Chapter 5
ROOK
I threw my leg over my bike to slide off it when a wave of dizziness hit me, and I wobbled, nearly falling to the ground with my Harley’s handlebars still clutched in my hands.
Scar grabbed my shoulder and kept the worst from happening.
I shook off his hold but gave him a short nod of thanks as embarrassment struck me deep in my gut.
“You okay?” Scar asked, the clear concern in his eyes driving a sharpness into my chest. He was a tall, rough man with short brown hair that was catching silver at his temples, like a lot of the members who’d been around for a while.
I didn’t need any of my club brothers to feel sorry for me or worry about me, but here we were, and it was a given every day.
There was always someone looking at me, worry lingering in their gaze as they tracked my movements.
“Fine,” I bit out, then winced. Softening my tone, I said, “I’m fine. Thanks, buddy.”
Scar grunted, his obvious disbelief another reminder of how much they didn’t trust me. It was easy for them to sit there, all healthy and shit, and cast donuts over me, but—I froze as I frowned at my thoughts.
Donuts? No. That wasn’t what I meant. Doubt.
It was doubt, not donut. Fuck, my brain was a mess, and it got harder all the time to keep my mind on track.
Some days were worse than others, and I’d been having one of those weeks where I couldn’t keep things together.
Normally, PD was there to help, but now he wasn’t and I lived in the clubhouse.
Everything seemed a hundred times worse than it usually was since I’d left the hospital.
He’d brought me my meds, something I hadn’t even thought about. How stupid was I?
While I’d tried to get out of physical therapy, King had picked up on something—or PD had told him—because he’d ordered Scar to take me to my appointments.
When I’d tried to argue, King had cut me off.
I didn’t fight because, in the end, he was still the president of our club.
I refused to take the crash van, though.
No. If I was going to therapy, it would be on my bike, and Scar hadn’t argued that point.
He’d also waited outside while I went in for the therapy.
We were back at the clubhouse. I was sore and fucking annoyed, every part of my body aching, from my ribs to my collarbones to my spine. I was ready to reach out to someone and get stronger pain meds.
“You going to hang out here?” I asked Scar, looking around the junkyard.
He shook his head. “Nah, I’m going to head out. Charley wants me home and I have a day off, so I’m going to get laid.” He grinned, all white teeth and excitement, and I didn’t blame the motherfucker. I couldn’t remember the last time I got dick.
I held out my fist, and he bumped it with a wink. “See you later, brother.”
“Be good, man.” He slid back onto his bike and started her up again.
I walked through the door of the clubhouse, rubbing my ribs as I sighed.
Inside was quiet, unusual for the barroom, except it was a weekday and everyone was at their day job.
I was the only idiot who didn’t have a life, but after the accident, working had become harder.
My job as a welder was put on hold until I was better, but I wasn’t sure how I’d ever be able to do anything but make it through the day.
Fucked if I knew what that would even look like.
I rubbed a hand over my face as I made my way toward the bar. Josh wasn’t there, but he had a place outside of this room, too. He had Rogue.
Falling onto a barstool, I fixated on the booze shelves, not truly seeing the mirror that showed my reflection.
My brain moved slower than molasses, and everything was on fire inside me.
If I could sit here forever, the world racing on around me, I would.
Maybe I’d grow old here, time eating away at my skin until I was nothing but bones.
“What are you doing?” The familiar voice had me screwing my eyes shut.
Fuck.
“Why aren’t you at work?” I forced myself to turn and stare at PD as he ate up the distance of the barroom until he was standing in front of me. The smudges under his eyes, along with his sagging shoulders and grim expression, made me pause.
“Jake is there. He can handle it.” PD took a seat on the stool beside me. I pressed my lips together to keep from snapping at him, but it took every ounce of my self-control, and I didn’t have much of that lately.
“What about your clients? They don’t book appointments to see Jake.”
He rolled his eyes. “I canceled them, told them I was puking.”
“You lied,” I drawled.
“I didn’t.” He shrugged. “Well, fuck. I didn’t much. I’m feeling off today.”
“You never call off work.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Unless you’re on death’s door. Are you here to keep an eye on me?”
“Maybe. Did you go to your PT this morning?” He grabbed his bowler hat and laid it on the bar.
I took a moment to note how exhausted he really looked.
Everything about him wasn’t right, from how he sat to how he rubbed the tiredness from his eyes.
