Thirty-Seven
I told Reacher to leave so I could sleep, but I couldn’t. As soon as I tried, I realised that I couldn’t sleep without him there beside me. Fucked up, right? Doc was mooching around, and ended up sitting with me for a while.
“I’m sorry if I’m keeping you awake in here. I have some prep to do before the next idiot comes in here with some dumb, avoidable problem.” He facepalmed. “Not that I mean you when I say that.”
I smiled as he rubbed at his greying hair.
“Jesus, this club is making me old before my time.”
I tried sitting up, and he moved instantly, to help prop me up on more pillows.
“Let’s not tear those stitches again, huh? That’s some of my best work right there.”
“So… while I have you to myself… about Reacher…”
He sighed. “Yeah, look, only a few of us know what actually happened, and how serious it is. No club needs a president who’s not healthy enough to run the club. Nor do we need anyone to think that he’s not strong enough, because it puts him, and the whole club, at risk.”
“From other clubs?”
“Not like we have any other clubs actively interested in our little neck of the woods. The bigger issue would be from local dealers, or a larger organisation, like the uh… mafia.”
I frowned. “As in the same mafia who are currently allies of the club?”
He glanced at the door, then got up and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking every bit the biker he was, rather than a doctor.
“Yeah. If they think this club is a weak link, rather than an asset, then we become liability. No criminal organisation wants a liability in their midst.”
Oh god. I thought things would be okay now, but Reacher’s bad health might put him in danger from people I hadn’t even considered.
“Oh my god. What do we do?”
Doc sat down again. “First of all, we don’t panic, okay? The Pres will kick my ass if I upset you, and I kinda like my ass the shape it is now. I am fully up to date with his medical condition, and any precautionary measures he needs to take. The relevant team members are aware that coffee is out, and I pity the poor prospect when he has to serve decaf to his Club President, but they only know he’s having to cut it out, and not why.”
“Don’t they all know from his collapse?”
He shook his head. “Only a few people knew at the time, and it was explained away as him staying at the hospital with Ice, then with you. Other than me, and Stitch, only the few brothers who were at the hospital when it happened are aware, and they won’t tell.”
“What are the risks, though? Apart from caffeine. Diet? Exercise? Oh god… sex?”
Doc scratched his forehead, his eyes closing briefly.
“Jesus. Yes, there are diet advisories, and exercise isn’t an issue, I don’t think. He does work out regularly, or he was before all of this crap. I mean, you’ve seen the guy. Even when he doesn’t work out, he never sits for more than a few minutes unless he’s on the road. Staying active is good, and yeah… while I don’t want to even think about it… sex is exercise, and, you know… as long as you’re not uh… doing anything crazy dangerous, or whatever…”
I held up a hand. “I get it. Don’t worry about having to say more on that. As long as orgasms won’t stop his heart, I’m good.”
He grimaced again. “As far as you’re concerned, you need to stop trying to do anything until those stitches have done their job. Any vigorous movement, or sudden moves, could tear them again. We flex our stomachs for pretty much everything we do, especially sitting and standing up. So bed rest, and I do mean rest.”
Damn. So Reacher can, and I can’t. No fair.
Reacher
H e was actually scaring me. He sounded so final and fatalistic. Something really bad was wrong.
“Tell me you’re not leaving me, brother. I can’t do this without you.”
Stitch cursed, running a slightly shaky hand through his long blond hair.
“I don’t even know how to talk about this. I mean… if I can’t talk to you, then I guess, there’s nobody, but it’s just so fucking personal. And scary. Scary as fuck.”
I joined him over by the table, noting that his hands were trembling harder now.
“You can tell me anything, brother. Always. Don’t let this eat you up like this.”
He smirked at me. “So we’re doing the touchy feely thing then? This is where we’re at?”
I shrugged, ready to throttle him if he didn’t fucking tell me. He swallowed hard, staring at the floor as he spoke. His voice was low, and I had to strain to hear him.
“There’s a… fucking hell … there’s a lump, Reacher.”
I frowned, grabbing his shoulder.
“A what?”
He finally met my eyes, and his were wide and frightened.
“I found a lump. Down… you know… there .”
I felt like he’d just punched me with a brick, and I wasn’t the one it was happening to. He was looking paler by the second, so I guided him back to his sofa, and sat him down.
“Tell me.”
He dragged his hands down his face.
“Jesus. Saying it out loud is even scarier. You’re gonna make me see a doc, aren’t you?”
I sat on the coffee table facing him.
“Start at the beginning. How uh… what… I don’t know what to ask…” I never expected this. I felt cold inside, chilled with fear. This wasn’t some club squabble, or a drug dealer pushing his luck. This was reality. Illness. Possible life limiting news.
He stared at his hands, as he picked at the skin around his thumbnail.
“I was in the shower. Washing myself… I mean, that’s obvious. Jesus, I can’t even put this into words without sounding like a dick.”
“Stitch, this is vitally important, and how you tell me doesn’t make it any less so, and I’m not gonna judge the way you fucking tell me. Just… Jesus… you want me to get you something stronger than the coffee?”
He shook his head. “Been doing too much of that since I noticed it. Uh… it was easier to pretend it wasn’t there if I was drunk.”
I reached over and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it lightly.
“Talk. Just tell me everything. It’s just me, yeah?”
He sighed, falling back against the cushions.
“We know our bodies, right? I mean, whether it’s our junk or whatever, we know the shape of everything, the texture. And… and those things are wrong down there. We all see those damn ads on TV, right? Everywhere they can promote the one thing you never want to find, and it’s there. It’s right fucking there. I can feel it. I feel like I can feel it every fucking moment of every day. And if it’s there, then I have to do something about it, and… fuck… Reacher, I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this.”
My heart was breaking right along with his. My eyes burned with tears, and I did my best to hide that fact, because he needed me to be strong for him right now, so he could let go.
“Stitch, you’re gonna be fine, okay? And I’m gonna be with you every fucking step of the way. We all will. We’re a family, and we look after our own. And strong enough? Of course you are. You’re the strongest fucker I know. This ain’t how it goes down, okay?”
His eyes were wet, and he rubbed his arm across his face.
“I’m scared. I’m ashamed of that fact, but I’m fucking terrified. Some fucker wants to shoot me, or stab me, or beat me to death, I can face that, but… if this is… if it’s… I mean, the last place you want some bastard with a scalpel is your fucking balls, am I right?” He was trying to laugh it off, like it was nothing, but it fucking wasn’t.