by Stacia Leigh
“Will. Are you awake?” A woman’s soft voice drifted through the fog into his ears. “Here, drink this.” Gentle hands lifted his head and cool water dribbled across his lips.
He sipped slowly and opened his eyes to a familiar face surrounded by wispy gray curls peering down at him, his behavioral science teacher.
“Mrs. Norton.”
“Oh, stop it, Will.” She shook her head, and her hair shimmied against her shoulders. “School’s out. You have an entire summer to call me Aunt K again. I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” She pushed up her round glasses and smiled. “Listen, the nurse had to dial the morphine back quite a bit, okay? Seems to me you’ve been asleep way more than you’ve been awake, so I think you might be sensitive to it. But that should be fine since we want you off it today, anyway. How’s the pain now?”
“Aunt K, I think I have to take a piss—”
“Oh, dear, of course! You’ll need some help in case you’re light-headed. Have you had a bowel movement yet? If not, I’ll ask the nurse about a laxative. Try it on your own first—”
“How’s it going, Willy-boy?” A voice boomed from the doorway.
“Hey.” Will eased up on his elbow and grinned at his Uncle Shorty while thanking God for the interruption. Holy crap…laxatives? Aunt K may be his dad’s sister, but he wasn’t going to discuss taking a dump with her, no matter how perky he felt.
“You fared better than your bike, at least,” Uncle Shorty said and stepped into the room, looking like his usual spiffy self with a clean-shaven mug and closely trimmed white hair. He was a professional tax accountant by day and a hardened Hides of Hell biker by night. Following him was a rumor he could break a man’s face with his middle finger. So even though he stood at five-foot-seven, calling him Shorty was the extent of the height jokes.
Aunt K stepped toward her husband, and the beads at her wrist jangled as she rested her hand on his sleeve. His polished leather hung unzipped over a tucked-in gray t-shirt with a pocket on the front for his smokes. She whispered something into his ear, and he pulled her in close as his eyes flicked from Will to the bathroom door and back again. He nodded affirmative.
“Okay,” Aunt K said loudly, giving Uncle Shorty an affectionate pat. “I’m going to find the nurse and a strong cup of coffee in that order. I’ll see you two down in the lobby whenever you’re ready. Take your time.”
“Let’s find out what needs to happen for a quick checkout. You’re ready to bust out of this joint, aren’t you, Will?” He dropped his palm onto the blankets covering Will’s lower leg making him clench down on a queasy groan. Uncle Shorty jerked his hand back. “Sorry. Forgot about the road rash. Hell of an accident, Willy-boy. Listen…” he glanced back over his shoulder, watching as Aunt K left the room before scraping a plastic chair closer to Will’s bed.
He sat and leaned forward like something weighed heavily on his mind. Will mentally crossed his legs and searched for the ever-elusive happy place he heard other people talk about while his bladder screamed for relief.
“Here’s the thing.” Uncle Shorty tapped his steepled fingers together, his large knuckles flexing as he studied Will’s face.
“The thing?” Will raised his eyebrows as he reclined, ready to exercise good listening skills and patience.
To hell with it. His bladder needed immediate attention. Emotionally prepared to bolt, hobble, or crawl for the john, he threw the covers aside and stopped. Thick scabs covered the length of his left leg, and if he bent his knee, those things would crack wide open. Will’s stomach slipped around his insides, and he panted to keep the scant water in his belly.
“Willy-boy, you okay?” Uncle Shorty murmured. “Are you in pain?”
Sure, he was sore, but what got him were the crunchy abrasions woven into the dark hair from his thigh to his ankle. That sharp turn onto Cat-O’Mountain Road did this to him. He should have slowed down, worn his leathers, a helmet, gone to bed, or better yet, skipped the last bottle of beer. It was the horde of bikers at his house, laughing it up and having a good time when they should’ve still been mourning. It was those damned cat kidneys and the vet who said, “There’s no cure.” So the answer was yes. He was in pain.
“I’m gonna explode. Could you help me?” Will dropped his chin and squeezed his eyes shut.
