Then something she said hits me. “You’re a member?” I say questioningly.
She shakes her head. “No, women can’t be full-patch holders. Or members.”
“But you said your dad is.”
“Was. He died.”
Damn, this is edging that strained area between us. “Sorry.”
“It was a while ago.” She looks up at me. “But what are you getting at?”
“They value your opinion. If you know your friend is innocent, have some proof, then you could testify for them.”
Her brows pull together, and I don’t know if I’ve just embarrassed myself, having no idea how club politics work.
Something akin to fear passes over her face. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s what I have to do.”
I nod. “Okay. Good.” But I notice she said have to do. There’s a glaring difference between wanting to do something and having to. I tuck that away for now.
“Thanks, Boone. Really. You helped make this simple.” She holds my gaze, her expression bold, determined, and even relieved. But the underlying shadow of doubt cancels all that out. It’s not my place to question, though. No matter how badly I want to know what or who she’s doubting. Herself or her friend.
Melody
Feel not, fire only consumes
WHEN I WAS TWELVE, I begged my dad to take me with him to one of his meetings. I was well over double digits, finally old enough to be a part of his world. But instead, he told me no. Then he explained it had nothing to do with my age, but the fact that I was a girl.
Girls weren’t equal to the men in the MC.
He never lied to me. Even when the truth hurt, he was honest. Short, direct, and to the punch. But he also never treated me like I was a girl—as terrible as that sounds, it was an honor.
He built me a cruiser bicycle and called me Little Rider. I wasn’t allowed to know about his club business, but after that, I didn’t want to. He always found ways to show me the lifestyle through his eyes, how he viewed the one-percenter way of life. The important aspects about it to him.
For that alone, I felt more included in his world than any other woman or kid connected to Lone Breed.
Later that year, when he died, the best part of the Lone Breed MC died with him. I knew the MC wouldn’t let us starve, or lose our house, or get so bad off we’d have to leave Hazard. I didn’t turn away offers of help because I was fearful or even angry—though I was bitter, and resentful. And even though I knew my mother was fucking one of the members, getting her own handouts, I wanted to prove to them all and myself that I was just like him. Like my dad. That I was strong.
I earned a lot of respect from the MC. But I earned more than that—my freedom. Where I’m not indebted to the MC, but can count them among family. Truth is, there’s a fine line between family and enemy…if crossed the wrong way.
Pushing those conflicted thoughts aside, I spring from my bed. Nurse Bridge is going to have a shit fit, but I shut my room door anyway. I need some alone time. Stretching out on the bed again, I lie on my back and rest Jesse’s letter on my stomach. My hand covering it.
For the past week, I’ve done more than my usual bare minimum. Wrote letters to myself required by my treatment, things the “new me” would tell the “old me” if I could travel back in time. I didn’t make a fuss, didn’t argue when I was asked to complete other ridiculous assignments. Listened and held my tongue with Doc Sid. Because I need to pass their tests and get out.
Unfortunately, that means no more dicking around with Boone. Once I was decided on completing my treatment, Boone fun time had to go. Even though he’s the poster boy for sobriety and could help guide me through the system—truth is, just being around him makes me want to break all the rules. It’s the rebel in me. He says jump, I plop my ass down. He says hands off…I’m devising schemes to strip his clothes off.
Beating the utter boredom by checking out Boone’s cute bottom aside, he’s too much of a diversion from my goal. Sure, we could have some times once I get released from Stoney, but I have to get back to my life. One that is so far outside the neat, clean one he’s trying to live. For as long as I’m stuck in Florida on probation, I don’t need to make permanent attachments. I don’t need to fuck someone else’s life up.
I lift Jesse’s letter and think about reading it again for the hundredth time, then tuck it under my mattress. He says that if all goes well, he could earn his full patch by the time I’m out of rehab. What he doesn’t say, but what I can read between the lines, is that in order to earn his full patch, he has to prove he had nothing to do with Dar’s death.
Even though Dar didn’t have biological family in Lone Breed, she had me. I was her family. Every member of the MC knows that, and they looked out for her just like they do for me—because it was always us.
I don’t know why I thought I could bury this, pick up and move on, no repercussions. The MC has their own set of laws and punishments apart from the rest of the world. Tucked away in here, away from that life, it’s easy to feel disconnected. If I’m being honest, I haven’t felt fully connected since the moment I lost my dad. And then losing Dar…my brain shut down.
I’ve been selfish. So wrapped up in avoiding my own pain that I haven’t stopped to consider what Jesse’s going through. His letter didn’t say he was sorry. Or lament on any feelings of guilt. It was short and factual. But I know he’s torturing himself. How could he not? And he wrote this letter right before he was released. He won’t ask me right out, but by divulging the MC’s plans to investigate, he’s counting on me to take up his side.
Boone was right; I can testify for Jesse. It should be a simple fix. Except something Doc Sid said about people you trust protecting you has been picking a hole in my convictions. Making me question that night and the domino effect of my and Jesse’s actions. Dammit. These people are getting inside my head and twisting things.
I wish so badly that my dad was here. That I could ask him what to do. I’m confused and scared, and I hate admitting that. I feel so weak. And tired. I’ve been on the road for a long time, looking for answers, for the life my father found out there that he loved so much. He always had an answer, a way of explaining things that made people listen. I’ve tried hard to be just like him—but when it comes to me, I don’t have an answer for shit.