered, son."

"A repairman is supposed to swing by my place around noon to fix the old freight elevator in the back that I never got around to working on. I'll need to make sure it's up and running before I get home, or I'll be sleeping on the couch in my office," I tell him.

Leaning forward, Prez looks at me, "Listen, I know this may have been mentioned to you by the doctor already, but have you thought about hiring home care while you're still recovering? Don't go taking all this shit on by yourself. I know you, Reid."

Of course, the doctor made mention of it. At the time I was against it, and I still am. The thought of having to rely on someone else to take care of me and my needs when I'm a grown ass man doesn't sit well with me. Having to have help showering, getting dressed or even using the damn bathroom is not easy for me. The last thing I need is a lecture. I know it's coming from a good place, but at the moment I don't want to hear it.

Clearing his voice, Prez stands up from his chair, "If help is what the doctor thinks you need then you should do it. Pride can be a man's downfall. Do whatever it takes to get better," Prez says in a firm, fatherly voice. It makes me think of my old man and the fact that if he were still alive, he would be kicking my ass right now for feeling angry and sorry for myself.

"I'll give it some more thought," I tell Jake.

"I've got to run. I'll send Quinn over to your place later, and I'll have Nikolai email the contracts for your final approval this evening. Think about what I said." He informs me before walking out the door, closing it behind him.

I'm not sure how to deal with feeling useless or feeling like I don't know where I fit in with my club anymore. I was born into the lifestyle. Hell, I knew as soon as I turned eighteen I was going to prospect with the MC. The fact that my old man was a founding member held no bearing. The club members treated me like any other prospect. It helped shape me into who I am today, and now I feel like an outsider looking in. What if I'm never able to ride again? All the 'what ifs' are weighing me down.

And what about my personal life? Not to say I don't get my needs met. But what if I never walk again? It was hard enough dealing with the fears of rejection or judgment after the loss of my right leg, and now I can't use either one.

There is a knock on the door, followed by Dr. Brown, my neurologist walking into the room, "Mr. Carter, you ready to leave us today?" He asks.

"Yeah, Doc. I've been fuckin' ready. When are you letting me out of here?"

"The nurse is getting your discharge papers ready now," he looks down at his watch then looks back up, "So I would say you'll be good to go in about thirty minutes. You have someone to take you home?"

"I do," I tell him.

"First we need to go over a few things. You'll be starting physical therapy the day after tomorrow at our facility across the street, and you'll be going at least two to three times a week. You'll also follow up with me once a week. I'm not 100% convinced you are going to be able to handle things on your own. You may require professional help, so I sent your chart over to InCare Healthcare to get you set up with someone who can come out every day and get you to and from your appointments. Plus, help with other physical activities you are sure to need assistance with. At least until you get that cast off in four more weeks," he rambles off.

What the fuck gave him the impression he could go and make that decision for me? I take a couple of deep breaths calming my nerves, "I haven't decided on an in-home nurse," I scowl at him.

My phone ringing stops my rant from going any further. Reaching over I grab it from the tray table I had on the left side of the bed and swiped the screen to answer, "What," I bark into the phone.

"How's it going, brother?" Quinn's voice says

"Glad you called, man. Where you at right now? Can you grab a ride and get my ass? They're letting me out of here in about twenty-five minutes.

"Prez ordered me to your place, so I was about to hop on my bike and ride over there."

The doctor looks at me, annoyance spreading across his face as he looks at his watch again. Fuck him. I've sat here all morning waiting for his ass to get in here. A few minutes of him waiting ain't gonna kill him.

"Assuming you're leaving now from the garage you can grab my keys from Logan and go to my place and get my truck," I tell him.

"You got it. See ya soon."

Disconnecting the call, I toss my phone onto the bed, ready to continue the chat the doctor was having with me. Not bothering to apologize for the interruption I cross my arms over my chest and look at him, waiting for him to continue. He shouldn't have taken the liberty of sending my file to InCare without my go ahead. I've made sure I'm more than prepared to go home. Not being able to walk doesn't make me an invalid.

