Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Holly
My eyes fill with tears as I remember Pappy walking quickly into the house with downcast eyes. I had been diligently working to get the tax documents to my clients so that Rebel and I could enjoy a little adult time. Okay, a lot of adult time, since life had been so crazy lately that our intimate forays were put on the backburner.
As it all comes back to me with crystal clarity, I get lost in the memory of finding out the man I love more than life itself had his life hanging on the scales.
“Pappy? What’s wrong? Is it Grammy? The girls?” I ask in succession, quickly standing and going to where my shoes sit on the mat that’s just inside the door. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but with the way he was avoiding looking at me, I knew it had to be tragic.
“It’s Rebel,” he whispers. I look closer at him and realize he’s covered in blood.
“Pappy?” My mind is racing feverishly as I scan him from the top of his head to the bottom of his boots all while trying not to collapse at his feet. His chest, arms, hands, and the front of his jeans are soaked crimson red. My pappy, the man who’s been a constant in my life for as long as I can remember, is drenched in my man’s life force.
God, please, tell me he’s okay, my mind screams.
“Holly… there’s no other way to tell you this, but someone hit him when he was pulling into the driveway. He’s on his way to the hospital, and I need to get you there,” he says. I find myself engulfed in his arms, and I don’t give that first fuck that I’m now covered in Rebel’s blood as well. I need this connection to my grandfather and from the look on his face, he needs it as well.
“Then let’s go,” I decree, pulling back to grab my purse and coat. I can put it on once I’m situated in his truck, but I don’t wanna wait to put it on.
I jerk out of my memories and look at the doctors as they introduce themselves to Rebel and begin to detail his injuries. I should probably take notes or something so there’s no confusion later down the road when it comes to all of his injuries and diagnoses, because I know he’s still pretty drugged up from his extensive surgery, but I need to be touching him to assure myself he’s alive. If they weren’t either bandaged or covered with IVs and those plastic bracelets the hospital puts on their patients, I’d hold his hand, but right now, it’s out of the question.
The waiting room is full of his club brothers clamoring for me to come and update them, but until now, I haven’t had anything to tell them. We’re all in the same boat, praying that whatever damage he’s sustained won’t be detrimental to his future.
“All of this information I’m about to share with you can be found on the patient portal,” the first surgeon kindly says when I look at him in confusion. “I know it’s a lot to take in right now, but I must say, Mr. Sherman, you’re fortunate to still be alive.”
Rebel’s eyes meet mine and then he turns back to the doctor and says, “I know. Thank you both, as well as whoever helped keep me on this side of the grass.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I giggle then say, “That’s something Pappy says all the time.”
Rebel’s lips quirk in the smile I’ve grown to love as he replies, “Sounds like Paul.”
Squeezing his shoulder, I look at both the doctors and ask, “Can his club brothers come in and see him? They won’t stay long, but they need to put their eyes on him for themselves. Simply going out there and telling them won’t be good enough.”
The doctors look at each other and nod before the taller one looks at the nurse and states, “Go inform the bikers who are in the waiting room that they can come in for ten minutes. Mr. Sherman needs his rest, but I know it’s important for family members to see for themselves.” When she goes to protest since we’re in ICU and there are limitations on visitors, he holds up his hand and says, “We’re bending the rules. We only have one other patient up here and I don’t foresee them breaking into a party atmosphere.”
“Fine, I’ll go get them,” the nurse huffs out, tossing a glare over her shoulder as she walks out the door.
“We’ll wait to see if they have any questions for us,” Doctor Number Two says.
I really should focus better to get their names, especially since they’re embroidered onto their coats, but my mind is ping-ponging all over the place and I can’t think straight. The door opens and I watch as Rebel’s MC brothers quietly walk in. Well, as quietly as a bunch of hulking, muscular men can move when they’re wearing motorcycle boots.
Ash, his VP, walks over next to me and leans in then says, “We’re checking into it, Rebel. Paul already gave Data the feed from his cameras.” Rebel nods but doesn’t say anything, probably because the doctors are still in attendance.
“Does anyone have questions for us?” Tall Doctor asks, looking around the room.
“How long will he have to be here?” Ash questions. “And what kind of accommodations do y’all think he’s gonna need for home when he’s discharged?”
“We’d like to keep him for about a week for observation and to ensure no infection shows up and hinders his recovery. Plus, there’s a slight risk for blood clots to form because of where the breaks in his legs were as well. We do have him on IV antibiotics as a precaution, of course, but if something shows signs of becoming infected, we’ll culture that area to make sure we’re giving him the correct medications,” Doctor Number Two replies.
