Epilogue
Mongrel
I stare at the envelope that Rio has placed in front of me. It seems my past has come calling, only I no longer have any desire to answer.
“Pres, there’s nothing good in that letter,” I state. “I have my family and it’s one of my choosing who don’t care about my background.”
“Could be important, Mongrel,” Rio replies. “I know your folks are gone, maybe there’s an inheritance or something like that?”
I’m already shaking my head in denial. “My parents had a life insurance policy that will pay out when I turn twenty-five,” I say. “This right here? This is those people trying to lay guilt on me, so I’ll come back and take over the family business.”
Rio looks confused for a minute, then he states, “I need you to break it down for me, Mongrel, because I’m not following.”
“My dad was the oldest son and when my paternal grandfather hit sixty-five, my dad was to take over the family business in his place. I’m my dad’s only child, so with him dying, that responsibility would fall on my shoulders,” I tell him.
“What happens if you don’t?” he asks.
“If I choose not to do it, the business will be sold and because of some legalities that I don’t fully understand, the proceeds would go to my dad’s estate.”
“So, you would get that money,” Rio surmises.
“Yeah.”
“Could set you up for life, Mongrel.”
“Maybe so, but I’ve got everything I want right here.
My bike, my truck, the club, the brothers.
Plus, I make my own money, and, in another year, the life insurance will be issued to me.
How much money can one person use?” I question.
“Although… I could always donate most of it, if not the entirety of it, I guess.”
“And you absolutely refuse to take over the family business,” Rio says. “Why?”
“Because I wasn’t wanted when I was a little kid, so I’m not willing to be used now that I’m needed for their benefit,” I retort, anger at my past rising up as old wounds are shredded open. “Pres, I can’t… I can’t talk about this any longer. Gotta head out and see Doc about this shoulder.”
“Go take care of that, but we should talk some more about this, Mongrel.”
“Not willing to discuss it any further, pres. No disrespect intended.”
“None taken, Mongrel,” he says.
“Well, I’ve got you an appointment with Dr. Albritton, who has already seen the MRI and agrees with me that you’ve got a torn rotator cuff that’s going to need surgical repair,” Doc says.
“How long is that going to lay me up?” I question. Right now, Nerd is teaching me what I need to know to take over the secretary position. If nothing else, it’s not my dominant arm, but I still know I’ll have to go through physical therapy which is going to be a pain in the ass.
“Eight to twelve weeks at least,” he replies. “Go and get the surgery scheduled, Mongrel. Worst case scenario, you can be Gretchen’s unofficial guard when she leaves the clubhouse.”
Considering that fucker Devin Donnelly is still out there, it’s a job I’ll willingly take.
I don’t know why I’m so drawn to her, either.
It’s not in a romantic sense whatsoever, more like a sibling role.
I feel protective over her, and it could be because of everything she had to do to climb out of the pit she was tossed in. Like recognizes like and all that jazz.