"Mr. Carter, I'm aware that you are reluctant to receive help, but believe me when I say you'll be grateful for it. Therapy alone will wear you out physically and mentally. You'll need someone around that's capable of taking care of you."

"I'll make that decision for myself," I clip.

Sighing, he flips through the papers on his clipboard and hands them to me, "Here's a prescription for the muscle relaxers you've been taking and some mild pain medication as well. The second form is your appointment for later this week and the number to InCare. If you're not willing to accept the help, then give them a call and cancel everything. Get home and give it some thought beforehand. You might change your mind, Mr. Carter," He shakes my hand. "I'll see you in a week," he adds before leaving my room.

It doesn't take long before Quinn comes walking in with a duffle bag in his hand, "Didn’t know what all you had here to put on, so I grabbed you some gym clothes out of your closet."

It looks like I'm not the only one in a foul mood. "Appreciate it, brother. What's eating you?" I ask.

He runs his hand through his shaggy blond hair and lets out a heavy sigh, "Ran into Dr. Evans on my way up here. That woman… All I'm trying to do is be nice, but she insists on trying to cut off my balls every time I speak to her. I don't get it. I'm a likable guy," he throws his hands up.

Yeah, Quinn's idea of being friendly doesn't stop at a hello, especially when it comes to women. "You ever stop to think she doesn’t like your endless flirting and pet names all the time. Maybe try and have an actual conversation with her instead of letting your dick control your mouth," I laugh.

Grabbing the bag, I pull out the clothes he brought. As I'm slipping on the shirt, he responds.

"My mind goes blank when I see her, man. Flirting comes naturally to me. Normally it works."

"Yeah, it works when the woman is looking for nothing but a good time. Emerson doesn't strike me as the type to just want to have fun," I tell him. I recognize it because I'm the same way. Driven. After I've gotten some socks on, I start the task of putting on my sweatpants with Quinn watching me struggle.

"You need help, man?" he asks me

"No, I got it." It takes a few minutes to work them up to my thighs before I stop and look at Quinn who's still looking at me.

"Do you have to stare, brother?"

"Sorry," he turns his back to me, "I can help. I mean as long as you can keep your dick from slapping me in the face, I can help you get your clothes on." he puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on the heels of his feet.

I know Quinn wants to help, but this is different, I'm a grown ass man. A few more attempts and I manage to get them the rest of the way then slip my shoes onto my feet. "I don’t mean to be such a dick. I'm trying to do this on my own. Except for these shoes," I point down my feet, "I can't tie the fuckers with one hand."

He walks over and kneels, "No judgment from me, Reid. If you ever need help, you ask. It goes no further than us. I won't say shit to no one."

"Thanks. Give me a minute to slide my ass into this wheelchair, and we can go."

A few minutes later I've got my shit pack and I’m rolling out the door with a nurse accompanying me down to the waiting truck that Quinn just parked. That's when I realize there is no way I'm going to be able to lift myself up into the cab of the truck.

"I'm going to have to lift you into the truck, brother. You good with that," Quinn asks.

Time to suck it up as my old man would tell me. Suddenly, the full picture of just how hard it will be during my recovery hits me, "Do what you got to do, man. It looks like I'll be finding other means of transportation for a while. Something that sits low enough that I can get in and out of on my own." I tell him. Once I position my chair as close as I can get it to the opening of the truck door, I let Quinn lift me into the cab. He doesn't say a word, which I'm grateful.

Sighing, I reach across myself and buckle my seat belt. I guess I'll be keeping that arrangement for home care after all.

* * *

We finally pull up to my home. It's an old, historical two-story firehouse I converted into a two-bedroom loft apartment a few years ago. Quinn stuck around long enough to help make sure the guys that delivered the medical equipment got everything set up. Now that the repairman has the lift working, I wheel myself onto it and push the button taking myself to the upstairs floor to inspect everything.