“In a minute. I wanted to tell you that the Hides of Hell is a brotherhood, and even though you’re not a patched member—”
“Or a prospect…or a hang-around…or interested—”
“Okay, I get it. You’re none of those things, but you’re still family. So when you’re down, your dad’s down, and the brothers, we feel it, too. So in essence, your bad attitude directly affects the club. Your dad is ready to let your mother go, and so is Liam.”
“Liam, too, huh?” What a traitor. Will narrowed his eyes and looked away. So they were all ganging up on him, trying to force him to feel something he didn’t—to bury his memories and forget his own mother.
“That’s right. They both want to get back to the land of the living, so it means all eyes are on you. We’re all standing behind your dad. It’s time for you to move on…and guess what? We’re all on board to see that you do.”
“So all you badasses have nothing better to do than to stand around talking about me? How you gonna do it, Uncle Shorty? What’s the plan? Tie me up in the torture chair and beat me with a baseball bat until I start thinkin’ like you?”
“Worse.” Uncle Shorty sat back with a grin plastered across his face. “You have a choice. We’re not complete barbarians, after all. Come to the rally with us. The ride is dedicated to your mom and will be a special event all around.”
“What’s the other option?” Will had to take a leak so bad he shivered. Fight the urge, dude. Just hold it.
“You either come with us, or I’m leaving you here with your Aunt K, and believe me, she’s got big plans for you. Rehab, AA, intensive outpatient programs…you should see all the brochures piled up on our kitchen table.” He blew out a low whistle.
“I’m not an alcoholic,” Will muttered. Some choice! Snivel with a bunch of soft-boiled psychiatrists or take an asphalt trip with a pack of gossiping mongrels. His eyes burned as he wiggled his foot to keep from pissing himself. How long was this conversation going to take, anyway?
“Your Aunt K thinks you need help, and she’s prepared to make everyone’s life a living hell over it, and I’m married to the woman! Whatever you decide, I’ll be hearing about it, got it? Big problems are brewing with the club, yet your name is the one always bubbling to the top. Every chance you had to get your shit together, you foundered. Now, it’s our turn. We’re gonna get your shit together for you. How does that sound?”
“Like you’re assuming I’ll ride with you guys.” Will lifted his cast off the bedding to awkwardly cross his arms, and it sat hard and heavy on his chest. Rides and rallies. Will scoffed. The Hides of Hell crew grabbed at any excuse to let loose and party. His mom’s death was not something to celebrate.
“Come on, Willy-boy. Don’t be stupid. You’re lucky you’re gettin’ this opportunity.”
“Let’s say I do decide to go…” Will lifted his plastered forearm, and his fingers stuck out the end, yellow and green from left-over bruising. “I can’t drive with one arm, and I’m kinda sure after horizontally parking my bike, it’s in no condition for a long haul.”
“We’ve got a ride lined up for you. You come to the rally—”
“Who…my dad? No? Then it’s Liam. Bet he loves that…” Will spouted—talk about cramping his brother’s style—then frowned when Uncle Shorty shook his white head.
“Bill had to leave early for important club business, and Liam went with him. They were both here yesterday to see you. Don’t you remember?”
Vaguely.
“Better not be Caboose ‘cause I won’t ride with him.” There was no way Will would wrap his arms around a barrel of a guy who had fuzz growing out his nooks and crannies, from
his ear holes on down to his plumber’s crack. Caboose wasn’t a patched member or even a prospect…just a hang-around. Then, there was Flossy. He wouldn’t even consider it, and Owen would kill him for shits and giggles. Leo? No way. Trip? He was a prospect. So sure, Trip. Maybe.
“Jesus, Willy-boy. You’d be lucky if Caboose’d let you ride bitch with him. We all love ya, kid, but nobody wants you on the back of their bike, so check the attitude. You’re gonna spread your mom’s ashes like your dad wants, and however we get you there, is how you get there. Got it? Now, that’s better than sitting in a room, spilling your guts into big ears, isn’t it?”
Will grunted.
“Good. Our job is to make sure you get to the rally safe and sound. Everything else is taken care of. Remember, when your Aunt K pumps you for info you’re on board, you’re going to quit drinking, and this is your big turnaround. So embrace it. It’s gonna happen.” He kicked his legs out and relaxed into the plastic chair. His leather jacket fell to his sides, and he reached in for a pack of Marlboros.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Will said, trying to keep the desperate thread out of his voice.
