She sticks her head out around the partition to answer. “Sure thing chick. Everything cool?” I can see the worry etching her face, but I really don’t know how to answer that.
I keep my reply vague, while making sure I’ve gathered all my bits and pieces.
“Ummm. I’m not sure. Tank didn’t say anything other than to get there quick.”
Shooing me with her hand Ade answers with, “Get going then, V. We’ve got this. Call me when you know what’s going down, or if you need me. I can be there when I finish up, if you do.” Gifting her with a small smile, I grab my stuff and head for my Jeep, parked right out front, waving over my shoulder to Toby as I hurry out the door.
The drive is short, it only takes twenty minutes in the light afternoon traffic and finding parking is easy, right out the front in the blacktop lot. Parking and swinging out of the Jeep, I make my way to the main entrance.
Blackwater doesn’t have what you would call a hospital, in the sense that it’s what you would imagine when you conjure the image of a hospital. It’s more like a scaled down version of its larger predecessors. However, Blackwater Urgent Care is equipped with its own ER, two surgical theatres, five wards, pharmacy, pathology lab and most of the medical testing equipment of its larger counterparts. In essence it’s fully prepared to deal with the normal: births, accidents, flu season, general care and the occasional trauma or two.
Before I can make it through the doors, Tank is in front of me gripping my arm. Looking up at him, I see concern blanketing his features, and tight lines around his eyes. He looks frustrated and stressed, nothing like the usually unruffled Tank I know. My heart starts to pound harder in my chest, faster than the rapid rhythm it was already beating. I have no idea what I’m walking into, but I can tell it’s nothing good. When I’m facing him completely, Tank speaks in a measured tone that only goes to show the man is a machine when it comes to self-control.
“V, I’ve gotta talk to you before we go in, yeah?”
I know there’s no point in arguing, or demanding he take me to whoever is waiting inside. He has something to say, and I’m going to want to hear it by the looks of things.
“You’re scaring me Tank. What’s wrong? Is Priss, okay?”
Confusion knits his brow. He looks taken back by my question for a second or two before he goes on. “Yeah, Priss is fine, that I know of, anyhow. Look, V, Arrow had to rush Kellen in this morning. Doctors don’t know shit about what’s wrong with him, yet. They’re doing a bunch of tests, but whatever it is, it doesn’t look good. Poor kid’s screaming and crying, Arrow’s about to fuckin lose it, and Kellen’s cunt of a mother is nowhere to be found.”
Scared is no longer what I’m feeling. It’s anger. Blinding, blood boiling, anger. Ripping my arm from Tank’s grip, I turn and face him head on. Most people would be terrified of Tank, and in some instances I could see why. At this moment my anger overrides my common sense. I could care less if I offend him or not.
“What the fuck do you mean no one can find her? Has anyone called her? Does she even know what’s going on?” I can’t believe her child is sick, and she hasn’t come to see him. Not even the WW is that heartless.
Tank scoffs at my outburst, and starts walking giving me no choice, but to follow especially since I have no idea where to go.
“Yeah, V, every-fuckin-one of us called her. She answered the first time, said she was coming and never showed. That was hours ago. I’ve got prospects out looking, but no news on her whereabouts, yet. Reports back say her house is cleared out of everything personal that’s hers, Kellen’s shit’s still there, though. Tried tracking her phone, nothing. She must’ve dumped it somewhere before taking off.”
Holy Shit! My sister is a cunt. I never use that word, but now I can’t think of anything else better to describe her. Verity knows her son is in the emergency room, it doesn’t look good, and she packs up and takes off? I’d like to say she isn’t capable of something like that, but clearly, I can’t.
Catching up to Tank, placing my hand on his forearm, I ask, “What is it you need me to do? If you guys can’t find her, I don’t think I’ll have any luck, Tank. I have no idea where she’d go.”
