Gabriel's Salvation: small town, misunderstood MMC, overcoming trauma, first love romance

1. Chapter One

My phone rings from the kitchen, and I drag myself off the couch. Just as I reach for it, the annoying sound stops. Looking at the clock on the microwave, I see it’s barely 8 a.m. Who the fuck would be calling me at this time?! I don”t have to wonder for long, though, as my brother”s name lights up the screen.

“Hey Na-” I begin before I”m cut off by the annoying sound of singing.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you….” Shit, is today my birthday? Surely not, I think to myself while furrowing my brow. I scroll to the calendar app on my phone while the incessant singing continues, and sure enough, it’s my birthday. My 21st birthday to be exact. How the fuck did that happen? Maybe I should lay off the drinks a bit.

“Gabe, are you there?”

“Yeah, I”m here. Sorry. I was just getting dressed,” I mumble while clearing my throat, trying to get the roughness out of my voice so Nate won’t worry about me.

“So, what are you doing later? I know you said you”ve gotta work today, so ya can’t come here, but maybe I could get a flight over to see you? Spend Christmas together?” I can hear the pleading in his voice, and part of me would love nothing more than to accept his offer. Let him come here and finally spend some time surrounded by family. But what the fuck could I offer him here?

“Nah, I don”t have time. John’s got me working nonstop. I try my best to sound cheery. “Have a good Christmas, though.” God, I hope he buys it.Last thing I need is for him to drop everything, catch a flight, and show up on my doorstep.

“Oh, okay,” Nate replies, sounding deflated. I”m such an ass. He just wants to spend time with me - I don’t know why. I can’t do this. I”m such an ass. He should just move on with his great, happy life and forget about me.

“Anyway, I”m at work, so I”ve gotta go. Speak soon, Nate.”

“Wait, don”t,” Nate starts, but I disconnect the call.

I don”t miss the way his voice is laced with hurt and disappointment, but he”d be even more hurt if I said yes and let him come here - back to the house of horrors. Our father may not live here anymore, but his ghost and the memories of him still haunt these halls.

No. Over there, he’s living the life of a rich kid. I bet he”s got a stack of presents under the tree and a turkey roasting in the oven. Bet he’s probably going fucking caroling with the Jacksons or some other shit. Doing all that Christmas movie bullshit.

I look around the rundown shithole I live in — not a single Christmas decoration in sight. Nah, he doesn”t need me; he”s got his perfect life there. I”d just be holding him back.

I open the fridge to grab myself a beer, but it”s bare. Fuck! Coffee will have to do.

I grab the milk and a mug from beside the sink, but as soon as I unscrew the lid, I gag as the sour smell assaults my nose. Resisting the urge to throw up, I quickly put the lid back on and throw the carton in the trash.

“Fuck,” I huff as I grab my bike keys. I throw on some shoes and a jacket with my joggers and make my way to the store.

“Merry Christmas, that will be $12 please,” the pimple-faced asshole at the till whines.

I throw my money down and snatch my beer, milk, and ready meal, not even bothering to give him eye contact.

Grabbing my phone from my pants pocket, I dial John’s number. As usual, he answers almost immediately.

“What is it, son?” Son?! The sound of that word alone makes bile rise up in my throat, reminding me of exactly whose ‘son’ I truly am.

“What have I said about calling me that?” I snap back.

As usual, John just ignores me the way he does every time we have this argument. He calls everyone son; I know this. It still doesn’t stop me wanting to rip his fucking throat out every time.

“What do you want, Gabe?” I can hear a note of irritation in his voice.

“I was just calling to see if you had any jobs for me today.”

“Gabe, it’s Christmas Eve! No fucker’s working! Not even me. Go fuck off, relax, enjoy the holidays, and try to spread some Christmas cheer.”

“Do I look like a fucking elf?” I snap again, the irritation clear in my voice.

“Well, go find some Christmas pussy and fuck that attitude out of ya for all I care. Just get the fuck off the phone. Me and my little angel are making Christmas cookies, aren”t we?” he coos in some pathetic baby voice.

“That kid’s made you fucking weak man,” I scoff.

“Remember who you”re talking to. I may not have brought you into this world but I”m more than happy to take you out of it. Now f.u.c.k. off, before I kick your a.s.s.,” he spells out because of his granddaughter’s proximity to him. Even that gets on my nerves. Where was that concern for protecting the innocent when I was a kid?

“Really, old man? I”d like to see you try,” I laugh back before hanging up. Fuck me, what am I gonna do now?

Ever since his granddaughter was born, she”s had him wrapped around her little finger. She’s probably only about 4 or 5 but follows him everywhere. She”s an annoying little shit, constantly stealing all the donuts or following her grandad around like a bad smell. Usually kids are scared of me, crying when they hear my bike or see my tattoos. But she just laughed when she saw me and demanded I let her sit on the bike. I would never let her, of course. But she”s alright I guess.

Climbing onto my bike, I let the sound of the engine coming to life distract me as I drive home. The streets become a blur as I rev the engine, getting faster and faster. It’s pretty empty, and the road is clear, so I allow myself to open up the engine and soar.

