“Yes, but I know to guzzle water before I pass out,” she said. “Because my youth was spent partying instead of taking care of a baby.”
“I couldn’t guzzle water,” I complained.
“That’s because you were too busy vacating what you’d already had to drink.”
“Vacating?” I asked.
“I thought it sounded classier than puking,” she said, grinning.
“It did,” I agreed. I lowered my voice. “It sounds like I missed a hell of a story last night.”
“Man,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “They dealt with some shit. I’m curious to see how they ended up together because what I heard last night didn’t seem like it would lead to domestic bliss.”
“Rose seemed pretty pissed about it.”
“Probably because she just found out the dipshit she’d been seeing had a chick on the side.”
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Why the hell is she drawn to those losers?”
“No idea,” Heather said with a scowl. “It’s not like her dad or brothers are assholes.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Well, not that kind of asshole,” she said with a laugh. “They’re all good to their women.”
“Eventually,” I said.
“Hey Hawk,” Trix said, coming up to the bar. “Help me mix up these drinks. I think they’re almost done in the kitchen.”
It still made me grin when people called Heather “Hawk.” When my daughter was little she hadn’t been able to say Heather and had called her Hawk instead, thanks to the Mohawk she’d sported back then. The name had stuck because Heather had started introducing herself that way the first time she’d come to the clubhouse.
“I’m on it,” Heather told Trix, moving around to the back side of the bar. “I’ll start the skewers.”
“Don’t forget the pickled onions,” Trix ordered, reaching under the bar. “My mom loves those things.”
Just the thought of the little eyeball-looking onions had my stomach churning again. Without a word, I spun around and made my way to the couches across the room. Hopefully I could escape the smell of bacon and the sight of any other food from across the room.
Before long everyone was carrying plates to the tables around the room and the place grew loud with conversation. It seemed like I was the only person dealing with a hangover from hell, which wasn’t surprising. I always seemed to be the sickest one the next day, even if I hadn’t had very much to drink. It was my curse.
“Here, sugar,” Will said, carrying over a bloody mary, thankfully devoid of any eyeballs. “This might help settle your stomach.”
“How is vodka, Tabasco and tomato juice going to settle my stomach?” I asked, taking the drink from his hand anyway.
“No idea,” he said, leaning down to give me a kiss. “But it’s always helped me.”
“Staying drunk isn’t a reliable way to keep a hangover away,” I pointed out.
“Tell that to every man in this club,” he replied, chuckling. “There’s a reason we’ve always got the ingredients for a fucking breakfast cocktail.”
“Pop and Amy are going to get started,” Brenna called out, interrupting our conversation. “For whoever wants to hear the rest of the story.”
I groaned as I pushed myself up from the couch. I wasn’t super excited to sit surrounded by greasy eggs and fragrant bacon, but it was worth the nausea if I could hear the rest of Vera and Slider’s story. I’d never known the couple, Will and I had gotten together after they were gone—but I’d heard plenty about them. It was hard to escape their legacy when I was surrounded by people who’d loved them so much.
“Where did we leave off?” Amy asked as she stirred some sort of smoothie. It looked like the substance I’d vacated the night before. I looked away.
“When Slider and Vera rode off into the sunset,” Farrah said dryly.
“I’ll leave this bit to you, then, eh?” Poet said to his wife as he tucked into his breakfast.
“We wouldn’t want to slow you down,” she replied with mock seriousness before looking back to the people waiting to hear her speak. “It was a tough trip. Vera could barely see out of her swollen eyes and the beating had exacerbated the infection she’d been fighting …”
Chapter 12
Vera
I kept drifting off. No matter how hard I stayed awake or how cold I was, my teeth chattering so hard that my jaw felt like it was going to fall off, I couldn’t seem to stay conscious. Charlie had already pulled over once and yelled at me for falling asleep. It would have pissed me off, but I knew he was right. I couldn’t fall asleep when I was riding on the back of a damn motorcycle—I’d kill myself if I fell off. The fear in his eyes had woken me right up, and things had been okay for about thirty minutes, but I could feel my eyes growing so heavy again that I had a hard time keeping them open. It didn’t help that they were so swollen that I could barely see out of them.