Shaking his head sadly he says, “Not what I need you for, V. I get you’re hurting. I’ve gotta say my brother is one dumb motherfucker hurting a woman like you, but Arrow needs you, V. There’s no one else who’ll be able to help him keep his shit together, right now, except you.” I suck in a breath and try to regulate my heart rate. Somehow, I tuned out that Arrow would be here; obviously, his son is so where else would he be.
I’m not having much luck when Tank goes on. “He’s scared out of his fuckin mind, his kid is hurting and the top’s about to blow off this motherfucker if he lets loose. I’ve got Glock and Dagger in there with him now, keeping an eye out, Reaper’s on his way after talking to Priest, but I don’t think any of us are going to be able to contain him if this isn’t good news, V.”
Without a moment’s hesitation I reply the only way I can. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER NINE
Nate
The sterile smell of antiseptic is burning my eyes and throat. Stark white walls illuminated by the overhead lights are almost blinding in their brightness. Worse than all of that, my son’s pain induced cries pierce my ears, ricocheting through my head making it pound to the rhythm of a beat bass drum.
When Kellen woke up this morning he was lethargic, not his normal self at all, and complaining his belly hurt. Within the time it took me to shower, get dressed, and make his breakfast, he was curled in a ball on the couch screaming in agony. I’ll admit; I freaked the fuck out. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I’m a new dad, I’ve barely had him for four months, and in that time he’s never even had a fucking cold. I called Verity to tell her I was taking our boy to the emergency room, because I felt like it was the right thing to do, but she never asked why or which one. I should have known then, something was up, because there was not even a hint of the fear I was feeling, at the time, in her voice.
It only took me fifteen minutes to make the drive. When we arrived, thank fuck, the nurses rushed to settle Kellen on a gurney to have him examined immediately, moving him quickly inside behind the glass doors sectioning the ER from the waiting room. Thank fuck, I was able to go with him, because all hell would’ve broken loose if they tried to stop me. My boy is in pain and there’s nothing I can do but hold his hand to reassure him I’m here for him. So, that was what I did. I’ve been doing just that for the last six hours, and will continue to do it for as long as Kellen needs me to.
Helplessness doesn’t describe the depth of emotion I’m feeling, right now. I don’t think there’s a word in the English language that does the job adequately. The inability to soothe Kellen, to stop his screams, and the fact that I can’t promise he’ll be okay, is slowly shredding my insides. I literally feel like I’m crawling out of my skin. I also can’t help feeling like I should have known he was sick, or at the very least that something was wrong with him. What kind of a shit father did that make me?
There’d been no signs, though. Doctors asked me what felt like a million questions about what Kellen’s health was like before I brought him in, had he been sick prior, that sort of stuff. The answer to all of those questions was no. They told me this kind of thing happens sometimes. Kids get sick out of the blue, and I shouldn’t be too concerned. They say it like that’ll somehow help me feel better about my son’s situation. I think fucking not. There is nothing that will make me feel better right now, other than Kellen getting better.
We’d gone to the lake yesterday, it had been nice out; 85 degrees, with a slight wind, and perfectly clear skies. It was the perfect day to take him, like I’d been promising for weeks. I bought him his own fishing rod awhile back, and he wanted to try it out, he was desperate to. We fished, ate sandwiches on the dock, threw the football around, and came home that afternoon to sit in front of a movie with pizza.
That nig
ht was like any other we’d had that came before it. Nothing stood out. I got him ready for bed, read to him, tucked him in, and kissed his forehead good night, ruffling his mop of black hair as I walked out telling him I loved him. Kellen wasn’t hot to the touch, no coughing, wheezing, or symptoms of any kind. He never woke throughout the night. He didn’t call out in his sleep, and when I checked on him before making my own way to bed he was fast asleep. He hadn’t even moved from his spot dead centre in the middle of the double bed I bought him.