As soon as I get home, I waste no time popping open a bottle and parking my ass in front of the TV. My phone buzzes in my pocket but as soon as I see who it is, I decline the call.

A few seconds later my phone buzzes, telling me I have a new voice message. I know I shouldn”t, but curiosity gets the better of me, so I play it.

“10:30 a.m. on the 22nd of December - Hello Gabe, it”s Sarah, erm… Mrs. Jackson. I”m just calling to remind you that you”re still welcome here for Christmas. It would mean the world to Nate if you would come. In case you forgot our address, it’s- ”” I hit delete on the voicemail and skip to the next message.

“8:03 a.m. today - Gabe, it”s me. Call me back, bro.”

“8:07 a.m. - Come on birthday boy, call me back.”I can”t help but grin as I listen to Nate”s voicemails, knowing full well he”d have been bouncing around like an excitable toddler leaving them. Even as a kid, he’s always loved birthdays. Even when we both knew our asshole of a father wouldn”t get us much, if anything. He”d act like the small handmade gift I made him was better than winning the lottery.

I remember his sixth birthday; mom had passed away a few months before and my father had spent that whole time basically comatose on the couch. So I snuck out and stole a teddy bear for him. Wrapping it in some newspaper and string I found lying around the house. He carried that teddy bear everywhere with him. Even years later when it started to resemble a dog”s chew toy from the years of love and attention he gave it - he continued to lug it everywhere with him. I still remember the hours of inconsolable tears I had to dry when my father ripped its head off in anger one day. I can”t remember why he did it though. Knowing that asshole, just because he felt like it or wanted to hurt my brother, just for daring to breathe.

My smile is short-lived though as the phone automatically skips to the next message.

“9:46 a.m. - Hey Gabe, it’s Mrs. Jackson. Nate says you won”t be joining us. So I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday and let you know I”ve sent a little something to you in the mail. . . it says it was delivered a few days ago. Please let me know if you received it.”

Reluctantly, I head down to the mailbox. When I get there I notice it”s almost full. I grab everything out and head back inside.

I flip through the pile of mail, which is mostly bills and junk mail, and find three things that aren’t. The first is clearly a card of some sort. I open it and straight away cash falls out. Retrieving the unexpected gift from the floor, I count it - fifty dollars.

Who the fuck would send me cash?

Opening the card it reads:

Well, I never did like the Jacksons, Nate may consider them part of his chosen family, but I never will. But I’ll hand it to them, the money they send every birthday sure is a welcome gift.

The next is a package from Nate consisting of a birthday card, some chocolates, an Amazon gift card, and the latest Sons of Anarchy box set.

And finally, there”s a Christmas card. This one appears to have been hand-delivered.

Inside, it simply says;

I tear it up into tiny pieces and throw it in the trash. The last thing I want to see is a card from Isabella”s family. Back when we were kids and Nate first developed his little infatuation with her and her family, I thought she could be okay. For years I watched their friendship blossom and was dumb enough to believe maybe she could be a true friend to us both. That was until she and her grandparents betrayed us. A betrayal that led to us being removed from the only life we’d ever known and thrown into foster care. And now the mere mention of her name is enough to send my blood boiling.

Yet every year I receive one of these cards- some sort of sick way to torment us further. As if that family hasn”t done enough harm to us, they send a card every year just to rub salt in the wound.

My mind transports me back to when I was a child and was dumb enough to believe they actually cared.

Walking through the forest carrying firewood, I spot a familiar figure heading towards me.

“Gabe, I”m glad I saw you today. I have a bit of a favor to ask,” Isabella”s grandpa says with a smile. “Would you mind helping me get some stuff out of my car?” he asks, motioning down the path.

Reluctantly, I put down the firewood and follow him.

“So how have you been, young man? Nate’s coming over for dinner tonight and Nana is making her famous lasagna. If you”d like to join us, there”s plenty to spare.” My mouth almost salivates from the thought alone. I can”t remember the last time I actually had a meal that didn”t come in a box or that wasn”t better suited for the trash.

“I can”t. I”m sorry, but I”m busy with Dad tonight.” It”s not really a lie; I am busy. Busy making sure Dad doesn”t choke on his own vomit, busy making sure Dad doesn”t get drunk and attack Nate again, and busy making sure everyone is still alive by tomorrow.

“Oh, okay, maybe next time.”

We reach the truck and he hands me two bags to carry. “Are you okay with those?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course.” It”s two bags, not even heavy. Surely he could have carried them himself?

I take in his smaller frame and gray hair and wonder if perhaps they’re too heavy for him because he’s so old.

“Oh shoot!” he says suddenly as he pulls another bag out of the backseat. “Nana is going to be so cross with me,” he sighs as he opens it.

“What is it? What did you do?” I ask, peering into the bag.

