It helps but it’s only a temporary fix. Business is slower this time of year, so it means I can really take my time on the jobs I have. It lets me give one hundred and ten percent.
The dark and silent walk back to my motorcycle is calming yet loud. My thoughts scream at me in so many different directions.
Most nights I stay at the clubhouse, but tonight, I don’t want to stay there. If any of my brothers wake up, they’ll ask if I’m okay and shit like that is what I want to avoid.
I take the long way home, spending a few more minutes on the road. Helps suppress it. Guilt is a nasty bastard, and it feeds off you like a brain eating disease.
The cold of January tears through my skin and it hits down to my bones. The winters are brutal in Ohio, but even with a foot of snow, I’ll still ride my Harley.
I’m a crazy motherfucker according to the guys. That might be true but sometimes I don’t even notice the freezing temperatures. My mind and body become numb to the feeling.
My motorcycle roars down the long gravel pathway and I park it behind my cabin in the woods. I like it, I guess. As much as I can like anything nowadays. It’s small but it works. The cabin has a second floor but with only one bedroom and bathroom. A kitchen, large enough to cook and prepare the essentials. It has a fireplace which is the only source of heat in the winter, but it never gets lit. Except for tonight. There’s also a black leather couch with a screen tv. I don’t need anything else. Hell, I didn’twantanything else.
The clubhouse was once my only shelter, the cabin being a spontaneous move a couple of years back.
She loved cabins in the woods during Fall.
I set my club’s cut on the back of the couch and toss my knit hat to the side. Then I run my hand through the longer part of my hair, sleeking it back and out of my face.
The cabin sat empty for a while before I mustered up the courage to stay. The voices inside me are loud when I’m here. At the clubhouse, there’s background clatter. Music. People. Motorcycles. It drowns out the heavy noise.
A black hoodie lies on the back of the couch, and I grab it, slipping it on. The fridge is free of any leftovers, so I place a pan on the burner and cover the bottom with butter and garlic, letting it get hot before adding ground beef and then tossing in vegetables. It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do. I season it to my liking, mostly how my mother used to cook it and when it’s done, I scoop some into a bowl and sit down at the small wooden table.
This is when I’d grab a beer or whiskey, but I haven’t touched the stuff in almost a year.
The place is quiet except for the humming of appliances and a small gust of wind outside whistling around the cabin.
After I’m finished, I set the plate down into the sink to wash for later.
A few weights sit in the corner of the living room, and because I already worked out earlier at Tank’s gym, I decide to skip them tonight. But my mind starts to wander in the given silence, so I grab a pair of earbuds and stretch my legs on the couch.
The sound of jazz plays in my ears as my arms lay crossed against my chest, and I close my eyes. It doesn’t take long before I lose the battle to sleep. I guess on the other hand, I wasn’t really fighting it.
The next morning, the temperature had dropped to a frigid ten degrees. I assess the cabin’s pipes to ensure they didn’t freeze overnight and when water pours out, I sigh in relief. I’ll head out to the club after I shower. I need to finish a couple more jobs. Then what? Who the hell knows.
My Harley sits idling while I let her warmup and I zip my heavy leather, shrugging my cut over it. Never conceal your patch or club's name. No matter the circumstances.
The air hits me like tiny knives as I speed down the road, yanking my face mask higher. My body has adapted. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore.
Tank’s walking out of his gym when I pull up to park in between his building and the clubhouse. “You’re one crazy son of a bitch, you know that? But I respect the set of balls on you. I am surprised she runs as good as she does.”
I swing my leg over the seat. “Me too.”
“You’re just in time for breakfast, brother. Maggie made eggs and her bomb ass pancakes.”
“Sounds good.”
Tank nods and then heads inside, leaving me here by my ride. Maggie is the mother of all mothers. It’s like she adopted allof us here. She takes care of us like her own and we love her just the same.
The chatter grows louder as I head toward the back where the dining room is. It’s one big happy family—the clubhouse. When I swing the doors open, a wave of laughter hits me. All my brothers are here, grabbing food for their plates, some already eating. Jules and Charger are even here. Though they have their own house with Chloe, they like to pop in after dropping her off at school for the day.
Though I prefer to be alone, this gives me a little something I need to hold onto.
“You sit next to me, handsome.” Angel pats the seat next to her. She usually comes to breakfast solo, leaving her ol’ man at home.
Venom will always be welcomed, according to Maggie, but Angel likes to avoid the awkward tension. Can’t say I blame her. My brothers will come around eventually. I’ve silently accepted him into our lives which I believe Angel knows that.
I snag a pancake off the serving tray as it gets passed around and then scoop some cheesy eggs onto my plate. Maggie knows her way around the kitchen, that’s for sure.