“As far as accommodations, he’ll likely go to rehab for a few weeks after he’s released while he undergoes physical and occupational therapy to strengthen his muscles and stabilize his ambulation so he can single-handedly support himself where his legs were fractured. He’ll still have the casts to protect his bones as they and his tissue heals, but they’ll teach him how to properly use a wheelchair, make sure wherever he lives has certain items to assist him with his independence as well as safety, and develop an at-home plan. We’re also going to have home health care, physical therapy, and occupational therapy added to his orders once he’s released from rehab.
“Holly, your house has wider doorways than the clubhouse,” Ash states.
“And we can add a temporary ramp to your front and back porches so he can get in and out of the house for a change of scenery, since he’ll probably only leave the premises while he’s healing when he has doctor appointments to follow-up on shit,” Data adds.
“Sounds like you’ve got a good support team in place, Mr. Sherman,” Tall Doctor says.
What impresses me the most is neither of the physicians are showing any signs of discomfort with being surrounded by a group of bikers, nor are they treating them in a condescending manner. I ask, “Is the nurse who just left the only one on staff up here?” When Doctor Two raises his brow at me in confusion, I continue. “I don’t like how she treated Rebel’s brothers a few minutes ago and her hesitancy in bringing them to the room, so I don’t want her taking care of my old man. He needs people who don’t care who he is or the fact that he wears a patch on his back, they just want him to get better.”
“We can arrange that for you,” Doctor Number Two states as he looks down at his tablet and makes a note. “Consider it done. If there’s nothing else, we’ll leave you to visit but remember, ten minutes. Holly, we’ll get a recliner in here that’s more comfortable than the chair since I don’t expect you’ll want to go anywhere.”
I grin then reply, “Nope. My grandfather is bringing me a bag in a little bit so I can get cleaned up.”
Once the doctors leave, the rest of the brothers crowd around. Ash looks at me and says, “Normally, you wouldn’t be involved in a church meeting, but I’m not gonna ask you to leave his side. However, you cannot repeat anything you hear, Holly. Do you understand?”
I briefly wonder if these men have a secret handbook on how to change the tone of their voice to one of sheer power and authority, because Ash normally doesn’t sound like he does right now. Instead, I nod then follow it up with actual words. “Not gonna say anything and I appreciate that you’re letting me stay.” Rebel gives me a proud grin. By now, he knows that my loyalties are to him and his brothers. The fact that I just reiterated that to the men he surrounds himself with is a prideful moment for him.
As if they could’ve really made me leave my man’s side. Pssh. Don’t they know I’m the granddaughter of a woman who taught me how to stand my ground?
“Prez, like I said, we’ve got the camera feed downloaded and Data’s going to sit down in his cave and go through the reels one minute at a time. Once he gets a lock on the vehicle that hit you, he’s gonna check the town’s CCTV cameras to see if he can pick up anything else, like the driver, the license plate, that sort of thing. We should hopefully have some information pretty quickly.”
My mind conjures up the thought that it’d be nice if he could track the vehicle through town and find out where the person lives. But since I’m not a member of the club, I keep my lips sealed and let them discuss things. After all, they have more experience with these situations than I do.
“Good,” Rebel rasps out, his throat still gravely from being intubated. “Not that I don’t already suspect the answer, but how’s my bike?”
“Fucking toast, Pres,” Red replies. He’s the club’s Road Captain if memory serves, and I think he also oversees the auto and bike repair shop the club owns. “The only thing salvageable was your gremlin bell, believe it or not.”
Rebel chuckles but the movement jostles him and he’s soon groaning in pain. “Shit, need to figure out if it can be transferred to another bike or not.”
“Well, it didn’t fail you per se, because nothing was mechanically wrong with your bike,” Red states. “So, you can move it to a new ride, or put it on your keychain and Holly can get you another one.”
“What’s a gremlin bell?” I ask, never having heard that term before. I mean, I saw something hanging from part of Rebel’s bike, but I didn’t think to question him as to what it meant.
“A gremlin bell is typically gifted to a biker from a friend or loved one, they don’t buy their own. It’s placed on the ride to protect the rider and bike against mechanical issues. There’s no special magic about it, exactly, it’s more a superstition that many bikers adhere to, is all,” Data explains. I grin because since he’s taken the time to say hello to Rebel, he’s had his face stuck in his ever-present laptop. Mine is sitting on the small table the nurse brought in for me to use so I could work whenever Rebel was asleep.
