by Harley Stone
Now, he’d implanted himself in my life. I’d had fuck buddies before, but none of them had been like Stocks. He understood me on a level that nobody ever had, and he seemed hellbent on taking care of all my needs. The man had bought me a shoe organizer and hauled a second dresser up the stairs and into my room. He brought me breakfast every morning and wore my ass out every night.
“Remember the last time I was on the back of your bike?” I shouted over the roar of the engines.
He patted my hand on his stomach. “Babe, I will never fuckin’ forget that night.”
His answer warmed me from the inside out. Making a mental note to reward him later with the kind of blow job that would have him bowing to my awesomeness, I squeezed him closer. I thought about that night sometimes, but now I saw it in a whole new light.
The bikers rolled out in some preassigned formation with Link and the rest of the officers riding in front. Since Stocks hadn’t been a member of the club for long, his spot was toward the back, which enabled me to see the majority of the convoy. It made one hell of an impressive sight. Straight lines, evenly spaced, pristine American flags flying on the back of each bike, we turned heads like a goddamn parade. Drivers stared as we passed. Little kids plastered their faces to car windows to watch us.
And for once, nobody seemed to even notice my missing arm. I’m not even sure anyone saw me. Just like back in basic, I was part of a unit designed for anonymity, and I loved every second of it.
I didn’t know what we were up to, but I was honored to be a part of it and proud to ride with the Dead Presidents.
We pulled into one of Seattle’s military cemeteries, parking in tight, even lines. Dismounting, helmets were removed but nobody spoke as we waited.
Link stepped onto the curb and turned to address the group. “Thank you all for coming out today,” he said as his gaze scanned the group. “There’s a lot of shit you could be doing today, but you’re here serving. We may not wear the uniforms anymore, but hell if we don’t bleed red, white, and blue. I’m damn proud to call every one of you brothers.” His gaze scanned the group. “And sisters.”
Everyone cheered. Standing in front of us, Havoc pulled Julia against him and kissed the top of her head. She glanced back at me and smiled, looking content.
Link waited for the cheers to die down before continuing, “We’re here today, because we know freedom sure as hell isn’t free. With the lives it’s cost us, I’d say freedom’s the most expensive thing our country owns. Franklin D. Roosevelt once said, ‘Those who have long enjoyed such privileges as we enjoy forget in time that men have died to win them.’ We stand here today, because we have not forgotten the brothers and sisters who gave their lives for this country. We will never forget!”
Goosebumps sprouted across my skin at the conviction in his voice. Cheers erupted around us as everyone shared in the president’s enthusiasm. Stocks wrapped his arm around my waist and tugged my back against his front. Naomi looked at me sideways, but I didn’t give a damn. It felt right to be here experiencing this with Stocks.
Link raised his arms, silencing the group. “Today, we decorate the graves of our fallen brothers and sisters. May their bravery and commitment to our country live on through us and our children.”
More cheers erupted.
Stocks released me to open his saddlebags, removing several bunches of small flags attached to wooden stakes. “For the patriotic vampire hunter,” he joked, passing a couple bunches to me before keeping several for himself.
“Do you usually encounter vampires in this graveyard?” I asked, following him toward the entrance.
“It never hurts to be prepared. I also know what to do in case of a zombie apocalypse.”
“That’s handy.”
He pinched my ass. “I got your handy for you.”
Squirming away from him, I asked, “Shouldn’t that be my line?”
He chuckled as Eagle gave us a hard look, reinforcing the serious nature of our task—before pointing us to a section. With our hands metaphorically slapped, we zipped our traps and went to work planting flags.
My last cemetery visit had been for the funeral of one of Naomi’s pararescuemen. Stevenson was survived by his wife and two-year-old son, and some idiot had made the mistake of telling his kid that Stevenson was in the casket. Determined to see his daddy again, that little boy clung onto that pine box for all he was worth, shouting “Daddy!” over and over until there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. Stevenson’s widow had to pry her son off the casket so they could lower it into the earth. I’d never seen such a heartbreaking sight in my life.
I bet Stevenson would have gladly given up both arms for a chance to raise his little boy.
The thought hit me like a punch to the gut, making me realize how ungrateful I’d been for my survival. Truth be told, there were several times I’d wished that accident had taken my life, rather than just my arm. Tears stung my eyes as guilt planted a lump in my throat.
“Death seems easier sometimes. Less painful. But then I wouldn’t be here learning how to braid your hair.”
Stocks’s words swirled in my head. At the time, I’d thought he was blowing smoke up my ass to make me feel better about my circumstances. But now that I’d gotten to know him better, I believed that he really did enjoy that time with me. I glanced over to find him using a rag to brush off a headstone before planting a flag beside it.
He was such a good guy. Wanting to be a little more like him, I read the nearest headstone.
“Melvin T. Blake, MAJ, US Army WWII, July 2, 1914, May 10, 2002, Loving husband.”
Intrigued by the last line, I read another.
“Beloved wife and mother.”
“Devoted wife and friend.”
“Loving husband, father, & granddad.”
“You’re always in our hearts.”
