Stand (The Brazen Bulls MC Book 7)

by Susan Fanetti

Several voices rang out, yelling for people to get into the room. As they did, Mo worked her way around the bodies and sat at her man’s side. Cecily caught a look that moved between them, solemn and heavy with meaning, and she shifted on Caleb’s lap.

  “Something’s up.”

  “What? What’s wrong?” Caleb had been fondling the locket he’d given her; now he dropped it and looked around. “What do you see?”

  “I don’t know. Aunt Mo and Uncle Brian look weird.”

  The room was full of family, taking up all the seats and the floor around them, and standing close as well.

  Mo cleared her throat and put her reading glasses on. “I got an email from Maddie this morning, and she wanted me to share it with the whole family today. There’s a picture, too. I printed it out. It’s not as clear as it is in the email, but…” she passed it to Cecily’s mother, sitting at her other side. Her mother looked at the photo and put her hand to her mouth.

  Caleb saw that. “Oh shit. Oh shit.”

  Her mother passed it on, to Rad, who crouched between the sofa and the chair where Willa sat. His arms were around Jake, but he took the photo and looked. His head dropped.

  Cecily couldn’t watch that anymore. She turned her attention to Mo, who cleared her throat and said, “This is what Maddie wrote: Hi Everyone. I asked Mo to read this note, because it’s time to share some news. Ox is in the end stage now, and we’re counting the rest of our time together in days, maybe hours. The cancer is all through him. I’m writing because he can’t.”

  Mo’s voice had started to give out when she said the words ‘end stage,’ and by the time she got to the words ‘he can’t,’ she was crying openly. Uncle Brian took the sheet from her and pulled his reading glasses from his pocket.

  As his wife had, he cleared his throat before he began to read. “He’s still Ox most of the time, and he’s still glad to be here most of the time, but his pain has gotten bad, and his pain meds make it hard for him to think. But they keep him as comfortable as possible, and he’s still with me.”

  Uncle Brian faltered and went quiet. Crouched at the other end of the sofa, Rad reached out and gestured for the paper. Mo took it and handed it over.

  Rad read for a second and found his place. He blew out a sharp breath. “I’m attaching a picture that his nurse took this morning. We have help in the house around the clock now, and every morning, we push him out on his special gurney onto the sand, and we sit together and watch the sunrise.”

  The photo made it to Cecily and Caleb right then. It was a bad inkjet color print, but it showed Uncle Ox, skinny and pale, his skin blotchy. There were circles like bruises under his eyes, and deep hollows beneath his cheekbones. He lay propped on a gurney that had been set low, near the sand. He was connected to machines and oxygen and IVs, even there on the sand. Aunt Mad sat beside him, leaning close. They were wrapped together in a red blanket, head to head. Uncle Ox’s eyes were closed, and he looked so sick that Death had to have been close enough to be their photographer, but he was smiling and holding Aunt Mad’s hand.

  Cecily passed the photo to Simon.

  Willa took the paper from Rad, who wiped his hands over his eyes. “Papa cryin?” Jake asked, patting his father’s cheeks.

  “Just a little, Jaker. Just a little sad.”

  Jake kissed his cheek and gave his father a hug. “Hug it better.”

  “Thanks, little man.”

  Willa smiled at her boys and continued reading. “It’s hard, watching him leave me, but we got more time than they thought we would. They told us over a year ago that we might get six months. But we got twice that and more.”

  “May I?” Cecily’s mother asked.

  “Are you sure, Jojo?” Mo asked.

  “I am. For Maddie.” Willa handed the paper over, and Cecily’s mother took a turn. “We got another birthday, another Thanksgiving. Today, we get a Christmas we were sure we wouldn’t get. It doesn’t look like we’ll make our first wedding anniversary, but we got a wedding. I got almost seventeen years with this man, who is the best of men. My true love. My only love.”

  When Cecily’s mother couldn’t go on any longer, Maverick leaned over the sofa and eased the paper from her hands. He pulled Jenny close and held her as he read, “Every day that I wake up and he’s still with me is a gift. Every smile, every time he holds my hand. Each time he says my name. My life is full of gifts from him.”

  In Maverick’s arms, Jenny read, “That’s what I hold close. Not his leaving, but his staying. I think we’ll be home soon, family. We miss you so, but I wish we could stay away forever. Hold each other close. Cherish every day. Merry Christmas. We love you. Maddie and Ox.”

  The room stuffed full of rowdy, rough Bulls was absolutely silent, except for the occasional soft sniff of a nose or huff of a sigh. Maverick folded the paper and handed it to Mo, who took it in her two hands and held to her heart.

  Sadness and love pulled on Cecily’s shoulders, and she sagged into Caleb’s embrace. She set her head on his shoulder and buried her face in his hair.

  “I love you, Ciss.” He brushed his thumb over his flame on her wrist.

  “I love you.”

  This was family. This was love. Worth all the pain and heartbreak.

  Worth any price.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Maddie had been wrong. In January, she and Ox celebrated their first wedding anniversary.