“All you need is some fried chicken and a gallon of water. Then, you’ll be right as rain.” Uncle Shorty stood, poked an unlit cigarette between his lips, and patted his leather pocket. “What I need is a smoke. I’m gonna find your Aunt K, and we’ll see about getting you discharged for good behavior.” He chuckled, and his boots knocked against the linoleum floor as he left the room.
CHAPTER 4: Nice Touch
Checkout didn’t happen as efficiently as everyone anticipated. Uncle Shorty was called in for some SNAFU at the club, and Aunt K couldn’t reach Will’s dad when signatures were needed, and insurance cards had to be dealt with—and, and, and.
Will didn’t care. He didn’t want to leave, anyway. Was it wrong to prefer staying in a place where he didn’t have to do anything but sleep, watch YouTube, surf the internet, and check out the nurses? Sure, he was lazy, unmotivated, and a sidekick in his own story. So what?
Not to mention the drugs. Oh, yeah, they were a nice touch. It kept Mom out of his head along with everything else. He might have heard her voice once or twice, but for the most part, the morphine days were spent drifting through a mind-bending fog where things were blissfully vacant. A lot of time went by unaccounted for. It was hell.
Not really…it was awesome.
He was going to miss this place.
Of course, all good things had to come to an end, and the bad news? Yesterday, they’d dialed back on the juice, so it was only a matter of time before things went back to normal. Mom would get chatty, and now there would be Helmet to contend with, too. He’d probably yowl every night around dinner time, per his usual.
The good news? Will had a prescription for pain meds that read, “Do not operate heavy equipment.” Oh, yeah. Sounded about right.
He eased his scabby leg over the side of the bed and stilled while his brain got settled in the vertical position. No more lying around. It was time to get dressed. Uncle Shorty had made a brief appearance, dropping off some fresh clothes, but he didn’t bother to stick around. What if Will fell on his face trying to get his underwear on?
When both feet touched the cold floor, he sucked air through his clenched teeth because not only did he have road rash down his back and leg, he had asphalt ass, a bruised spleen, a cracked ulna, a sprained thumb, and a broken pinkie toe—and the little mother hurt. He could practically hear his buddy, J.J., saying, You’re chunky salsa, man.
No argument here, dude. Will studied his purple toe and knew he looked as bad as he felt, like a hot mess.
Getting dressed was going to take forever.
“Dude.” He held up a pair of baggy green sweatpants and frowned. He was gonna look like a class-A dork. The next six weeks of summer were going to suck. With this green cast on his forearm, there would be no swimming at the lake, no sunbathing in the sand, no video games with a bum thumb, and he probably couldn’t type on a keyboard either. He would be reduced to a book-reading, TV-watching, house-bound hermit.
Hmm, it didn’t sound so bad.
After a ten-minute struggle getting his boxer briefs and sweatpants on, he gave up on the t-shirt in favor of a five-minute break. Surely, the nurse would take pity on him. Somebody had to.
“Need some help, Will?” Speak of the devil. The curvy girl with the pretty face pushed a wheelchair into his room. She was a super-sweet redhead with freckles reminding him of Suzy, a girl he used to like. Briefly. Suzy didn’t wear leather. No, she was reserved and classy with long hair piled on top of her head. She was the type of girl he wanted to like, someone as far from the biker world as possible.
“I’m going to miss this place,” he said. “I bet no one ever says it, but it’s true.”
“Lift your arm. Here…” She tugged the white t-shirt sleeve over his cast. “Everything will be fine once you get home. Your body needs to heal, Will, and to do that, it needs lots of rest. Go ahead and sit in the wheelchair. I’ll put your socks on.”
Her warm fingers were gentle on his elbow as she guided him, and he smiled. He sort of had a thing for nurses. He used to love playing doctor with the girls at the clubhouse when he was a kid. The boys would run off to play jailbreak, while Will pretended to moan in pain, loving the soft hands poking and patting him. Where does it hurt, Will? Here or here? Hmm, it’s a bad case of hairy-mole-itis disease. Looks like surgery. Bring me the wrench! Music to his ears. Surgery was the best, followed by a sponge bath and a fake cast.