"Hey, man, if you have it from here I'm gonna get going. Logan needs me to close up the shop later, and I need to finish the oil change and tune-up on a bike before morning," Quinn says as he comes walking from the kitchen area with a sandwich in his hand.

"Yeah, I got it from here," I tell him as I make my way out of the elevator. It’s a little creaky as the gears kick in, but not bad considering they are part of the original system.

On the ride home I gave in and called InCare to discuss my options and what I would require along the way for recovery. They suggested the best route to go would be 24-hr assistance, which means whoever they send would need a room to stay in for at least the next four weeks until I get this damn cast off my arm.

The last time I shared space with someone was with my brother when we were kids. I also have problems trusting people and even bigger issues trusting a woman. I just prefer being on my own. Having things precisely the way I like them… things done my way.

Quinn takes a bite from the sandwich he's holding in his hand and immediately turns, spitting it into the in the kitchen sink. "What the fuck, man? This tastes like ass."

"Yeah, I bet it does. That shit’s been in there for a month now. Your ass should have checked it first, shithead," I laugh at him. I watch as he walks over to the trash can and chunks the rotten food inside.

"You need some groceries, man. Why don’t you call Bella and have her load you up?" He says.

"I'll deal with it," I tell him.

"Alright. Call me if you need anything, brother, and let me know how things go in the morning. Seriously, I'm glad you decided to give the home care a try for the next few weeks."

"Yeah, well, I'm not promising anything. I'll see how it goes. I'll see ya tomorrow, Quinn," I tell him as he waves and walks out the door.

Not having someone push me around is refreshing and it is much easier to maneuver around my place. The layout of my upstairs is an open concept. On one side is my kitchen and dining room area. The other side is a relatively large living room complete with the original wood burning fireplace.

I make my way towards the back, down the hall. At first, all this space was once separated into smaller-sized rooms, big enough to fit bunk beds into. I made sure to preserve as much of the original brick that I could throughout the remodel process. Keeping the industrial look and feel of the firehouse was important to me. I had the walls torn down and turned two of those bedrooms into a spare bedroom and the others at the very end of the hall became my master. It's not oversized or extravagant, but it's enough for me.

I wheel over to my king size bed. The trapeze lift I ordered to help myself get in and out of bed looks to have been installed correctly. I wouldn't have bothered with it but with the use of just one arm I felt it would come in handy. Turning, I head to the bathroom and find they've done an excellent job installing the extra handrails in my walk-in shower. It already has a built-in bench that I hope to have no problems getting myself on and off of.

Going back to the kitchen I rummage through the cabinets only to find a couple of boxes of macaroni and cheese, then I pull a pot out of the bottom cabinet, and fill it with water before setting it on the stovetop to boil. I'm not the best of cooks. I usually get something to eat in the clubhouse or order takeout from somewhere. Once I have my dinner fixed, I decided to take it downstairs to my office. The lower level hasn't been finished yet. The only renovations I've done are put up some walls to give me an office space. The rest of the area I'm not sure what I want to do with it yet.

Opening the door, I flip the light switch. If I had to describe my office, I would say it looks like something out of the TV show CSI. Several flat screen computer monitors cover the entire wall in front of me, and my desk which has two desktop computers sitting on top. Yes, I'm a computer geek… always have been. Sure, I love the club, my bike, my brothers and doing construction jobs on the side, but this is my obsession. Ever since I can remember besides wanting to be a club member is being fascinated with technology and criminology. If it's been written, I've read it when it comes to those two subjects. I don't hold a degree in any of it, but my skills have helped the club in more ways than one. Hell, even local law enforcement calls me on occasions to help. On a freelance basis that is. Let's just say my skills have helped make me money over the years.

After spending a few hours down here, I turn everything off and head upstairs to bed. My first night alone, with no one coming in to bother me. Getting myself ready was relatively easy and pulling myself from the chair to the bed was not so bad either. As I settle in for the night, I try to get myself into the right frame of mind and ready for the following days to come.