Chance fell silent. “If Zeus had touched you, we’d have set the world on fire. That prospect was innocent, but he wasn’t a brother. You are. I know fear, gut-wrenching, sickening terror. We all experienced it, some more than others. But we stood together and survived. We did the same two years ago. Hellfire ain’t got no more shit heading our way; we’ve done our penance.”
Chance fell silent and let Shotgun chew his words over. They approached a plot of prime real estate. Two acres, backing onto the fishing lake and with a little beach. You could watch the sun rise from your front porch and see it set from the rear. The other brothers had wanted it, and Chance had denied everyone. He’d said a gut feeling had made him refuse, and he understood why now.
The house would be the centre of the community. Houses on either side and in front of it. It was the home of the person who was the heart of the club. That wasn’t him. That was Shotgun.
Chance reached behind him and pulled a roll of paper from his belt.
“Had these drawn up. You and Rain need to check these before I give the okay,” Chance stated.
“What are you on about, Prez?”
Chance waved his hand around. “Giving you this. Held onto it for a reason, but didn’t know why. This is yours, heart of the club and community. You and Rain deserve to be centred in the middle of our family, safe and secure with your brothers protecting you. We can’t give you the words to make you safe. Can speak till I’m fuckin’ blue in the face, but it won’t mean shit. Actions do. This is where you, Rain, and the wife should be. Accepted and protected.”
Shotgun looked out over the water as the sun began to set. It was a million-dollar view and by far the best plot of land here. He knew his brothers had all wanted it.
“Did you speak to the rest of them about it?”
“Yeah, and they all agreed. This is where you belong,” Chance replied.
“Do I?” Shotgun asked, turning on Chance.
Chance saw his vulnerability and guessed what Shotgun was really asking. “You are Hellfire, you belong right here, brother. Let nobody or any self-doubt tell you otherwise. I get how you felt. Zeus fucked us up in the head. And no matter how many years pass, we’ve got scars. Five, ten, fifteen years into the future, another one will explode over something and question his brothers.
“But the rest of us will be here to calm his craziness and make sure he understands he’s loved, because we’re brothers, Shotgun. Today it’s you who has the doubt and the blip. Tomorrow it could be me, Chatter, Tiny, who the fuck knows? When we’re old men, sitting on your porch watching fuckin’ grandkids drown each other, that’s when we’ll understand we’re okay. We’ll understand that we really beat Zeus and those assholes, because we’re there witnessing the future play out in front of us.
“Zeus won’t have that. His black heart and soul are in Hell, and we sent him there. We were forged in Hell’s fire and came out stronger for it. Ain’t nobody who can take that from us. Shit will occur, old lady drama will fuckin’ happen, and we’ll walk through it together, because that’s who we are. We’re Hellfire brothers.”
Chance watched as Shotgun ducked his head and rubbed a hand over his neck. He hoped he’d got through to his brother. There was no bullshit involved, just simple words that came straight from his heart.
“Show us the plans,” Shotgun finally said, and Chance smiled. Today, he’d made a difference. Today, his brother knew he was safe, and that was what mattered.
Allegra – a week after the accident.
“The trauma is centred here, Allegra. The hippocampus was directly hit. There are lesions here and here, causing bilateral damage. We believe those are what caused the amnesia,” Dr Mayo, the neurologist, said.
I frowned at the screen and shrugged. It meant nothing to me; I wasn’t a doctor. “Does this mean it’s permanent?”
“We don’t know. You were in a coma for three days while we let your brain heal. You’ve been awake for four, and there’s no improvement in your memory. I won’t lie, it’s a huge concern.”
“But I’m starting to remember some things,” I was almost desperate. “I’m aware who Lincoln was and George Washington.”
Dr Mayo smiled. “Allegra. Retrograde amnesia affects all memories formed before the accident. You lost all autobiographical memories but retained some semantic knowledge. That isn’t unusual. You suffered a very traumatic blow to the head. I’m sorry, but you might have to resign yourself to never recovering them. Although I never state that you will not. You may do; I can’t predict it. But the longer you go without recalling anything, the less likely it is to happen.”
“This is insane!” I cried and collapsed back against the bed.
“Pushing those memories won’t help either. Allow your family to talk about them, but ensure that they don’t use distressing language,” Dr Mayo said to Gramps.
“What do you mean?”
“Saying phrases like ‘do you remember,’ or ‘how about the time’ will cause Allegra upset and distress. She’ll try to recall those times, and in the end may shove those recollections further away. Videos help, but again, mind your terminology. Even going to familiar places is fine, but don’t push. I suggest that if you’re visiting somewhere where people know you, try to warn them. Allegra will naturally get emotional,” Dr Mayo stated.
“Can she travel?” Thatch asked.
“Why?”
“Allegra lives on a yacht that is moored in Italy right now.”
“I do?” I gasped.
