CHAPTER THREE BAD NEWS

Brayden—

Brothers are already seated around the scarred wooden table when the rest of us file into Church. My father sits at the head, the lines radiating from his eyes a testament to long days riding in the sun… and perhaps a bit of tiredness. There’s a weariness there, and I wonder if it has anything to do with why he called this meeting.

I glance over at his VP. Crash has the same expression, like there’s been some bad news. My gaze shifts to my brother beside me, leaning with his arms folded against the wood paneling. He meets my gaze, and I know he’s seen it, too.

Billy stands on my other side and twists toward me. “You know what this is about?”

I just shake my head. I’ve got no clue.

The gavel bangs down, and the muttering conversations quiet.

My father stares at the table, his palms stroking back and forth—a habit he has when he’s deep in troubled thought. His silver rings draw my attention, the ones he’s worn for as long as I can remember. The EDMC letters on one hand, the three skulls and the one-percenter symbol on the other.

“Got some news today. The former president of the Birmingham chapter passed away early this morning. The funeral is Saturday. It’s a twenty-three-hundred-mile trip. If we push it hard, we can make it in three days. This one’s mandatory, boys. Everyone in this room is goin’. You know the rules. Failure to go is a five-hundred dollar fine. Prospects are the only ones staying behind. I want a good showing. I want Cali to represent the EDMC well. Butcher meant something to me and to Crash. Ain’t no secret that used to be our old chapter before we came out to Cali. Butcher was a good man and a damn fine leader. One I respected. One I emulated.” My father lifts his chin at his VP, and Crash takes over.

“Temecula, Oregon, Nevada, Missouri, and Louisiana will all be in attendance. Oregon boys will take a northern route and hook up with Missouri. We’ll hook up with Temecula and Nevada along the way. We’ll ride to Flagstaff the first day, Oklahoma City the second, and Birmingham the third. We leave at sunrise tomorrow.”

“Any questions?” my father asks, scanning the room.

“We camping out?” TJ asks.

“We’re going to try to get accommodations lined up, but bring bedrolls just in case.” He looks around the room. “Anyone else?” When no one says anything, he bangs the gavel down. “Meeting adjourned.”

Those of us standing along the wall file out, leaving the officers still sitting at the table. I follow Marcus and Billy to the bar, but TJ grabs my shoulder and lifts his chin to the door, so I go outside with him.

On the other side of the parking lot and across the chain-link fence, a freight train moves slowly along the tracks. It’s rare when we see one. The low rumble and clanking metal is somehow soothing on my tense nerves. Goddamn, I hadn’t expected Dad to spring this run on us. It’s gonna be a fucking bitch riding all that way.

TJ dips his head and lights a smoke, then turns to me. “Maybe you should take the fine, Brayden. Twenty-three-hundred miles is insane with the way your leg’s been feeling.”

“I’ll handle it,” I mutter, shoving my hands in my pockets, pissed he’s bringing it up. I’m already worried about it.

“We’ll be in the saddle for what? Ten or eleven hours a day? It’s gonna tire all of us out, but it’ll be hell for you.”

“I’m not gonna let Dad down. You heard him. He wants everyone there. How do you think he’s gonna feel if his own son tries to bail?”

My brother takes a long drag off his cigarette. “You need to tell him about your injury.”

“It’s not gonna matter, TJ. Hell, half the guys in there are probably riding with old injuries. Look at Green for God’s sake. Had that bad wreck when he met his ol’ lady. You don’t see him callin’ out, do you?”

“Guess you got a point. Maybe you should ask him how he gets by.”

“He drinks a lot. I’m not goin’ down that road, either.”

“He doesn’t drink when he rides, Brayden.”

“Maybe he’s driving the chase van.”

TJ nods. “If there’s one goin’, maybe you should ask to ride with him.”

“I’ll look like a fucking pussy. And who wants to ride eleven hours with Green?”

He grins, but doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I’m just lookin’ out for you, Brayden.”

Billy and Marcus walk out, holding two extra longnecks, and pass us each one.

“What are you boys out here talkin’ about?” Billy asks.

“Nothing,” I snap, tipping my bottle up.

Billy studies me, and I’m sure he senses the tension in the air, but I keep my eyes on the train chugging slowly past.

“So, three days there, three days back, plus however many in Birmingham. How long you think we’ll be gone?” Billy asks.

TJ shrugs. “Ten days, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Never been to a club funeral,” Marcus muses.

“None of us have,” TJ replies. “Haven’t been any since I’ve been patched in.”

“It’ll be interesting,” Billy murmurs.

“There’ll be a bunch of chapters descending for it. Maybe they’ll send the old guy off with a big party,” Marcus says.

“Probably,” Billy agrees.

We drink our beer in silence for a few minutes, and then the officers file out.

Wolf looks over at us. “Best get home and get some shut-eye, boys. Sunrise comes awfully early.”

We watch them all mount up and ride off.

Billy finishes his beer and tosses it in the metal barrel with a crash. “Guess I’ll head home to Melissa. Break the news.”

“Shit.” TJ grinds his cigarette under his boot. “Gigi’s not gonna be happy.”

“Brandy, either.” Marcus drains his beer and heads to his bike.

TJ turns to me. “You headin’ out?”

I nod, drain my own beer, and move to my own bike.

Fifteen minutes later, I trudge up the steps and into my empty single-wide trailer. This park is mostly well-kept places owned by a mix of retirees and young families. I respect that and always roll my bike in quietly. I stick to myself, and I don’t cause trouble. My neighbors do the same for the most part.

Walking through the door, I toss my keys on the kitchen counter and move to the cabinet to shake out a couple of aspirin, then step to the fridge and drink straight out of the orange juice container, downing the pills.

Turning, I lean against the sink and stare at my place. There’s one lamp burning on an end table in the living room. The room is pretty bare of furniture, with just a couch, pair of chairs, table, and the flat screen mounted on the wall.

I’m rarely here, so there’s little clutter. I pay a girl from the club to come in twice a week and do my laundry and clean the place. It’s worth every penny.

Thinking of laundry reminds me I need to shove some clothes in a pack so I’m ready to roll out at dawn.

I enter my bedroom and glance around. Molly came today, so the place is neat and the bed is made. Crossing to the dresser, I pull out a drawer and find a stack of neatly folded t-shirts. I grab a handful and set them on the bed, then get my pack out of the closet and begin filling it. I can’t bring much, just the bare essentials.

When I’m finished, I dig out a handful of clips and stuff them in a side pocket. With the MC, trouble can happen anywhere, and extra ammunition is definitely an essential.

Finishing, I toss the pack in the corner and walk to the bathroom. Like the rest of the place, it’s spotless. Turning on the shower, I adjust the temperature, peel my clothes off, and step under the hot spray.

Laying a palm on the tile, I dip my head and let the water stream over my shoulders and down my back. I stand there a minute, letting the heat soak into my skin and drain the tension from my muscles.

My mind is still running a mile a minute, thinking about the long ride ahead. I suppose all the guys are home right now fucking their ol’ ladies. I envy them, and it has nothing to do with the fucking. It’s the human contact, the deep connection I know they share with their women. I miss that. I miss having someone to wrap her arms around me and tell me she’ll miss me while I’m gone. I miss having someone to come back to.

It”s not that I really long for a relationship. I tell myself everyday I’m happy to be independent. But every once in a while, it catches me off guard, like tonight, and I know exactly what I’m missing.