If I had died, I wondered what my tombstone would have said. Beloved daughter and friend? Would anyone have clung to my casket? All these veterans had lost their lives and left loved ones behind. I wondered what they’d think about the months I’d spent in bed pushing my family and friends away and feeling sorry for myself.
“Unknown soldier.”
That one really did me in. So many of our fallen had given their lives, and not even their name was remembered. How many of them would have traded me my shitty situation for a chance to survive?
And why was I complaining? My life wasn’t that bad. Yeah, I couldn’t fly or fix my own damn hair and that sucked major ass, but I was still breathing. Despite my best attempts, I wasn’t even alone. Friends surrounded me, willing to help with whatever I needed. Stocks fed me every day and worked me out every night. Naomi and my parents kept in constant contact, texting often to make sure I had everything I needed. Sure, I still had no clue what to do with my life now that my career had been ripped out from under me, but at least I had time to figure that shit out.
I needed to get better about focusing on my blessings, and not my affliction.
I thought about ways to do this as we planted flags at two other military cemeteries. By the time we headed back toward the fire station, I was determined to do better in the future.
“You okay?” Stocks asked as I removed my helmet.
I was still far from okay, but strangely enough, I was closer than I had been in months. “I will be. Just a lot on my mind.”
He pulled me against him and kissed my forehead. “You’re made of some strong shit, babe. You’ll get it all figured out.”
His faith in me was kind of cool.
Sliding an arm around my waist, he ushered me toward the building. “I didn’t tell you what we were doing, because it’s something you had to experience for yourself. It would have been easy to say we were planting flags on the graves of veterans, but that doesn’t really do it justice.”
“Yeah. I see that now.”
“The day’s far from over. Come on, or we’ll be late for the next part.” We stepped inside, and he tugged me toward the common room.
Wondering what more there could possibly be, I followed Stocks through the back door and into the large, fenced backyard of the fire station. Rows of chairs and coolers circled a fire pit that Rabbit was in the process of lighting.
“We roasting marshmallows and singing Kumbaya?” I asked.
Stocks chuckled. “Something like that.”
He grabbed us each a beer and we took our seats as everyone else did the same. Sitting in the outside ring gave me a good opportunity to watch everyone interact. Shit was flung, jokes were told, and backs were patted. I was struck by how veterans who’d served in different branches could come together so easily. There was definitely an air of brotherhood and camaraderie amongst the bikers.
“Hey,” Naomi said, perching on the chair beside me. “How are you?”
Her concerned expression looked so damn out of place it was almost comical. My friend was sympathetic—to a degree—but she was more about kicking ass and taking names than holding hands and making sure everyone crossed the finish line. But for me, she was trying.
“I’m good.” I took a swig from my bottle. “You?”
“I’m good. Hey, I wanna talk to you about something. You got a minute?”
“I think so. You know more about how this works than I do.”
“Right.” She looked around, zeroing in on her brother. “Yeah, Wasp is harassing Link, we’ve got time.” Turning back to me, she said, “The girls and I have been meaning to talk to you about this project we’re working on. We’re pooling our talents and resources to offer women of the community services like legal help, self-defense, filling out resumes, whatever they need. I know you’re still trying to get your feet under you, but we’d like you to be involved when you’re ready. That’s what we went and looked at that office space for.”
At the time, I hadn’t been interested enough to ask, but now I wanted more information. “Give me more deets. What are you calling this little venture?”
“That’s a very good question. The girls keep suggesting names, but none of them feel right, you know? Julia suggested First Lady’s Club, but Emily is technically the only first lady, and that name sounds uppity to me. We don’t want women in need thinking we’re some rich bitch swanky club. We need a name that’s more approachable.”
I nodded, swirling around the title in my mind, looking for something close to what they’d already come up with. When it finally hit me, I let out a laugh.
“What?” Naomi asked, eyeing me.
“Remember that first night we got drunk and sang karaoke together?”
“Of course. I hated you until that night. Then you removed the stick from your ass and let loose, showing me how fun and amazing you could be when you weren’t sucking up to instructors.”
“You better get that memory of yours checked out, because I’m pretty sure you have our roles reversed. You were the stick puppet.” To be honest, both of us had been strutting around like horses on a carousel. Hashing out our differences over beer and bad karaoke had taken us both down a notch.
“Yeah, that’s not how I remember it. Monie, you were basically a mean girl.”
I used to have a reputation for eviscerating anyone stupid enough to disagree with me. It was one of the things I regretted about that time in my life, but I wasn’t about to admit to anything. “We’ll agree to disagree—because you’re wrong—but that’s not the point. Remember the first song we sang together?”
“Yeah. That’s how you got your name.” I could almost see the wheels spinning in her head. As she finally caught my drift, her face lit up. “Ohmigod, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. It’s perfect.”
I had to agree. “Yeah. I think so, too.”
She hugged me. “I gotta tell the others. Thank you so much!”
As I watched her scurry off, Stocks leaned against me. “What was that all about?”
Feeling pretty good about myself, I took another swig. “You know, just solving world problems and shit.”
“Impressive.”
I shrugged. “I do what I can.”
Before he could reply, Link stepped into the circle beside the fire pit and called for everyone to sit down. After people took their chairs, he broke into another speech.
