Forty-One
A fter Has-Been left, and I’d had some time to stew on things, and rethink every word I said, I tidied my place up, to try and keep busy. I’d picked up the rest of the broken mug last night, thankfully not by embedding it in my feet first, but I’d left the rest of the mess, because I hadn’t given a fuck.
Today I cared. Today I wanted to make a difference. I focused on making the place look good enough for a fucking lady to want to live in. Or would she prefer to live somewhere off-site? I hadn’t lived away from the clubhouse since I’d joined, so I wondered how I’d even cope with that, but surely it wouldn’t take long to get used to. As long as she agreed to stay with me, I’d make it work.
I reached up to shove some crap on top of a cupboard, lunging up with my left arm, before I groaned, and closed my eyes. Fucking idiot. It hadn’t hurt at the time, but I knew what that sudden stretch would mean. At least there was nobody here to see me when the spasms started.
It took a few hours, which even led me to a false belief that I’d managed to escape it this time, and then it kicked in with a vengeance, like I had to be physically punished for putting things away. I was taking two of those old pills when someone walked into my room. Doc. The fucking doc. Not my doc, but the one who definitely shouldn’t see me like this.
“Uh… not a good time, man.”
He lifted the box out of my hand, like I hadn’t even spoken, like it was somehow his fucking right to interfere.
“The fuck are you doing with these? You been taking them?”
I dumped my empty glass in the sink and looked at him, as I leaned back against the cupboards. I couldn’t cradle my shoulder or arm like I really wanted to, and it made me want to lash out at him. To cause verbal wounds to try and match the agony of my physical, and invisible, one.
“How about you fuck off, yeah? Not interested in your bullshit right now.”
He glanced at the closed door.
“Want me to get Reacher here instead?”
“What the fuck is it with you all, constantly sticking your noses into my shit? This is my business. It’s my fucking room, and nobody ever bothers to fucking knock on my door first, and what the fuck. Don’t I deserve privacy?”
Doc helped himself to my sofa, and pointed at the opposite chair, like he expected me to take a seat on command.
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Sit down, or I’ll have to report your hostile behaviour. Remember I’m here to check you for fucking withdrawal symptoms, and right now you’re showing behaviour you don’t want me sharing with the Pres. Not only that, but those pills, you can’t be taking stuff like that, Ice, for fuck’s sake. You’ll end up addicted to those instead. Does nobody ever fucking listen to me?”
I gave up and sat down, wincing when my shoulder throbbed again, and pain lanced into my chest.
“Fuck.”
His eyes were on me, catching every fucking movement and reaction, the observant bastard.
“What’s going on, brother? You’re hurt?”
I wanted to shrug, like it was no big deal, but fuck me, my shoulder was massively out of commission. I couldn’t even risk shaking my fucking head right now.
“Headache. You know, the ones we addicts get when we’re trying to get clean.”
He shook his head. “Not buying it. Why do you keep tensing your neck and shoulder? Can I look at it?”
“God no, please don’t touch it.” I was tired. Tired of lying. Tired of hiding my pain. Tired of pretending that I was okay. Normal. Capable. If I was about to lose everything, what did it fucking matter if he knew? What did any of it matter, if I lost Lissa or the club, or both?
“Tell me.”
I winced again, finally reaching up to rest a hand over my shoulder, as the spasm did its worst.
“Fuck.”
Doc moved to the edge of his seat.
“Brother, you’re in agony, I can see it, so tell me. You don’t have to suffer unnecessarily. Let me help.”
Could I? Could I let him in on it, or would he shop me to Reacher, and lead me to lose everything.
I relaxed as the spasm eased.
“How confidential is this chat, Doc?”
He stood up, shoving my hand away from my shoulder.
“Fuck’s sake. There’s only two of us in the room, man. That’s the entire audience for whatever you tell me.” He rested a hand on my shoulder, and I jerked away, and then cursed again as another wave of pain rippled through my nerve endings, lighting fucking fires along the way.
“Please, don’t make me move it right now.”
“So tell me.”
“Spasms, okay? It’s fucking spasming right now.”
He backed off, thank fuck, he backed off, and sat back down.
“Okay, so how long has it been doing that?”
“Today? Or overall?”
He dug out his tablet, and started fussing around with it.
“Don’t write this shit down, Doc. I can’t have this on record.”
He read something on the screen and lifted his head to look at me.