Aside from the helplessness, fear and anger are swirling inside me, too. A mixture of emotions so tumultuous that I’m scared I will succumb to their power over me. I’m even more scared of what would happen if I do. The crippling fear that my son has something incurable, something I can’t pay, beg, or pray to have fixed. Blinding terror that I may lose him, or that he might be taken from me. I’ve only had Kellen in my life for a heartbeat of time. I can’t imagine a world without him in it, now. A part of my soul, I never knew existed, came to life when I met my boy for the first time.
Kellen’s reserved, watchful nature concerned me in the beginning. Kids aren’t meant to be so fucking quiet, sitting like statues for peoples’ viewing pleasure. What I realise now is it’s because he doesn’t trust easily. Whether that’s because of what type of a woman his mother is, or the fact that the man he knew as a father figure, Patrick, was gone from his life in a flash. Or possibly, it could simply be the lack of affection and interaction he’s been on the receiving end of. I don’t know and I may never find out.
Kellen reminds me of Tank in some ways. Their personalities are so similar they could be twins born twenty-five years apart. Obviously, it comes as no surprise that they took to each other like ducks to water. Slowly, Kellen opened up over the weeks I’ve had him. It was like watching a flower bloom in spring. His smiles come easily now, as does his laugh. Every time I pick him up or drop him off, and lots times in between, he hugs me tight. Lingering like it might be the last time he ever gets to be held. Everything felt right in my world when Kellen gifted me with, “I love you, Dad,” for the first time. My heart almost burst from my chest at the strength of love I had for my boy in that moment.
Other than my mom and Ronnie I’ve never had anyone tell me they love me. Sure, women told me in the past that they love my cock, love being with me, they love the things I do to them, but I’ve never been told with the sincerity my son said it with. What’s more is that for once, I believed every word.
The weeks with my boy are fucking awesome. I even love the normal routines like getting him ready for school or bed. Most parents would call me crazy, but all this shit is new and exciting to me, I’m sure the shine will wear off, eventually. For now though, I’m just enjoying the chance to bond with my boy.
Building a life for us here in my home and with the MC, all of who loved my boy on sight, is part of a dream come true. The other part of that dream is to be doing all this WITH Ronnie. That will have to wait, though. I need to devise a plan to win her back. After what I’ve done to her, and then not fighting for her, I’ll be shocked if she ever fucking speaks to me again.
Some days I feel like a chick with PMS. I’m moody as fuck, my head is scattered, and I’m snapping at my brothers, constantly. This shit isn’t anyone’s fault but my own. I know that and I own it. In the end, it doesn’t make a lick of fucking difference when it comes to how I deal with all of it. The turning point that woke my moody ass up, somewhat, was Pipe sitting me down and setting me straight on a few things. It gave me perspective, reminding me that I have a whole family here with the club to lean on when I need it. I wasn’t alone and I needed to stop acting like I was.
Just after church one afternoon, Pipe grabbed the back of my cut, pulling me to the set of couches that banked the pool tables, at the far side of the clubhouse. He was pissed. It was written all over him. Shoving me into the seat he didn’t give me pause to talk.
“Listen here, boy. We all fuckin know what went down with your woman, and fuck if we haven’t taken that into consideration, not kickin your ass when you deserved it lately, but this shit’s gotta stop. Fuckin now.” Pipe put his hand up when I went to speak and angrily shook his head. “Nope, don’t wanna hear it. You’ve been a moody motherfucker for fuckin weeks, Brother. Only time you’re half-way fuckin decent is when your boy’s around. Me, and a few of the others, even thought about kiddnappin him, keepin him around here to save our asses from your deluge of shit. Accordin to Kenny, that shit’s frowned upon so here we are, me havin to sit you down and pull your head out your ass.” Pipe leaned back, resting his size fourteen booted feet on the coffee table separating us. Sighing, he said, “You’ve got a family willin to do just about anythin to help you, boy. Every last fuckin one of these men will not only give their life for you, but bust their balls to make sure you have what you need, me included. If what you need is V, then so be it. We’ll help you find a way to make that happen. Not willin to hand in my man card and help you serenade her or some such shit, but I’ll do pretty fuckin much anythin else.”