  He died two days later.

  Four days after that, on a cold, windy afternoon darkened by the threat of snow, the Brazen Bulls stood in the cold, outside a cargo bay at the airport, and waited for a signal from Delaney and Rad. When Rad stepped out and waved, the rest of the Bulls came forward, in two straight lines. At the head of the bay, they met their president and SAA, and the black casket of their former VP and one of their longest-standing members.

  Standing five at a side, the Bulls carefully hoisted the box onto their shoulders, and each clasped arms with a brother on the other side. Delaney walked ahead, leading them down the ramp to the hearse waiting at its foot.

  No one said a word.

  The box felt far too light to be holding the monumental body and heart of the man inside it.

  The funeral director closed the hearse door, and Delaney shook his hand. The Bulls stood in a line and watched the hearse drive away.

  ~oOo~

  At the clubhouse an hour later, Delaney stood at the front window and watched the snow fall. He’d been standing there awhile, alone, not moving, no drink in his hand.

  The party room was full, but only with Bulls family and close friends. Ox’s service was scheduled for two days later; mourners from away wouldn’t start arriving until tomorrow.

  Cecily was sitting with the old ladies, who’d surrounded Maddie and taken up the corner by the big television, where the best seats were. Other Bulls and friends stood in clusters around the room, or sat at the bar, drinking and talking quietly. Everyone, even Mo, seemed to want to leave Delaney to himself.

  But he’d been standing there a long time. Caleb grabbed a couple of bottles of Budweiser from an icy tub, twisted off the caps, and headed to the window.

  “Beer, Prez?” He held a bottle out. Delaney’s gaze shifted in the window’s reflection, and he moved, stirring to life like someone had just wound his key. Eventually he took the bottle.

  “Thanks, son.” He took a drink.

  Caleb did as well and looked out the window. Snow had covered the ground and was sticking to the sidewalks and streets. The station had been closed all day; the snow lay in a pristine blanket across the lot.

  The glow of the streetlights seemed to sparkle with the snowfall. “It’s coming down hard.”

  “Yeah.” More a grunt than a word.

  Caleb left off his study of the snowscape and turned his attention to the president’s profile. How old was Delaney? He’d been in Vietnam, so in his fifties or sixties somewhere. He looked a hell of a lot older. In the three and a half years since Caleb had signed on
to prospect, and dramatically in the past few months, Delaney had aged hard. His hair had gone from thinning but dark to scraggly and totally grey. Same with his beard. He had a face that always looked angry, all blunt edges and brutal angles. Now the skin sagged and folded around his eyes and mouth. Shit, he looked about eighty.

  He was still on the mend from the shooting, but that had gone down three months ago. Delaney was back at the table, back on his bike. Why did he look like he’d taken a step to follow Ox?

  “You okay, D?”

  The old man chuckled, a husk of a sound. “No, son, I am not.” He took another swig of beer. “Not at all.”

  “Do you need anything? Can I do anything?”

  He got no answer. But Delaney turned to him, his wrinkled brow drawn in tight, and stared. Caleb looked back, waiting. The moment stretched to discomfort, but he was afraid to look away, as if that would be a weakness he didn’t want his president to see in him.

  “You’re a good young man, Caleb. I’m proud to have led the table that brought you to it. I’m sorry I got you shot.”

  “You didn’t, D. If anything, I got you shot. You were trying to take care of me when he got you.” He’d been told the details of a shooting he didn’t remember. It had been Devil Hauser, in his dying act, who’d shot Delaney. He’d done it with the gun Slick had concealed. He’d gotten Slick killed, using him like a shield, and then grabbed his piece and almost killed Delaney as well.

  “Hauser. That ass.” He shook his head and turned back to the window. “No, son. I got myself shot, too. And Slick. You know how many Bulls I’ve buried in twenty-six years?”

  Caleb didn’t, but he didn’t answer.

  “Ten. Not counting Griff. And I should count him, too. I made the club turn our backs, and we burned his kutte, but I was as much to blame for Dane as he was. We should have put him to rest right. He was a good brother. We let him down. I let him down.”

  Again, Delaney went quiet, staring at the mounting snow. Caleb watched as well, unsure what words to say, and eventually Delaney spoke again. “Eleven brothers in twenty-six years. Six dead by violence. No, son, I’m not okay. You know what I am? I’m tired.”

  “You’re a good president, D. Every one of us would follow you anywhere. You made the Bulls what we are. This family? You made it, too.”

  He smiled and set his hand on his shoulder. “Well, I’m not sure I agree that I led right, but thank you for that, Caleb. You know, Dane would have been glad to have his girl with you.”

  Glad of the light breaking into their exchange, Caleb laughed. “You think?”

  “Well, after he’d broken several of your bones. He’d’ve come around.”

  “Mav and Gun took care of the bone-breaking for him.”

  That earned him a chuckle. “That girl’s got a lot of fathers, now that her own is gone. It’s you who made her see that.”