“You had x-rays twice over the last couple of years, but the notes don’t make sense. Why didn’t you flag this up with me? I’m your doc. You’re supposed to share this shit with me, so I can help you. You know I don’t look this stuff up unless it’s relevant. It’s part of our whole ‘I try not to know everything about you assholes unless it’s necessary for patching you all up’ thing we do.”
I stared him down, and he glanced back at his tablet.
“This shit all looks like they don’t know their asses from their elbows. Jesus, is this from that tumble you took way back then?”
I nodded slowly, and he cursed.
“You’ve been putting up with this since then? Just suffering through endless fucking pain?”
“No, I mean, it didn’t do this at first, so I didn’t get it checked out. By the time it was doing this, it was like they all couldn’t figure it out. They gave me a list of fucking exercises to do, but…”
“They don’t help, or you don’t do them?”
Asshole .
Lissa
A licia ended up sitting with me for hours, confiding in me about her fears for Reacher’s health, without actually telling me there was anything wrong with him, but I suspected there was. How hurt she was about their club voting against her. It sounded like it was a numbers thing. One or two guys voting against was enough to put a stop to things, because it had to be a unanimous yes. What a load of bureaucratic bullshit.
It made me wonder though, even if Reacher let me back, what if the same happened with me and Ice? With the exception of, maybe Has-Been and Ryder, would any of their brothers even think we were worth voting for? If just one of them decided we weren’t, then it would all have been for nothing anyway. So, colour me surprised when my next visitor later that day was even more unexpected than Alicia. The Club President himself, Reacher.
He looked awkward as hell as he stood on my doorstep, hands twitching by his sides, his gleaming motorbike parked outside.
“Hi.”
I glanced around behind him, but there were no other bikes, or brothers, anywhere.
“Hi. Is Ice okay?” He nodded.
“Yeah, don’t worry, he’s fine. Uh, can we talk?”
I felt nervous as hell letting him inside my house, because he was still a hugely intimidating presence, and a scary reminder of my own father.
“I… should I be worried that you’re here?”
He shook his head, and nodded at the sofa, raising his eyebrows, so I gestured accordingly. When he sat down, I hovered for a minute.
“Should I get you a drink or something?”
He rubbed at his beard. “A glass of water would be amazing, please.” Huh. Not what I’d expected.
I fetched one and set it in front of him, and then I curled up in my armchair again, feeling vulnerable and wary, and he seemed no better. He adjusted position on the sofa a few times, staying silent. He grabbed the water, held it, put it back, finally letting out a low curse.
“Jesus, I don’t know how to do this.”
I’d watched his twitching and fidgeting with a growing sense of understanding.
“You need someone to talk to.”
He groaned running his hand over his hair.
“Ally said you listened to her, and I feel like a prize asshole for coming here and expecting the same, especially when I got you fired.”
“And banned me from your club.”
He let out another groan. “Yeah, and that. Fuck. Do you want me to go?”
I lowered my legs, sitting properly in my chair, because suddenly the balance of power had shifted. I was no longer the frightened prey of a dominant man, but the one in charge. The one who could possibly help him.
“You have a lot of weight on your shoulders, Reacher. It makes sense that you’d need to talk it out.”
He picked up the water again, taking the tiniest sip.
“Yeah, perks of being the Pres.”
“So I’m willing to listen, if it’ll help.”
He snorted. “What you should be doing, Lissa, is telling me to go fuck myself.”
“Would that make you feel better? I was tempted, I’ll admit, but I’m also kind of nervous having you here.”
“In case I tell you to stay away from Ice?”
“Mostly, yeah. Isn’t that enough?”
He sipped the water again, sitting back further.
“I really am sorry for fucking up your career for you. I’m obviously more than willing to retract what I said, but I don’t think it’ll help now.”
I shook my head. “The damage is done, Reacher, and it wasn’t completely down to you. I still made the mistake of driving when I shouldn’t have.”
“You’ll really sit and listen to my shit, after what I did? It’s stuff I can’t talk to anyone about. I mean, if you’re not on the clock-”
“Confidentiality is in effect any time if someone needs to talk to me. I may not have an office anymore, but I’m still actually capable of listening and helping.”
He grinned suddenly, and some of my fear dissipated. Was this the man they all saw? He looked like a weight had been lifted already, but I knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.
“So, talk to me, Reacher. Let’s see if I can help you too.”