I turn at my name, surprised to see the boss headed my direction for once and not me going to him. Old habits of being a prospect where I moved to others if they called.
“Yeah, boss? What’s up?”
He shakes his head at me, a small smile forming on his lips. “Nothing, man, just checking on you. Flint got a call from the boys at the gym. Said you got a call and something ain’t right.”
I should have known Jordan would pick up that it was more than just a random call. I’m sure hearing me confirm my name was all the warning he needed. Well, that and I told him to watch over my girl, when we all know I would do it if I could.
“Dad was in a car accident. They said he died on the way to the hospital but got him back up. Think he’s in surgery or some shit. Don’t really know. Was going to go see him unless you need me around here.”
The last part slips out of habit. I might be out of the military and out of prospect duty, but that shit still runs so deep. No matter what, I’m a soldier who will do what he’s told by a man he respects. And I respect the shit out of Law, my prez.
“Fuck yeah, you’re going to him. I’d take you myself if I didn’t already have shit with Ruby to work through. Start packing. I’ll let the boys know. Call us when you find shit out, yeah?”
I nod, ’cause I refuse to speak. I almost feel choked up right now, but that shit can’t be right. I’m a guy, not a fucking pussy.
But in typical Law fashion, shit never gets past him. Before I can make a move to my room, he pulls me in for a hug and whacks my back a few times. Giving me strength only a club brother could give in a time like this.
“Thanks.”
“No thanks needed. You’re family now. It’s what we do.”
He walks off, and I make it to my bunkroom and pack up a week’s worth of shit to fit in the saddlebags on my bike. My truck might be a better option, but the bike is faster, and I want to get there sooner rather than later.
I head out, and a few brothers give me chin lifts as I walk by them at the bar. No one stops me or asks where I’m going, but I feel a level of understanding on their faces. Law must have told them already. I head to my bike, and though I shouldn’t be, I’m actually surprised.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I grunt as I put my stuff away.
“Going with you.” Bass grins around the toothpick in his mouth as he leans back on his bike like he’s about to take a nap.
“Why?”
“’Cause no brother rides alone.” For a jokester, he sure as hell has a way with words. “Let’s get going. Can’t wait to meet your old man and hear the stories he has on you.”
He sits up and fires up his bike, making a show of revving the engine, which gets me laughing. He knows exactly what I need to hear to get me out of my head. And one thing that will get me to stop thinking the worst about what could happen to my dad is fearing what he could tell the one man in the club who can’t keep his fucking mouth shut.
Chapter 8—Bailey
“Settle down. Class isn’t over for another ten minutes.” I fluff some papers in front of my face so no one sees me smirking. I get a sick joy out of the “Aww” from my kids. It’s something all teachers learn to love in their own way.
“Come on, Ms. B. I got plans with my girl tonight,” one kid pleads.
I roll my eyes. “You’ve got plans with your girl every Friday. What makes tonight so special, Shane?” I leave out the part that it’s a different girl every week, or so the gossip mill says. I might like my kids, and I might be invested in them, but their love lives are not my concern. I only step in when I see it’s getting too hot and heavy and remind them that babies are not a blessing at their age. Or when I see the same thing that happened to me as a kid. Hell, I stop that ASAP. No one needs to be led astray just for a bunch of laughs.
“Got to make the early movie so I can get to bed early.”
I chuckle at his words. This kid really knows how to make me laugh. “Bed early? You’re funny, that’s for sure.”
“No laughing, Ms. B. We’re all turning in early.”
I turn my confused eyes to the redheaded Hunter, one of my favorite students. And yes, before you get on me, I know teachers shouldn’t have favorites, but bite me. I do. I also have kids who I think are spoiled little brats. What I don’t do is treat them differently for their performance in my class. You either do the work and get the good grade or don’t and wind up in summer school like this group.
Of course, it must be said that this is my first time teaching these kids. They had another teacher for English during the school year, and while I might know of them, I could have promised you every single one would have passed this class on the first try. But unlike me, a few of my colleagues don’t feel the need to go any further than the standardized tests and teach these kids things that stick and work for them. Not everyone learns just by reading Shakespeare. Some need it reenacted, or put in a movie they understand, or hell, rapped to them. That one was interesting, but the entire class got involved with it, and it was an amazing opportunity for everyone.
So while I might like my students, and understand them wanting to be someplace other than summer school on a Friday, I’m still clueless as to why they all want to go to bed early.
“Why?”
“Duh, the mud run is tomorrow. How we going to know you actually show up and do it like you say unless we there watching?” Erica, one of my morevocalstudents, says with a roll of her own eyes. I swear to God, they roll so far back in her head, I sometimes think she’s possessed. She’s got a talent for it, but I don’t see how it can be useful in the future unless it’s just to piss off people. Which has already proven to work and is probably why she’s in my summer class.
