Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE FOOD BANK was alive with the kind of energy that told of the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday.
Voices rang out from the back room where food was being sorted and boxes were being broken down.
Volunteers worked at long tables in the main area, checking quantities and expiration dates as they packed bags.
“Heads up, veggies coming in hot,” Crew said as he set another case of canned vegetables on the sorting table beside Evelyn, a kind, and slightly snarky older woman who had been volunteering there for a decade.
“Bless you,” Evelyn said, reaching for two cans. “Thad was about to get his butt handed to him.”
Thad shot Crew a mischievous look. “Hear that, Crew? She’s always trying to get her hands on my butt.” At nineteen, Thad had a boyish grin, wore an ever-present crooked ball cap, and had a soft spot for Evelyn a mile wide.
Evelyn’s brows lifted. “Boy, please. If I were after your butt, you’d know it,” sparking a round of chuckles and jokes from the other volunteers.
Crew grabbed an empty box and moved down the line. One of the newer volunteers was studying his list of items to put in a bag. “Hey, Rick. You doing okay?”
Rick nodded. “Yeah, I think I’ve got it. I was thinking about how different life would be to only have the food you’re given, you know? Not having choices or the money to grab a pizza or a sub when you want it.”
Crew’s thoughts trampled back to his life before the accident, when he’d chosen to fall in line like a sheep and had taken every dollar for granted.
They shifted to his time in prison. He’d never forget the threatening stares, tension shadowing him like a living, breathing entity, the icy feel of the cafeteria, metal trays, lukewarm mystery food, and being told when to wake up, when to eat, shower, and shut the hell up.
Every decision had been stripped down to numbers on a schedule and a guard’s voice echoing down the corridor.
“Choices are a luxury many of us take for granted,” Crew finally said. “Volunteering can change your perspective, and your life, in unexpected ways.”
It sure had for him. He had been volunteering more often the last couple of weeks and had even begun helping the director to see where he could tighten up expenditures with the hopes of eventually expanding into a larger space.
They were playing Tetris with supplies just to make their current space work.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Rick said.
Crew made his way to another table, picking up empty boxes and swapping them out for full ones.
He joked with other volunteers, settled an argument, and doled out encouragement and gratitude.
Somewhere along the way, the food bank had gone from somewhere he showed up because he’d wanted to reconnect with the parts of his past that had gotten lost to somewhere he’d found community, where people counted on him and he made a difference.
Volunteering was one of the three best choices he’d made since getting out of prison, right up there with continuing to see Birdie and accepting Tiny’s offer to stay on the ranch.
With the exception of his interactions with Dare, he’d found a sense of fitting in there, too.
Even Sasha had stopped giving him the cold shoulder.
Colleen was helping him in more ways than he could have imagined.
They’d been talking about forgiveness a lot the past few weeks.
He hadn’t heard back from the letter he’d sent his mother, but forgiving her was easy. Forgiving himself? Not so much.
He was working on it, trying to accept the idea of forgiving himself by separating the heinous mistake he’d made from the good man he knew himself to be. But it was not easy.
The weeks since he and Birdie had gone to his cabin had flown by.
They’d hoped to get back to the cabin, but between Birdie putting in longer hours at work to keep up with the holiday rush and the accounting and his work at the ranch and volunteering, it hadn’t been possible.
They still found ways to see each other, but those stolen moments weren’t nearly enough.
Crew had spent weeks turning over ideas about how to handle things with her family, trying to look at their situation from all aspects before making a move. The timing had to be right.
His entire life had run on everyone else’s schedule. It was time to change what he could. He scanned the room, spotting the director, Chuck Wilson, a fortysomething take-charge guy with thick black hair and an affable personality, near the office, and headed in his direction.
“Hey, Chuck, you got a minute?”
Chuck turned and broke into a smile. “Always. I went over the projection report you put together. I think you’re onto something. I really appreciate all you’re doing to help us out.”
“I could say the same. This place has come to mean a lot to me. I’ve been thinking about the conversation we had last week, about you needing someone to take a few things off your plate.”
“Excellent. I was hoping you’d come arou—”
His voice was drowned out by the unmistakable rumble of motorcycles and trucks, drawing the attention of everyone in the place.
Chuck grinned. “Sounds like the cavalry’s here.”
“Cavalry?”
“Remember I said we have a group of guys that show up to help over every holiday?”
Before Crew could respond, the front doors opened, and a sea of Dark Knights wearing black leather vests rolled in.
They didn’t swagger or posture, just nodded to Chuck and moved toward tables and the supply room like they’d done it a hundred times before, greeting volunteers with embraces and loud conversation.
Crew’s gut fisted when Dare strode in with a handful of other guys. The last thing Crew wanted was to cause trouble for Chuck. He said, “I’ll catch up with you when things settle down.”
“Sounds good,” Chuck said.
Crew headed back toward the table where he’d been working. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. He didn’t have to look to feel Dare closing in on him like a hurricane about to make landfall.
“Doing community service, Hendricks?”
Crew was getting tired of this shit. He turned, meeting Dare’s cold stare. “No. I served my time. I’m volunteering.”
A flicker of something akin to surprise crossed Dare’s face, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. “Huh. Didn’t peg you for the charity type.”
Crew focused on the task at hand and said, “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“I know enough,” Dare seethed.
The words landed like a punch, but Crew didn’t react. He’d heard worse. Hell, he’d thought worse about himself.
Dare held his stare another second. “Try not to screw this place up, too.”
Crew saw a handful of the Dark Knights watching them, their faces unreadable as Dare moved past him, leaving tension like static in his wake.
It took everything Crew had to rein in his mounting frustration.
This was getting really fucking old. The sneers, the tight conversations.
The way every room with Dare in it felt like it was holding its breath.
He reminded himself that he could only control his own actions, but he couldn’t help wondering if the guy just needed to beat the hell out of him once and for all and get it out of his system.
Crew would offer himself up for Birdie’s sake, but he was starting to believe that nothing he did would ever be enough for Dare to see him as anything other than the man who’d nearly ruined his life.
Crew stepped up to the table, grabbed a bag and a list, and went back to packing.
He didn’t look around. Didn’t want to know who Dare was talking to or what was being said.
A guy in a black leather vest stepped up to the table beside Crew.
A minute later, another guy in a leather vest followed, and then a few more. Anxiety prickled his limbs.
Within minutes, the bags were filled faster. There was no drama, no glares or sneers, just men getting a job done.
Doc stepped up to the table across from Crew and grabbed a bag. Crew kept his head down, filling bag after bag.
As he reached for another, Doc said, “Hey, Crew, my old man said you helped him fix the water valve in the rehab barn this morning. Thanks.”
Crew nodded. He’d fallen into the habit of walking through the barns after his morning runs and often found Tiny with the horses. They didn’t talk much, unless it was about the horses, but the company was nice, and Tiny always found something that needed fixing.
On the toughest mornings, when he’d had a run-in with Dare the evening before and was questioning how long he should stay at the ranch, being around the horses reminded him that no matter what happened with Dare, he was doing good things.
The same way he was right now, making sure families would have food on the table.
He filled the bags, letting the rhythm of the work drown out the static, so he could focus on sorting out other important things, like how to do right by Birdie.