Page 36 of Not Your Romeo
“You want me—?” Henny started.
“No.” I grabbed the beer and swigged from it. “The prospect was arrested and charged with possession of a controlled substance. He’s out on his own recognizance, I assume. I refused to pay the bail.”
The only one surprised by this news was Cane, who sat back like I’d chunked a brick at him. I could only imagine what was going through his head, having been named enforcer five minutes ago.
I nudged Henny’s boot with mine under the table, “Now you can.”
He gave a slow nod and looked from face to face. “I know some of us feel more strongly about this topic than others.”
Griz cleared his throat when he realized Talon was glaring at him.
“Hey,” I whispered, drawing Talon’s attention back to me.
I gave a gentle shift of my head and Talon focused his gaze on his hands and gave a stiff nod. He’d shared a home with my children, I understood his sentiments to a degree. He felt like Sauce’s keeper, almost as close as a blood brother in some ways, but Griz was entitled to feel as he did about dope, too.
It was our way to condemn such use amongst each other. No one could fault Griz.
I didn’t want my son kicked out of the club, even if I knew he was too soft for most of what we concern ourselves with. Everyone he knew and trusted was at this table, and yet I didn’t know what to say to change the vote, or his path.
“Stripping his prospect patch doesn't do anything for him or us.” Griz sniffed, shocking all of us to a few more moments of silence. “It isolates him when he needs us most. I don’t believe he’s strung out. I don’t even know if I believe he uses hard drugs. I think he just– I don’t know, man, I ain’t never met a soul that lost from such an early age, man. He’s burdened, haunted. He fuckin’ needs help.”
I dropped my hand to my leg a little rougher than I intended, and they all looked toward me at the sound of the pop.
“Sorry,” I grunted, hating when my kids and their psychology got dissected.
I’d heard enough of all that when Jolene cycled them all through therapy in the years after we lost Ruby. Of course, when Jolene told it, every flaw was my fault. Which is why I could recite most of what those reports said in my sleep.
Sammy is the quiet one. She hates conflict, which is odd to me, because she’s good at it. How does a woman become a marine and have a lack of disposition toward conflict? I still wasn’t so convinced of the accuracy of those assessments, but I’d paid for them and memorized them.
Archer was my over-achiever. He was as competitive as the day was long, a natural athlete, but if you consulted the paperwork that was all chalked up to some childhood attention disorder or other. They dispensed Ritalin and Concerta like they were filling a fuckin’ Pez dispenser back then. He treated it like sugar-free candy, too. His mother was bewildered when she started finding them in the carpet all over our family home. The tearful answer the boy gave when I demanded one was simple; it made his heart race, and he felt funny. Jo and I had a great many shouting matches about it before I finally told her he wasn’t seeing the therapist again, nor would he be prescribed so much as one more script over the matter. The kid functioned fine, his grades were fine, he was happy, and at the end of the day, he wasn’t taking the shit anyway. Meanwhile, the other kids and the family pets were at risk of accidental consumption from his discarded tablets and capsules.
Asher was our defiant twin. That boy never found a line he didn’t want to challenge or cross. I truly expected he’d end up in a jail cell someday with the way he carried on when he was younger. I’ve still never seen him back up from anything or anyone, including me. It was like he was born without brakes, the kind that tells a person maybe it ain’t so safe to do a thing. I still couldn’t express the relief I found when he reached bootcamp before he could catch a felony. I never told the therapist, or Jolene as much, but I always thought Asher was the one she got right. Defiant disorder or whatever she called it. Turned out we were both wrong, he just needed to grow up, he’s a Corporal now.
Sauce, man—Sauce, was my baby. It was his diagnosis that brought me to the therapist’s office my first day home on leave. I don’t have his report, neither of us do. I wadded it up and pitched it at her like we were in the World Series.
Survivor’s Guilt, my ass. How the fuck do you diagnose a six-year-old with a soldier’s affliction, I’d roared at her. By the time I got back to my bike, I’d gained enough inner clarity to realize I was angry with myself. It wasn’t her or the diagnosis. It was the realization that I’d been unable to save my son from shouldering that blame. A six-year-old was not responsible for overwhelming Jolene with children to the point she couldn’t safely watch them all.
That was all me.
Still, I’d not been able to convince him of that fact in the thirteen years since we lost little Ruby. He struggled to take his meds. Some days he struggled to remember to eat. It was baffling, but I never gave up on him.
Everyone looked uncomfortable when I snapped out of my thoughts, except Cane. He was staring intently at Griz, nodding to whatever he’d said before I zoned out.
Why was he so invested?
Griz looked up at Cane and something unspoken passed between them that turned my blood cold.
What the fuck had I just done? Cane Davis was the man you called when you needed triggers pulled that were too goddamn close for anyone else to handle. He had the ability to shut it all off, the shit was terrifying to witness.
The realization that I’d just set that up to be unleashed on Sauce left my mouth dry, despite the rate I was chugging my beer.
“Draw him in deeper but tell him plain.” Cane spoke up. “If we’re going to dance with the thought of battle, and keeping the Double Nickel Gang close, we’re going to need a secretary to properly keep tabs on our war fund. Whoever currently covers that for us, I say let them train him. Let Sauce know, though, if he fucks up, his ass is mine.”
My attention shot to Henny, knowing good and well my own opinion was biased, since he was my son. Henny squinted with his good eye and appeared to be considering it.
“You think we ought to give him the rocker? Fully patched?” He didn’t sound put off by the idea, more like he was clarifying.
“Yep.” Talon nodded, eager to cover for Sauce.
