Chapter 35
Road
I have the headache of all headaches, and the insistent beep repeating every second feels like a stab each time. My mind’s slow, blood sluggish, so I stay still, hoping that if I remain immobile, dreams might sweep me off the surface and carry me into the peaceful waters of sleep. But that’s not happening, and when the stabbing ache becomes faster, I groan, grabbing at my face before rising off the bed… or rather attempting to, because I’m pulled back down, as if someone’s strapped me to the mattress.
My eyes fly open, then close when I’m assaulted by sun so bright one look is enough to make them throb.
Someone gasps next to me and grabs my hand with warm fingers. “Stay down, Road. How are you doing? Do you want me to call the nurse? Do you need to throw up?”
Clyde.
…Clyde?
Memories of last night are a moving Rubik’s cube with missing squares.
Clyde saving me from his club, only to end up dead at their feet. The sheer guilt of letting it happen. Despair, and a sense that everything was now lost.
I overdosed. On purpose. Because what could I possibly go back to after that? No Clyde. No Vultures.
My life would make no sense without them.
The pain- inducing noise speeds up further, and I open my mouth, trying to speak but finding my throat choked up and stiff. Because Clyde cannot be here. This must be a dream.
Or…. Was I successful? Am I no longer alive?
I thought death would be the end, that I would drift off into peaceful nothing and never have to suffer or worry again, but the hand in mine feels so warm, so material—
Clyde pulls his chair closer, his blue eyes so warm when they meet mine. “Just nod if it’s hard to speak,” he says softly. “I found you at my shack yesterday, brought you here. They pumped your stomach, and you’re stable. Strong as an ox.” He strokes my hand with his thumb, and it’s so soothing I could cry. My sweet Clyde, who said he missed me.
I don’t nod, but don’t shake my head either, narrowing my eyes to protect them from the daylight. “W-what?” I choke out and watch Clyde move in the corner of my eye. And then, the intense glow softens enough for me to glance toward the window. Clyde’s standing over me, his shadow providing all the relief I need.
Still, this is too good to be true.
He can’t actually be here.
“You died. I saw you die.”
Clyde sighs and sits on the bed, most definitely not dead. “I made a deal with Bracer, played dead, but that’s all down the drain now, so it doesn’t matter. Maybe I can still fulfill it? I don’t know. What matters is that you’re alive, and you’re never taking fucking drugs again. What the fuck was that, huh?”
The headache suddenly feels even worse, like a hangover after being forced to drink insufficiently filtered spirit. “I should be asking that,” I mumble, squeezing my eyes to release some of the tension in my eyelids. “I almost died for nothing… what the hell?” I ask and place both of my hands on his as relief floods in, filling me with warmth.
“Yes you did,” Clyde says with a deepening scowl. He looks tired. Like he hasn’t slept. “You thought you’d just check out because you saw me die? Tough fucking luck.”
“I—I’m not complaining,” I utter, resting my head on the pillow when Clyde leans over me, as if he wants to watch me from up close and make note of every spot, scar, and wrinkle. My eyes feel a bit unfocused, but when I smell Clyde’s sweat up close, a soft grunt escapes my lips, and I rest my forehead against his jaw.
I might be feeling like a truck ran me over, but what does that matter in the face of Clyde being here with me ?
“You have to promise me, Road, that if I don’t make it, you live on, okay? I did some real bad shit even before I shot Puck. It was… a bad night. I’ve got a massive target on my back as soon as I leave the hospital.”
What the hell is he talking about?
I narrow my eyes, trying to make sense of his words and lean in, resting my head against his chest. His heartbeat is so familiar at this point, I don’t even remember when I realized I couldn’t live without it. “I’m not promising that. I can keep you safe.”
His sigh is as deep as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. “It’s bad enough that your club might have heard something about me bringing you here by now. You can’t protect me. Your club hates my guts.”
“So? You saved my life. I’m not letting you go now. Do you have any fucking idea how hard it was to wait for a response from you? I’m not letting you disappear again,” I say, and despite feeling faint, I tug Clyde’s hands to my lips. They’re salty and smell of stress, but I still pry one open and kiss the soft skin.
Fuck, I’ve missed him so much, and I’ll end up dead in a ditch before I let him go again. He is my goal now, my end game, and fuck anyone who stands in my way.
He’s about to say something when the door swings open without a knock and Prophet stomps in with his face flushed, and his dark hair in a wild tangle.
Clyde tries to pull away, but I’m done letting this secret be a wedge in my life. I chose him. I hunted him down, and now he’s mine. The silence following the delayed click of the lock is full of withheld anger, but I fight off a bout of nausea and glance at my prez.
His gaze is like two shards of green glass, but this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve cut myself doing something I shouldn’t have. It was always worth it. “Didn’t expect you so soon.”
Clyde sits on the bed in silence, his head lowered like a scolded dog’s, but he lets me hold his hand.
Prophet takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. “ Blondie . Of course,” he says with understanding passing over his face.
Clyde looks up with a scowl. “The fuck you callin’ me?”
Prophet ignores him and takes two steps closer, opening and closing his fists, like he usually does when he’s trying not to let anger overcome reason. “Nothing to say? No ‘I’ll explains’ or ‘it’s not what you thinks’?”