“Well, I was supposed to be taking these old clothes to the charity shop, but I forgot. Nana isn”t going to be happy if I return home with them. And the shops will be shut by the time I finish work.” He begins rubbing his head looking upset, then suddenly gasps. “Wait, I”ve got an idea! You look about the same size as my grandson. I don”t suppose you want these, do you? They”ve barely been worn.”

“Who me? Erm, I”m not sure if–” I begin saying but he cuts me off.

“You really would be doing me a huge favor Gabe, how about we take them with us to the Rangers Office and you can at least try them on. You”ve got to take the other two bags there anyway.”

“I guess,” I shrug as I move the two bags into one hand so I can reach for the bag of clothes.

We walk a few minutes to the office and step inside. As usual, there”s only Isabella”s grandpa and one other person here. Who is this guy? I assess him for a moment trying to decide if he’s a threat. I”m alone now with two fully grown men. Will they try to hurt me? I take in the other guy and notice he also seems pretty old. I decide it”s safe enough. After all, I could take them both if I had to, either that or run. Neither seems fast enough to catch me.

“You can drop the bags just there,” he says, motioning to the table in the corner of the room.

“Have you had breakfast yet? I”m starving. I bet you are as well after carrying those heavy bags. Sit down and I”ll make us something.”

Reluctantly I take a seat. A few moments later he comes over with a warm cup of hot chocolate filled with cream and little tiny marshmallows, and a plate full of toast.

I devour the toast and drink as quickly as I can, just in case he tries to take it away again.

“Wow, you were hungry,” he laughs, handing me the half slice left on his own plate. “Now how about we see if those clothes fit.”

I open the bag and see what appears to be a brand new thick coat. I try it on and other than being a little big, it”s perfect. This will definitely keep me warm all winter, much warmer than the hole covered fleece I”m currently wearing. Next, I find not one but two pairs of jeans, a couple of sweaters, and even a pair of sneakers. All of which look like they”ve never even been used.

“Are you sure you want me to have these? You”re not tricking me, right? We don”t need handouts you know,” I say, eyeing him suspiciously.

“No, please take them. You”d be helping me so much. I”d never hear the end of it if I went home and Nana realized I didn’t do the one job she asked me to.”

“Oh okay so, it”s like I”m doing a job for you then?”

“Yes definitely, you”re helping me stay out of trouble. I”ll owe you one.”

“Oh, in that case I guess I could, you know, just to keep you out of trouble.”

Shaking my head to rid it of my memories, I grab another beer from the fridge.

Stupid little Gabe, believing he was actually helping. I bet the old bastard had a good old laugh once I left.

Poor, neglected Gabe, relying on pathetic handouts to survive. Pretending to be a sweet caring family when really they were luring my family into a trap, ready to strike and report us to the authorities.

I will never be weak, afraid, or stupid again. I can take care of myself and I can sure as hell take care of Nate. We only need each other. I make good money and soon Nate will too. We can get all the food and pussy we need when we want it. What else is there to want?

For a moment I feel happy; it”s only a few more months till Nate turns eighteen and hopefully moves back home to me. That”s been the plan for ages. But is this enough for Nate? Am I enough for Nate? He’s just going to leave me as soon as something better comes along and then it will just be me again. Fuck it! I’ve done okay since coming back here. I will be okay no matter what.

These thoughts are going to drive me mad so I grab my beer and park my ass on the couch. Eventually, I grab the DVDs that Nate gave me and lose myself in watching them while I drink my beer and smoke my dope. After a while I look at my phone and of course, there is nothing there from anyone. Everyone has other people that they would rather connect with than me. The only time people contact me is when they need something - a fuck, some dope, a repair, something. People only want me for what I can do for them.

My mind wanders thinking about what Nate’s future will be. Even when we were kids he was always the one people liked. Despite everything our father put us through he is someone still encompassed by light and goodness. Not like me who was consumed by darkness.

He will probably find himself some bitch of a wife and a couple of ankle biters running around his knees - make his own family. Where will I fit in? Nowhere, that”s where! I”ll be thrown away like last week”s trash. I”ll be stuck in this house old and bitter just like my father was. Probably right here on this couch and fade into oblivion. No one will miss me when I”m gone. No one will stand over my grave and weep. I”ll just be maggot food.

Trying to distract myself from my downward spiral, I put the next DVD in and try to watch, hoping that the familiar appeal of guns, violence, and motorbikes will make me feel more at home. But of course this episode is all about the biker gang pulling together like a big ass family to try and rescue Jax”s baby. When the fuck did this become some lame ass family show? Why is Jax ready to betray his brothers for some snot-nosed baby?

At first it makes no sense to me, until I think back to a baby who I would have protected with my life - Nate - he wasn”t my kid of course, but he might as well have been. It was me who was there when he took his first steps. It was me who made sure he got food every night, even when my own tummy was empty and hurt. I would have done anything for him. I still would. I’d take a bullet for my brother. Is that how Jax feels about his kid? Is that how parents should feel?

A feeling of sadness and yearning settles over me. Will I ever have that? Would I ever want that?

Fuck this, I need to stop this before I take a knife and slit my own throat.