“What do you do with the old one?” I question. “Does it get moved to a new bike if the bike it’s on is totaled?”
As horrified looks come my way from all the brothers, I briefly wonder why I opened my mouth. I guess my innate curiosity should’ve paused. I mean, I could’ve always done some research on it once they left. But I’m so exhausted at this point, I wasn’t thinking.
Because right now, I feel like I could sleep for a week, and I know in my heart of hearts I need to get some rest. I’ll be no good to Rebel or even the girls if I get worn down. Especially if I do so and end up getting sick since he’s going to be prone to infection. I refuse to be separated right now, so I make a mental note to order myself a supplement that Grammy swears by. The woman rarely gets so much as a cold, which might have more to do with the fact that she cooks everything from scratch instead of using processed products, but with me eating hospital food, I need every advantage possible.
Prophet, the club’s enforcer, clears his throat then says, “If the bike is totaled, you put it in a mason jar, then cover it with a quarter of a gallon of motorcycle oil, seal it up and put it on a shelf. Legend says the oil will continue to keep the gremlins away, while the one that was on the bike will get its peaceful resting place. Or, like Red said, you can move it to a new bike or put it on a keychain.”
Hmm. I kind of like the mason jar idea. The girls and I will go buy him a new one for his new bike. “Well, it’s better than what was running through my head.” At Prophet’s raised brow, I say, “I thought you might have to bury it or something.” When several of the brothers start chuckling, I shrug. “Listen, y’all, I’m still learning stuff.”
“If a brother passes, it’s usually buried with him, along with his cut if he belonged to a club,” Prophet states.
This honestly doesn’t surprise me at this point; bikers are some of the most superstitious people I’ve ever met. But I guess, at the end of the day, we all have those idiosyncrasies we abide by, so who am I to say anything? If they think it keeps them safe, I’m personally invested since I never want to see my old man like this again.
“You’re doing good, sweetheart,” Rebel rasps out, looking at me with a smirk on his face.
“Pres, we’re gonna get out of your hair but me and Data will be back in the morning. Holly, if you need anything at all, you let us know,” Ash says.
“I should be good, but thank you,” I reply.
“Fox and I will be swapping out guarding your door, Pres,” Prophet states. “Figured since we have no clue who did this to you, we needed to protect our president and his first lady.”
A blush stains my cheeks at his words. I’m still adjusting to being part of their world, but all of the brothers have been kind as well as patient with my countless questions. In fact, I’ve developed a special bond with Psycho since he’s their club treasurer, and I work with numbers every single day. I gave him a few programs to use which has made his life easier and in turn mine since I’m now doing the books for all of their businesses. No more chicken scratch receipts for me to decipher; now I get printed spreadsheets and documents to input into the master workbook I have set up for each of the club’s businesses.
“Appreciate it, brothers,” Rebel rumbles. “I think my ol’ lady needs to get some sleep and I’m about to push this button here to try and numb the pain a bit.”
“Road rash is the worst,” Prophet mumbles. “But tossing in some broken bones including a few ribs and I definitely understand. We’ll get the bastard who did this, Pres,” he promises.
“Y’all watch your backs,” Rebel advises. “We don’t know if this was directed solely at me, or the club as a whole.”
“Already on it,” Ash tells him. “Let’s ride, brothers. Holly, we’ll see you two in the morning, and we’ll be bringing breakfast because I know hospital food sucks.”
“You’re my hero,” I reply, grinning at him. “I think Pappy plans to bring some food up to me, but it’s not like I have a mini-fridge or microwave I can store it in. Oh, and I guess I need to find out if you have any restrictions, Rebel. Because hospital food sucks.”
“We have a refrigerator you’re welcome to use,” a new nurse says, coming into the room and hearing my last words. “Just put your name on it.”
“Really?” My joy must be evident on my face because she grins and nods while making her way to Rebel’s side.
“Okay, gentlemen, unfortunately, your time is up,” she tells the brothers. None of them argue. Instead, both Rebel and I get chin lifts as they leave the room, Ash closing the door behind them. Once they’re gone, she puts on a pair of gloves and says, “This won’t be pleasant, Mr. Sherman. I have to change and clean the dressings.”
“Call me Rebel,” my old man says. “I just hit the pump for the pain meds. Holly, maybe you should go wait outside or something.”
“Not leaving.” I give him a narrow-eyed look, daring him to argue with me. He simply chuckles and falls back on the bed, closing his eyes. Yeah. That’s what I thought.