Bear

by Zahra Girard

  Every man who didn’t serve is in a suit. They’re not the best looking suits; they may not fit well, they might’ve spent the last few years shoved into the back corner of a closet, and some of the guys might look uncomfortable as hell wearing them instead of their cuts, but it doesn’t matter.

  They’re here for Nash. For Bear. He’s family.

  We are going to make him whole.

  “Good job getting them to put away the leather,” Maria says to me, leaning over to whisper. She’s dressed in her best high-end lawyer’s outfit — a suit with a perfectly-tailored fit, perfectly-straight lines, a pure projection of power and confidence — and radiates an aura of authority. She isn’t the lawyer for Nash’s case — that falls to someone local that Maria’s firm in Chicago recommended — but it feels so good to have my best friend by my side.

  The case feels more certain, more sure, and, though I won’t be there to see it, I can picture his face when he gets the news that things have finally gone his way. As he gets the chance to be the kind of good man for his daughter that I know he can be.

  Nash’s case is next on the docket, and we’re all waiting for the court clerk to emerge and invite us inside. I’m anxious to get the waiting over with, but I’m afraid as well of what might happen.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I say. “It was Samantha and Gunney. There was a meeting last night. Church, is what they call it. Gunney told everyone that no brother of his was going to lose out on their daughter because someone couldn’t have the strength to wear a fucking suit when the time called for it.”

  “I thought they weren’t ever supposed to take those fucking things off,” she says. “Like, that they shower in them. Kind of like that one sad bald guy from that TV show who always wears his denim cutoffs.”

  “No, trust me, they’ll take them off. The one I know is more than happy to get nude when the situation calls for it,” I say. There’s a moment that I feel my cheeks heat up and a smile come over my face.

  “So, what are you two?” she says. I’m sure she saw me, just a second ago.

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  A raised eyebrow. “You don’t know? You’ve fucked him, right?”

  “Yes,” I laugh.

  “And now you’re helping him get custody of his daughter.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, it was either a life-changing fuck, or you care for him. Which is it? And, if it was the former, I need to know if he’s got a twin brother, or a cousin, or if you’d be all right with me calling him sometime.”

  “No, you can’t call him. Even though I’m going back to Chicago once this is over, I seriously do not want to hear about you hooking up with Nash.”

  “I was only kidding. Fucking hell, Roxy, get your panties out of a knot,” she says.

  “There are plenty of other single men out there, Maria. Hell, there’s single men in his club, and I’m sure any of them would be happy to meet you.”

  “I tried. It didn’t go so well.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I talked to that one this morning,” she says, pointing to Ozzy, who’s lounging on the other side of the room and looks a little bit uncomfortable in his suit. “He’s cute, and he seemed like a sweetheart, but I couldn’t understand a fucking word he said. It was like he wasn’t even speaking English.”

  “We all have that problem with him.”

  “How the fuck do you deal with it?”

  “As far as I can tell, everyone just assumes he said what we want him to say. We project. And he’s so easy-going, he’ll go along with it most of the time.”

  “So, wait. He does what you say?” she says, taking a long look at Ozzy. “Shit, sounds like a perfect man. Maybe I should give him another shot.”

  “Go get ‘em, tiger,” I say.

  She growls and heads over to Ozzy’s side. She bounces as she walks. It’s almost a strut. Ozzy doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.

  I fidget while we wait for the clerk to come out and notify us that it’s time for Nash’s case. Even with the legal help that Maria was able to call in, I know this isn’t going to be easy — with all the violence that went down, I’m certain this is going to be one hell of a fight just to get a judge to give Nash a chance. But I’m so grateful to have everyone here to help, every member of Nash’s family.

  “It’s going to work out,” Samantha says, coming up behind me. “If this family court judge doesn’t work out, maybe we can do a little bit of work off the books to change his mind.”

  I stare at her. “You really aren’t serious?”

  “No,” she says. “Jesus, calm down. I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “I’ll be happy when this is all over.”

  “It’ll be fine,” she says. She puts her hand on my shoulder for a second, before pulling me into a hug. “I never got around to thanking you for your help. You’ll make a great old lady, some day. Once you learn a few things.”

  “I just didn’t want any more people to get hurt,” I say, hugging her back. “There were other — better — options.”

  “It worked out well. This time. But if you’re going to stick around, the trick to learn is when to follow your man’s plan to the letter, when to try and nudge him a different way, and when to do what you did. This is a family, Roxanna, and if you go against us, or your man, they will come down on you. If I don’t get to you first.”

  I clench my fists. Both of them, even though it makes my left arm hurt like hell. “I care about Nash. I care about Abigail. But I won’t be sticking around. Everything that’s happened just proved to me that I can’t deal with that kind of violence, with the kind of life that these guys lead..”