“I want to remind you…you have a bruised spleen, so take it easy, and no heavy lifting or jarring activities. Here.” She handed him a ream of papers and cupped his shoulder with a nurturing touch. “This covers follow-up appointments and activities to avoid. Watch out for chest pain, dizziness, a bloated feeling in your stomach…read this. Okay?”
“I don’t want to go home,” Will muttered. Who would take care of him? Poke and pat him and ask him where it hurts? No one, not even Helmet.
“Hey, you’re going to be fine.” She nudged the wheelchair brakes with her toe. “You’re a quick healer. Amazing, really. Your aunt and uncle are here to take care of you, and I can tell you’re in good hands. Ready?” He took one more look around the room. His uncle had packed off the wicker basket of cards and magazines along with his electronics. The room wasn’t his anymore. It was empty, and he was being kicked out of his comfy nest.
“You could always adopt me. I don’t do yard work, but I’m good with pets. Animals love me.” Will turned to give the nurse a pleading look, and she laughed, a sound which lightened his spirits infinitesimally.
“Oh, Will. We’ll miss you around here.” She stepped behind the chair and eased him out the door, gentle and sure.
Like the drugs, she had a nice touch.
Once outside, Uncle Shorty pulled into the loop with his one-ton truck, all gleaming white and polished chrome. Will carefully bent his leg while hefting himself up into the passenger seat with no help from his uncle.
“All set?” Uncle Shorty climbed into the cab, turned the key in the ignition, and drove the eight yards it took to pull into the first parking spot. Then, he cut the engine.
“What’re you doing?” Why were they parking at the hospital when they should be leaving it?
“I need a smoke,” Uncle Shorty said and nodded to the bikers lurking in the shadows.
Another one? C’mon, they were only three miles from his house. Oh, well. Did it really matter? He could sit in the truck as easily as he could sit at home.
“Can you at least crack the window before you go? I need some fresh air.”
“You barf in my cab, I break-a-your face.” Uncle Shorty laughed like he was joking. Right. Will wasn’t worried though because even at his drunkest he managed to blow it outside. Just ask J.J. who had to clean it off the side of his truck on more than one occasion.
The window rolled down as his uncle muttered something about b
eing quick. He eased out, slammed the truck door, and crossed the short stretch of parking lot to the sidewalk of waiting leathers.
Leo the Lion stood there with a couple other guys in the shadows, greeting Uncle Shorty with a round of grunts and chin nods. Leo used to be the V.P. but was now acting president since Dad sorta checked out. After Mom died, Dad couldn’t perform his presidential duties, like sorting out the drama queens, griefing on the rivals, and attending to sketchy club business. What was Leo doing here anyway? Surely, he had more important things to do than hang around the hospital.
Uncle Shorty lit his cigarette, then casually blew out a stream of gray smoke like he was about to hang ten with his buddies, yet all the while, his blue eyes covertly scanned the parking lot. The others stood with low brows over dark shades. Things looked a little tense over there.
Will tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and thought about puking. Not here and now, but all over J.J.’s passenger door the last time in the meadow. Must have been real fun scrubbing chunks off the paint job. Did he ever apologize for it? Did he have to? Probably not, because J.J. got it. He understood that if the tables were turned, Will would have his back. That’s what friends were for.
“The drop-off went smooth. He called in, said he had a tail, and we haven’t heard from him since.” Leo’s words drifted by. “And coincidentally, a couple P’s were seen milling around here. I’m getting a bad vibe. Not good.”
Will opened his eyes and studied the air vent on the dash while he focused on what the guys were saying. Who hadn’t they heard from? Who were they talking about? P’s was short for P-Scum or P-Skulls, all nicknames for the rival club, the Pulver Skulls.
It took a while before Uncle Shorty acknowledged that he heard Leo. Then he said, “Anything else?”
“So what’re we gonna do?” another voice murmured.
“Not here.” Leo’s voice rumbled. “But I’m looking at an earlier departure.”
“Agreed,” Uncle Shorty said. “I’ll get my side together, and you—