“For those of you who are new to the club, this is another Memorial Day tradition. Every year, we sit around this fire pit and remember those we’ve lost, either during their time in the service or afterward. Stepping out of tradition this year, I’d like to invite our two women vets—Naomi and Monica—to join us. Anybody have a problem with that?”
“Hell no,” Tank, one of the older bikers, said. “The lady vets have earned the right to honor their dead, and the old guard welcomes them.”
“Thank you, Uncle Tank,” Naomi said.
He gave her a stoic nod.
“Dad, you want to start us off?” Link asked.
Jake stood. Holding his beer in the air, he said, “For my brother by blood, Wade Lincoln, who was lost and never recovered. For my brothers in arms Tipton, Jenkins, Riggs, Gates, Chen, Rosales, DiPinto, Scheller, who each died in service to our great country. For Ayker, Jasso, Yakimo, Dawson, and Muck who passed after they came home. For Hall and Bennerson who ended their own lives, helping us old guys see the necessity for a club that could give veterans a home to come back to... gone but never forgotten.”
“Gone but never forgotten,” everyone repeated joining Jake as he took a swig.
Jake sat, and Tank stood, raising his beer as he rambled off more names. We went around the circle, each person sharing names and promising not to forget their fallen. Spade toasted his great uncle. Naomi toasted her pararescuemen and a few fellow pilots. Eagle named off almost an entire platoon. Bull mentioned some girl named Melanie, who’d died while he was serving. The petite brunette sitting beside him, grabbed his hand and squeezed it, making him smile down at her.
It was easy to forget that every single veteran faced personal losses. We’d all come home, but every vet knew someone who didn’t. But what really spoke to my heart was the number of suicides mentioned. Hell, I knew a guy who’d hung himself shortly after basic, and another who ate a bullet while on his first leave, but I didn’t realize the problem was this big. Hearing so many veterans talk about it was staggering.
Some of the bikers didn’t drink. Tap raised a water bottle for his toast. Hound clung to a soda. One of the old guys held what appeared to be a sports drink. Everything was accepted in the circle, and nobody said shit about it.
When Stocks’s turn came around, he squeezed my thigh before standing. Raising his bottle, he said, “For Welch, Leopardi, Hurst, Perez, Hensley, Makonov, Wilkens, Scheller, Killian, Dimmick, that little guy with the glasses—never can remember his name—and anyone else I’m forgetting from the explosion that took my leg. For Grady, Burkett, and Bradshaw who ended their own lives. Gone but never forgotten.”
“Gone but never forgotten,” everyone repeated, drinking with Stocks.
I’d never asked Stocks about his leg. I was so busy fighting my demons, I’d almost forgotten that he had his own to battle. I was the only one wounded in my accident, but it sounded like he’d lost a whole slew of people. There was so much I still didn’t know about him, and I needed to remedy that.
As he sat, I stood and took my turn.
By the time everyone finished honoring their dead, I was on the drunk side of buzzed. More than fifty toasts was no joke, especially considering I hadn’t drunk much since the night of the accident. I probably should have cut myself off, but my only plans for the next day consisted of a three p.m. doctor’s appointment, so when Stocks offered me another beer, I took it.
Naomi stumbled over to sit beside me. Apparently I wasn’t the only one making bad choices tonight.
“Aren’t you nursing?” I asked, eyeing her glass of what smelled suspiciously like whiskey.
“Funny, I was gonna ask you the same thing,” she said, toward Stocks.
“Ha-ha,” I deadpanned.
Grinning like a drunk idiot, I threw my arm over my best bitch’s shoulders. “You know what we should do?”
She matched my grin. “Karaoke.”
Stocks
I’D SEEN SOME funny shit in my life, but none of it held a candle to a drunk Monica. I had a good buzz going on, myself, but she was out of control, laughing at her own jokes, telling partial stories, and forgetting what she was talking about mid-sentence.
Then she and Naomi decided they needed to sing karaoke. The club didn’t have the necessary equipment, but the Copper Penny sure as hell did. So, sometime around midnight, Eagle and I followed our wild women next door. There, they entertained the club’s bar with inebriated renditions of classics that should be banned like “Baby Got Back” and “Friends in Low Places.” They weren’t bad singers—the two could hit and hold notes and harmonize—but they were so drunk they kept missing their cues and mixing up the lyrics.
We were at the point in the night where songs were at least twenty-five percent laughter, from both them and the crowd. Eagle was one of the most stoic motherfuckers I’d ever met, but even he couldn’t keep a straight face during their performances.
And then there was the dancing.
When the dynamic duo wasn’t singing, they were dragging me and Eagle onto the small dance floor to show off their moves. Somewhere along the line, showing off became a competition—which apparently happened often when the two of them got together—and shit went from G-rated to porn status. What started as the Roger Rabbit and the Electric Slide quickly devolved into straight up twerking and jerking.
We let them have their fun until Monica started popping her ass against my crotch and Naomi practically dry humped Eagle’s leg. Knowing we needed to put an end to the dance competition before their drunk asses did something their sober minds would regret, we dragged them off the dance floor and got a glass of water into each of them.