I’m set on keeping Clyde with me, but the cutting edge in the voice of my best friend, the man who quite literally saved my life and gave me a new family, makes me flinch, no matter how certain I am about what needs to be done.
“I’m gay—”
“That excuses nothing! When did I ever say I’d have a problem with you being—”
“Every fucking time you made jokes about the gays, sucking dick, or someone taking it up the ass,” I shoot back, overheating with years of anger I didn’t know I’ve been holding on to.
Prophet stills with his mouth open, looking between me and Clyde like a dog confused that his bone turned out to be made of plastic. “I didn’t mean it like that…”
“I don’t fucking care how you meant it. You guys have no fucking idea how often you make those dumb jokes.”
“Didn’t know you were so sens—”
“Sensitive? Me? Are you for real?” I ask, squeezing Clyde’s hand, because he belongs with me, and I don’t want him to doubt that for even a second. “I’m not ‘sensitive’. I just didn’t want to lose all of you, and how would I know how you’d react if I told you?”
Prophet gestures toward Clyde. “It would be an easier pill to swallow if it wasn’t Clyde fucking Turner . Were there no other gays within a fifty-mile-radius?”
“So it’s not something neutral but a bitter pill to swallow?”
Unlike a lot of men I know, Prophet is thoughtful, and doesn’t just get defensive for the sake of it. He frowns, leans against the wall, and takes his time. “It changes things,” he says. “But we can adjust. You’re our brother. He on the other hand, is a Butcher. With a bunch of his buddies in the parking lot downstairs. Seeing him behind our backs…” Prophet shakes his head like a dad who says ‘ I’m not mad, just disappointed ’.
I thread my fingers through Clyde’s, and as my blood pressure spikes, the headache becomes somehow more bearable. “They’re here?” I ask and glance at my partner.
Clyde’s breath is shaky and only now I notice that he’s not wearing his cut. “I told you,” he whispers. “I’m fucked.”
“You are not fucked,” I tell him with as much conviction as I can muster.
“He kinda is,” Prophet mumbles but averts his eyes when I glance his way. “You were seeing him behind our backs. What do you want me to say?”
Fear squeezes around my throat like a thick-fingered hand, but if my club won’t have mercy, I will have to keep us safe on my own. Somehow .
“I didn’t plan this. And then, it was too late to talk. I’m sorry.”
“I accept. Maybe you got in over your head. What the fuck do I know? But he is not one of us, so he’s on his own. The Butchers can take care of him how they see fit.”
“I’m not a Butcher anymore,” Clyde says through gritted teeth. “You see any patches on me?”
Prophet spreads his arms. “Are you asking me for protection now? After all the shit you did over the years? You made your bed, now you lay in it. Without my enforcer!”
My skull feels so hot even the air boils as I breathe it in. “He will never sleep without me again. I’ll be making him my husband,” I say without thinking, but the comfort I feel the moment those words pass from my lips is impossible to describe. I’m at peace. Happy, even though I almost died last night.
Clyde gives me an uncertain glance, but isn’t opposing me, and even squeezes my hand harder.
Prophet blinks a few times, staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind, but I haven’t. I’ve never been more lucid. “You’re serious about this.” It’s more of a statement than a question, which is a good indicator that he’s starting to get it. And since he hasn’t left, slamming the door behind himself minutes ago, convincing him to take Clyde under our protection might be an option.
But he’s not only my friend, but also my prez, and I respect him more than anyone else, so I lower my head and exhale. “I fucked up, I know, and I am ready for you guys to judge me. But I will die before I let anyone take him, so if you don’t want me back—” My throat constricts in a painful twitch, and I swallow, trying to even out my tone, make it less breathy and pathetic than it sounds to my ears. I am placing Clyde above the club, ready to leave if they won’t take him, and that’s already unforgivable, but it is what it is, and Prophet needs to know it. “Just say so.”
Prophet groans. “Fine. We’ll talk about this at the club. If we don’t all get blown to pieces in the parking lot,” he adds grimly.
I swallow the bitterness at the back of my throat, watching my best friend wrestle with the secret I’ve been keeping from him. It was within his rights to refuse, but I am so fucking glad that he isn’t ready to throw me away before thinking it through.
“Whatever you want me to give up on, I will, as long as it’s not him,” I mumble, feeling my hand sweating around Clyde’s. The rush of protective feelings emboldened me to stand by him, but am I brave enough to pull our relationship out of the shadows for everyone else to see?
We have to call a nurse to unhook me from everything, and the silence between my prez and my man is deafening, but at least it’s not Clyde’s aunt discharging me.
“Are you sure you’re ready to leave the hospital?” Clyde whispers while Prophet watches us from his spot in the corner of the oppressive room.
I’m not feeling great, and the doctor advised me against leaving so soon, but I’ll feel much safer in my own home, participating in any decisions that need to be made. I am already tired and by the time I’m ready to go, there’s nothing I want more than to stay, especially as I’m pretty sure a little boost of coke is out of the question. But I’m a big boy and let Clyde hook his arm around mine as we pad to the door.