I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at his belief that would even be a consideration. “Not much of a singer, Pipe, not sure that would win her back if I did, either.”
“Can’t deny that. Brothers were made for fuckin and fightin. I say, stick with what you know. There’s about as much musical talent in this joint as there is at a fuckin dog shelter.” At that, we both laughed.
It felt like an age since I’ve laughed and it hadn’t been brittle or forced. Straightening, Pipe looked me in the eye, “Meant what I said, Brother. Bikers are made for two things, you aren’t fuckin. Then, there’s only one alternative. Might not be able to do that now. Give her time; give you and your boy time. When it’s right, you fight for her, though. You don’t do it for you; you do it FOR her. Life’s short, Arrow, filled with shit and not enough good women. You find one; you keep her. That fuckin simple. You can’t keep her with you physically, you keep her in your heart till you can.” I nodded in agreement. Everything he’s said makes perfect sense.
Sometimes, you just need someone else to lay it out for you after you’ve been locked in your own head for so long. It’s hard to have perspective when you do nothing but replay the shit swirling in your head. Moreover, the man spoke like he knew what I was going through. As far as I know, Steel’s mother was a two-bit junkie piece of gash, so I know it can’t be her he’s mourning. The look of sorrow in his eyes told me that was exactly what he was doing; Pipe was mourning somebody.
Pipe stood, nodding his head curtly. As he’s walked away he threw this over his shoulder, “People change, boy. Pain and heartache make people different, harder. Don’t know if that’s the way of your woman, but don’t wait too long to make somethin happen, yeah?” It wasn’t a question, even though it was phrased like one. It was a plea.
Nothing much changed after that, except everything. My mood didn’t improve; I just got better at hiding it. My brothers look less inclined to want to kick the shit out of me or beat my head against a wall, so I guess that’s one good thing.
Kellen and I relaxed into an easy father-son relationship, making the most out of every day we spent together. Sure, we had our ups and downs, but who doesn’t? One of them was so fucking stupid; I wanted to hit myself in the fucking face.
The kid hated vegetables, not that I blamed him. I wasn’t a huge fan of them myself. But from everything I’d seen and heard from the Ol ladies at the club, kids were supposed to eat them. Growing bodies and all that. Realisation dawned quickly that there was a whole other side to my son, I hadn’t seen yet. Jesus fuck, I saw it in its full melt down, cataclysmic force.
Dishing up what I thought to be a pretty good attempt at dinner, for a guy who couldn’t cook for shit, anyway. I looked over at Kellen, who was doing his homework quietly at the kitchen table, and asked, “Got peas, carrots and corn, buddy. Which one do you want?” The kid could have BEEN Tank with all the one-word answers he gave people, namely m
e.
He only proved my point further when he replied with, “None.”
He said it with such certainty, I didn’t know whether to question him on it or just tell him he was eating it anyway. I decided on the latter.
“Sorry, buddy, not gonna happen. Pick one, two, or all three, but you’re eating at least one.”
Over his shoulder he gave me what he thought was the evil eye. In his case he failed miserably, and I had to control my laughter, instead. The kid looked like he was fucking constipated. “I’m not eating them. I hate them and you can’t make me.”
Now at this point I’ve got to remind you, I’ve never really been around kids before. This shit was all new to me, and I hadn’t managed to kick an ounce of the filthy mouth I had before Kellen came to live with me part-time. Bear that in mind for the second half of this conversation. And don’t judge! This shit was hard.
Filling his plate with mashed potatoes, grilled chicken, and a spoonful of each of the vegetables, I cleared away his homework, stacking it at the other end of the table, dropping his plate in front of him with a clatter.
Little shit looked like he was considering throwing it at me or in the sink, if the way his eyes darted between me and it was anything to go by.
“Eat up, buddy. You’ve got to finish your homework, then we can go out and throw the ball around, before it gets too dark.”
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