“Stop being thankful,” Axel said. “And just be nice to us. You’re thankful ‘cause you don’t feel like you belong and that you’re a Caldwell.”
“I disagree,” CJ said, patting Diesel’s back. “I’m thankful to be a Caldwell.”
“As I said, you’re stupid too. We didn’t ask to be Dad’s sons. Not even you, Diesel.”
“Which makes us even luckier,” CJ argued.
“Nope. It makes us be where we’re supposed to. It’s not my fault, Diesel’s fault, or your fault that we’re Caldwells, CJ, and it wouldn’t be our fault that we aren’t. We just are. The more you apologize for it and try to make people like you ‘causetheyaren’t, the more you’ll think about stuffs before you make a choice for what got to be done. You’re Dad’s son. If a motherfucker don’t like it, that’s on them, not you. You don’t got to apologize.”
Axel looked at Diesel. “Did you ever want to be Prez?”
“No.”
“Then why were you mad at CJ for club stuffs?”
Diesel bowed his hand, then rubbed his brow and looked at CJ. “I’m sorry, little brother. That was so fucking unworthy of me.”
“I accept your apology, D.,” CJ said, suddenly too exhausted to worry about the hospital tonight.
“Do you want to be CJ?” Axel pressed.
“No.”
“Do you want to be Diesel, C.?”
“No.”
“I really want you to be Prez, but if a motherfucker don’t deserve it, the club won’t be good anymore. Uncle Johnnie not Prez. He don’t deserve to breathe. And look how him and Uncle Cash fucked up the club.”
CJ nodded.
“I’m glad I’m not you, though. Dad always gave you a lot of rules and put a lot of stuffs on your head to do, especially when he went on runs. My own chores are a pain in the fucking ass. I can’t imagine having to make my bed and keep my room clean along with everything he wanted you to do. Even more than Diesel and he's the oldest.” He sighed heavily. “Just more evidence Dad’s senile ‘cause this could turn into the War of the Roses, like the Lancasters and Yorks. Or the Hundred Years’ War between the Plantagenets and the Valois over the French crown.”
Pride gleamed in Diesel’s eyes and he straightened. “What was the original name of the Plantagenets, Ax?”
“They were the House of Anjou,” Axel said, beaming at Diesel and puffing his little chest out. “My point is Dad could’ve handled this better. Diesel wouldn’t be such a miserable cunt and you wouldn’t be such a confused one, C.”
Diesel burst into laughter and CJ couldn’t help himself. He laughed, too.
“You took our asses to school, Ax,” Diesel told him
“Next time I’m taking you to the cemetery. Okay?”
“Okay,” Diesel said as if he thought Axel could.
Playing along, CJ nodded. “I understand.”
Axel hugged both of them and started for the door. “Oh, yeah. Dad always punishes us when we fuck up. Remember that when you get my present. Your punishment hurts me, but it’s because I love you and want you to be better,” he said with the utmost seriousness as he repeated Dad’s words almost verbatim. “Hopefully, it doesn’t hurt too bad.”
“I’m not opening any of your fucking presents, Ax,” Diesel yelled.
“Whatever, motherfucker. Whatever,” Axel said and slammed the door.
CJ stood. “I’m going take a shower, D. My head is hurting.” That wasn’t a lie. “Afterwards, I’ll rest until Mom calls us down for dinner.”
“I really am sorry, CJ. And I appreciate how you stuck up for me with Aunt Meggie and convinced her to change her mind. Thank you.”
“We’re brothers, Diesel. The sooner you realize you’re stuck with us, the quicker you’ll feel better.”