Prophet raises his eyebrows at me. “You sure you want the guys to see…?”
Stupid fucking question. There is no going back now.
Clyde clears his throat. “We don’t have to—”
But I grab him before he pulls away. He gave everything up to save me—twice—and I will not let him down, no matter how much bullshit I need to endure.
“What, you think I should pretend he and I are ‘besties’?”
Prophet groans and spreads his arms as we walk out into the corridor. “Jesus Christ. Do whatever you think is right here, because I sure as fuck don’t know.”
Clyde strokes my forearm, so I’m gonna take that as a win, even though I’m not sure how to be gay in public either. I’ve never told anyone before Clyde, and while there have been moments when I’ve wanted to talk about it online, to strangers who lived far away and couldn’t possibly have any bearing on my life, I chickened out each time. As if clicking send might get me swatted by homophobes.
But I want this. I want Clyde. And at this point, I can either go with the flow full force or lose him. I can’t have that.
It’s not a big hospital, not like the behemoth of a building where he and I both recovered after the explosion at the warehouse, but it still takes us ages to get anywhere close to the exit. There’s tension among the staff, and Prophet hovers his hand close to the gun at his hip, but I hope the neutral ground rules still stand, and that I won’t die in a shootout right after miraculously surviving.
Not before I marry Clyde .
It just rolled off my tongue to say that he will be my husband, but now that I’ve put it out there, I need it more than I need air. I want to make sure he has a place with me, that he knows how committed I am to what we have, and that everyone knows too and treats him accordingly.
We turn the corner, blinded by sunlight, and the scene at the parking lot is a standoff. One pack of wolves eying the other. The bikes of the Butchers glisten in the bright sun, and there’s more of them. On our side, most of my club brothers wait on their motorcycles, along with Rooster sitting on the hood of a car.
Only now it hits me that my bike must have been left by the lake, but in the state I’m in, it’s better if I go by car.
Grizzly straightens, his eyes hidden behind black sunglasses. “Don’t make me come get you, Clyde.”
I really fucking want to grab him by the collar and beat him to his knees in front of his men, but I’m faint like a runway model before the most important show of the year, so that’s not on the cards today.
“You two can chat at Thanksgiving,” I shout back, trying to focus on my friends, who don’t look like they might shank me the moment I approach. Still, they eye me with a wariness I’m not used to from them.
Rooster opens the car door for me, but stares down Clyde as though he’s toxic waste. “Why is he coming?”
“So he can suck all your dicks!” One of the Butchers yells from the other side, triggering Clyde into action.
“You got a fucking problem with me?” he yells, already reaching for the same gun he shot Puck with last night. Like clockwork, his former brothers-in-arms pull out theirs.
Shit.
I don’t have the energy to deal with this, but I still step in front of Clyde and grab his gun hand, to keep it low. “Hey, Grizz, you let your men talk like that about your own blood?”
Grizzly spits on the ground between us. “He’s no blood of mine.”
Fucking grim. I know Clyde well enough to spot the tremor in his jaw. He’s barely holding it together.
Prophet steps in, holding up his hands. “This is neutral ground! ”
One of the Butchers revs his engine as if to suggest that we will be fair game as soon as we leave. I know my brothers will try to delay them so the car can carry me to safety, but I don’t want any of them hurt over this. I flinch, noticing Creep’s eyes sliding over Clyde and me. His pale face expresses nothing, yet I can’t help the unease of being regarded like this. I’ve always trusted Creep, but he can be unpredictable, and that was before he found out I’ve been seeing Clyde in secret.
“This would be way easier for everyone if you really died, you damn snake,” one of the Butchers shouts, and the hum that follows means they all share that sentiment. I don’t see the expression passing over Clyde’s face, but his grief is pulling at me almost physically, and I open the car, trying to maneuver him inside.
He hides his gun, and it’s painful to see a man as confident as him so lost. I know what he’s feeling. Whatever issues he’s had with his club, it was an anchor in his life—he’s told me that much himself—and now he’s adrift.
I worry he might want to lash out at them with bullets after all, but then not one but three police cars arrive and park next to us. I look around, but my guys don’t seem surprised, while the Butchers hide their guns. The cops roll out of their vehicles and I spot two who are Prophet’s buddies.
As soon as they start to ask the Butchers questions about their bike licenses and registrations, Prophet ushers me to the car. With Rooster behind the wheel, me and Clyde in the back, we’re the first ones out of the parking lot.
“Good save,” I say to Prophet.
Rooster stares at Clyde in the rearview mirror. “Is he a hostage?”
“No,” I say right away, leaning back in the seat, my hand curled around Clyde’s fingers, because he’s so tense and distant I fear he might disappear if I let go. I hate cars, especially using them as a passenger, but with the weakness sitting in my muscles like poison, I’m grateful for not having to think about the road ahead.
“They don’t want him,” Prophet says tersely, staring ahead, as if the bungalows on the side of the road personally offend him.
But I do. I want him with every cell in my body. From his ice-blue eyes, his long, dirty blond hair, pursed lips, the scar on his face, and the deep scratch on his cheek he must have gotten yesterday. He’s all mine, and I will take care of what’s mine.