  Samantha shakes her head. “The club’s gone legit, now. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “And those guns they were smuggling down from Canada? Those were legit, too, right? Licenses and everything?”

  Her jaw muscles flex. “Gunney told me about that. He made the right call. The mechanic shop and the side jobs the boys have don’t pull in enough to keep the Iron Devils in their place. Sometimes, you need to make tough decisions.”

  “Tough decisions? So, you’re ok with weapons trafficking?”

  “I back my husband, and I back the club. That’s all you need to know. Especially since you’ve decided you don’t want to be one of us.”

  I want to say more, but the court clerk opens the doors and waves for me. I leave Samantha and head over to him.

  “It’s time. Are you ready? Is Mr. Nash Marshall here?”

  I shake my head. “He’s in the hospital. I’m sure you’re aware of the extenuating circumstances. His lawyer and his family will be representing him in absentia,” I say, gesturing to everyone assembled.

  The clerk shrugs and marks a few boxes on the clipboard he’s carrying. “Then go on in.”

  I’m nervous as all hell as we enter the courtroom. It’s nothing fancy, it’s a family court, which is a far cry from anything that would’ve been on Law & Order. There’s a judge’s bench, some tables for each side in whatever family custody dispute happens to be on trial, and a few rows of benches for family and witnesses.

  Everything around me reminds me of my father. That used to be his bench up there. He’d sit in that seat, and profess to work for justice, while betraying everything he stood for. Those thoughts are like knives in my heart, reminding me of all the pain and conflict that waits for me if I stay here, if I join the MC.

  It takes everything I have just to say in this room. I hold onto thoughts of what I’m fighting for: a man who deserves the chance to know his daughter. It makes my heart warm, it chases away the tears welling in my eyes. It makes me stronger.

  “The honorable Judge Hermanson presiding,” calls out the bailiff.

  The judge walks in, his back ramrod straight and his step has a snap in it that just screams ex military. He’s older, in his early sixties, with more salt than pepper in his thick crop of hair, and in surprisingly good s
hape for a man his age.

  He pauses at his seat and looks over the courtroom. There’s a moment of a smile on his face as his gaze goes over our side. His eyes stop at Gunney in his Marine dress uniform. The judge nods, and Gunney gives a slow salute.

  “Where’d you serve, marine?” he says.

  “Desert Storm, Somalia, and Bosnia, your honor,” he answers.

  The judge nods. “I didn’t see much action myself. My time came up after Grenada. It wasn’t much, but I wouldn’t be where I am today without the Marines and the GI Bill to help put me through college. It’s always nice to see a brother in arms. Semper Fi, marine.”

  “Semper Fi,” Gunney responds.

  “Before we get this show on the road, can you tell me why you’re here? Last I recall, reading over the Marshall file from child services, there wasn’t anything mentioned about others testifying on his behalf. This case seemed pretty straightforward, despite my predecessor’s transgressions.”

  “I’m just here to show support for my brother, your honor.”

  The judge pauses, eyebrow raised. “Brother? You and Nash Marshall are related?”

  “Not by blood, your honor. But he’s family all the same. He’s a marine — he served several tours in the Middle East — and it’s been a privilege of mine to not only share the uniform with him, but to have known him for nearly a decade, now.”

  The judge nods and gestures to the rest of the Wayward Kings. “And these men?”

  “All brothers, your honor,” Gunney answers. “Every single one of these men, myself included, would not be here today if not for Nash Marshall.”

  “Is that so?”

  “We’re family. And many of us came out of the service with our own special kind of demons. Personally, I came out of the Marines a bit too fond of bad whiskey and full of hate. But I got through it, thanks to my wife and my brothers standing next to me. We look out for each other. We lift each other up when we fall — and, as I’m sure you remember coming out of the service yourself, your honor, some of us soldiers tend to fall a lot adjusting back to civilian life.”

  “Point taken, marine. I know more than a couple men who didn’t take well to life outside the uniform.”

  “If I can continue, your honor,” Gunney says, deferentially.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Nash is a man that’s had his share of trouble, make no mistake about it. Life’s been a bit of a bear for him. But I’ve never seen a man as dedicated and excited to have the chance to be a good father. That’s why we’re here — to help make our family whole and help a brother become the kind of father he’s fighting to be, your honor.”

  The judge nods, slowly, considering. “Let’s see if we can get this situation figured out, shall we?”

  His gavel comes down, breaking like a thunderclap throughout the courtroom. We all sit, my heart unsettled in my chest, and my hands clasp into a white-knuckle grip in my lap.

  Court is in session.

  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 thos
e 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.