The PD I knew lived life as if his ass was constantly on fire.
His tattoo business was everything to him, and I hated that he was here worrying about me.
“Fine.” I frowned. “I don’t need you to babysit me. King’s already doing that.” The words were sour on my tongue. It was humiliating having my president treat me the same as a kid.
He heaved a massive sigh. “I know I’m not going to fix what I did, but I’m sorry, Will. You should’ve killed that Demon, not me. I was just so angry, knowing what he did to you, that I didn’t stop to think.”
I blinked as his words filtered through my brain. It took me a few moments to piece together what he was saying. I’d completely forgotten about the Demon they’d tortured. If anything, I couldn’t remember what I’d been mad about.
These days, my brain moved in strange patterns, like it was full of water, and I was drowning, caught beneath a riptide. My thoughts jumped around, not quite stagnant long enough for me to stop and wonder why I was doing something.
“I don’t care,” I finally said, my fingers twitching where I had them resting on the bar.
“You do.” PD messed with his hat, flipping it—a nervous habit. “Tell me what to do so I can bring you home.”
I laughed, and he gaped at me.
“You want to know what’s fucked?” I asked.
He frowned again. “What?”
I grinned. “I’m not even mad at you about the Demon fucker. I don’t remember why I was pissed.” I slapped the bar. “The entire thing is fucked. I can tell you what I did ten years ago, but I can’t remember why I decided to live here.” I glanced around the barroom as if it would give me answers.
“Then, come home,” he whispered, pitiful in a way that PD only ever acted around me. “Let me take care of you.”
There. That’s what made me move into a room here. Fuck, how did I forget?
I froze. “I don’t need anyone. I’m a grown fucking adult.”
“Will—”
“No.” I stood and stumbled backward when I lost my balance. He reached for me, but I glared as I managed to stay on my feet. “I don’t need you to baby me.”
“I’m not,” he argued, but I shook my head.
“Fuck off, PD. Just because I got hurt—”
“You nearly died. It wasn’t just getting hurt. You were in the fucking ICU for weeks.” He gritted his teeth. “I had to watch you on a ventilator. Do you not understand that?”
“Poor you.” The part of my brain with little patience triggered.
I couldn’t stop the word vomit from tumbling out of my mouth.
“Imagine being the one who woke up to this bullshit. Who feels pain twenty-four seven, who’s dealing with his best friends treating him like he can’t shit alone.
It all fucking hurts. My brain is a fucking mess.
I can’t think straight. I can’t go back to work yet. I need . . . . I need . . . .”
“What do you need?” he asked.
“I don’t fucking know what I need,” I yelled. “My brain is fucked!”
Silence filled the barroom. All the anger evaporated into helplessness. PD stared at me, and I’d never felt more stupid.
A knock on the clubhouse door made me jump, and I nearly tripped over my feet, but PD grabbed me this time, holding on to my elbow.
“I want to help, not babysit you,” PD murmured. “I care about you, Will. You’re my family, and when you nearly died, I did, too. If you had kicked the bucket, I would’ve followed you to the grave.”
“What?” My breath left my lungs completely, but it wasn’t because of the pain this time.
PD stepped in closer and pressed two fingers to his temple. “I would’ve taken a gun to my head and I would’ve ended it all. You are my life, and without you here, there is no reason for living.”
Someone pounded on the door, and I sucked in the air needed to take a step back. There were so many things I wanted to say, so many things I wanted to do, but instead of saying or doing anything, I headed toward the hallway.
I swung open the front door when I reached it, and my spine straightened immediately at the sight of two police officers. I didn’t recognize them and that only made me more on edge. They were both young, both with buzz cuts and sneers on their faces, and clearly not wanting to be here.
“Hi Tweedledee, Tweedledick. How can I be of assistance?” I showed them my teeth, not quite grinning.
The one on the right had dark brown hair and a scar on his chin, and if I had to guess, I would assume it came from someone he arrested because he had the type of face I wanted to hit. All smug and superior. “We’re here on behalf of Commissioner Johnston.”
I tensed. Motherfucker. “And?” I asked sweetly. “What can we do for Commissioner Dick?”
The cop on the left—dirty blond with really bushy eyebrows—huffed at me. “You should have more respect for the commissioner.”
“I’m not the one who has to suck his dick.”