  Caleb turned from the window and looked across the room. Maddie sat on the sofa, her two best friends, Mo and Joanna, on either side. Cecily sat on the arm of the sofa, her arm extended across the back, behind her mother. They chatted and laughed, and one or two wiped their eyes. All the women had formed a tight knot around Ox’s widow, and only their children seemed able to penetrate it.

  It was more than fathers that Cecily had. Again he said, “You made this family, D.”

  “No, son. We all made it. But I think I almost broke it.”

  ~oOo~

  Cecily came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist. He picked up her hand and kissed his flame, its colors new and vibrant. “Hey.”

  “Hey. Can I make you a plate?”

  The women had laid out a big buffet meal for all the arriving clubs and associates. Though six inches of snow had fallen during the night, no one had been deterred from attending Ox’s memorial, and the clubhouse was packed.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  She poked his side gently. “You’re getting skinny, you know.”

  Only about ten pounds down. His appetite hadn’t come back yet, but he tried to remember to put fuel in his body. “I eat. Just not in the mood to stand around with a Chinet plate right now. I’ll get something later, when we get home.”

  “Maddie needs her house back. I guess I’m going to move back with my mom.”

  Pulling on her hand, Caleb drew her around so he could see her. “Way out there?”

  Joanna lived on a big parcel of land almost thirty miles outside of Tulsa. He and Cecily had been basically living together for months, but if she went out there, and he went back to Hominy…shit, they’d be sixty miles apart.

  “Let’s get a place.” He spoke the words as he thought them.

  “What?”

  Usually, she was the impulsive one, but he’d shocked her. It didn’t seem such an impulsive idea, though. “Ciss, come on! You’re keeping my flame. We’ve been living together since the Panhandle, and longer than that, really. Let’s do it officially and move in together.”

  “You mean like an apartment?”

  “Yeah.” The idea flowered in his mind. “Or a house. I’ve got some money saved up. I could put a down payment on something decent. Nothing like Ox and Maddie’s place, but something decent.”

  “You want to buy a house together?”

  She seemed stuck. Sliding his fingers between hers, he lifted her hand so her wrist was before her eyes. “What does that mean, baby?” With his other hand, he tugged his collar open and showed his chest. “What does this mean?”

  “That we want a life together.”

  “So let’s buy a house and get started on that. Let’s not put shit off. Let’s do what Maddie said.”

  “Cherish every day.”

  “Exactly. Who knows how long we’ve got, so let’s get going.”

  “Could we get a lizard? I always wanted a lizard, like a bearded dragon, but Mom thinks they’re creepy.”

  “We could have a whole zoo if you want. We’ll find a place with an acre or so, not too far out.”

  Finally, the idea broke open in her head. He could practically see the light bursting through. “Yeah. Yeah! Let’s get a place. Holy shit!” She swept her arms around him, and he bent close and claimed a kiss.

  One more thought occurred to him. Two more, actually. They were big and powerful, and not yet ready to share, certainly not here, on this day. But Caleb smiled and pulled his girl close. Here on the night before they laid a pillar of the Brazen Bulls to rest, as they celebrated his long road and marked its end, Caleb saw the real beginning of his own.

  ~oOo~

  The afternoon dimmed to dusk, and the crush of mourners both thinned out, as people went off to their accommodations for the night, and quieted down, as those who stayed—because their ties to the Bulls were closer or because they were taking up the crash pads above—hit the ‘mellow’ stage of their day’s drunk.

  Plows and salt trucks had been through, and the roads were clear, though it was cold enough that the snow held. The wet roads would get treacherous in the night.

  Mo and Joanna had taken Maddie home—to Mo and Delaney’s house; she wasn’t ready to go into her own house yet—and most of the other old ladies had taken the kids home, too, before the clubhouse rating went to NC17. The next stage of the drunk would be ‘rowdy.’ Those who’d left for their motels would be back after a shower and a nap, and those lazing on the sofas and chairs would perk up and grab a sweetbutt. Eventually, the clubhouse would be awash in unconscious bodies, too drunk to ride, especially on winter-slick roads.

  Caleb wasn’t feeling rowdy. He’d been playing it cool with the booze. His liver was healed, but he still hadn’t been able to shake the memory of the pain he’d been in. It lingered like a phantom, keeping him off his food, and keeping him wary of a good drunk.

  He couldn’t leave. He was a Bull, and the Bulls didn’t leave a wake for one of their own lost. Cecily was gone; she’d left with her mom and the others. He felt lonely and depressed, mourning Ox and, after that strange, sad conversation
, worried about Delaney.

  “You okay, bro?” A hand came down on his shoulder, and Gunner sat beside him at the bar.

  Gunner had sponsored him for prospect, but they weren’t especially close. Gunner and Maverick had an impenetrable bond, deeper than the club, and nobody would ever get anywhere near that with either of them. Still, he’d been a good sponsor, a decent mentor. He was crazy, but that had helped, as far as advice went. He knew where all the limits were.

  “Sure. Considering.”

  “Yeah. It fucking sucks.” Gunner snapped his fingers, and Terry came over and poured him a whiskey. “You not drinking?”