Chapter 28
Roan
“I love bonfire nights,” Roan said as they walked down the path leading from Joker’s Wild to the beach where a giant stack of driftwood and building scraps had already been assembled into an impressive pile that would burn for hours.
“Between the food, the music, and the stories, it’s almost as cool as dungeon night. ”
“Almost as cool, huh?” Danger asked, nudging his shoulder while Grunge woofed as he pranced along beside him, always thrilled whenever he got to go anywhere with them.
Yes, they’d gotten looks when they’d pulled up in the SUV instead of on their bikes, but as soon as the other Jokers had caught a glimpse of their dogs, they’d understood why and came over to meet the happy pair.
No more skittish tail tucks. No more backing away whenever someone approached. Instead, their tails started wagging whenever they spotted anyone wearing leather, as if they’d come to associate their kuttes with safety and home.
“Yup. Dungeon night has one thing that bonfire night doesn’t,” Roan declared.
“And what’s that?”
“Getting to cum until I can’t feel my body anymore.”
“He’s got a point,” Ocean added. “Though there’s no saying we can’t go for a repeat when we get home tonight.”
“Didn’t you get enough of him riding you when you were on the couch?” Pope asked.
“Or on the floor in the library?” Danger added.
“Did you?” Ocean shot back.
“Fair point,” Danger said, slinging an arm around Roan. “And the answer is no I didn’t.”
“Exactly,” Ocean replied.
They were all laughing as they joined the group of Jokers assembled, with more steadily making their way down the trail.
Pope and Danger carried collapsable chairs and a picnic blanket for the pups to lay on so they wouldn’t wind up completely covered in sand.
Lynyrd Skynyrd pulsed from the radio, while booming laughter, and a few expletives, rolled down the beach from pockets of conversation.
“Let’s set up here,” Pope said, spying an unclaimed patch of sand well away from the flames, so no crackling embers blew on their pups, not that there was much wind tonight, but exploding burrs did tend to send bursts of sparks into the air from time to time.
“Need anything to drink?” Axel asked.
He and Scout were on cooler duty this evening, making the rounds with an ice filled chest they carried between them.
“What you got in there?” Pope asked.
“Water, lemonade, sweet tea, pop, and beer,” Scout rattled off.
“I’ll take a beer,” Pope said, “and a couple waters for the pups.”
“Yeah, hook me up with a beer too,” Danger replied.
Ocean looked torn before shaking his head. “Can I have a pop?”
“Same,” Roan replied.
They set the cooler in the sand, doled out their drinks, and left four bottles of water for the dogs, which Pope tucked beneath his chair with their bag of supplies.
“Thanks guys,” Pope said, with the rest of them nodding and thanking them too before they moved on around the circle.
“You know,” Pope said. “I still remember the first bonfire my grandfather ever let me attend.”
“How old were you?” Roan asked.
“Fifteen,” Pope replied. “Thought I was a little badass too, when I got my hands on a beer and poured it in a red plastic cup so gramps wouldn’t know.
He knew. Watched me refill it through the night.
And in the morning, when I woke up with a hangover, he fixed me a breakfast of sunny side up eggs and the greasiest fried sausage I’ve ever tasted in my life, then sent me outside to mow the lawn.
I barely made it one pass before I wound up with my head in a bush, puking my guts out. ”
“Bet he got a kick out of that,” Danger said.
“That man was a real sadist,” Pope replied as he sipped his beer.
“Came out with a stogie in his mouth, tapped me on the shoulder, told me if I killed that lilac bush, I’d be the one digging the hole to replant it.
Soon as I managed to right myself and turned to look at him, he blew a plume of smoke in my face and back in the bush I went.
Later, he sat me down for a chat. Said the point wasn’t to teach me not to drink, but what to expect if I didn’t learn to do it in moderation. ”
“My first hangover was from Goldschl?ger,” Ocean admitted.
“Worst morning of my life. My head felt like a firework show was going off in it, while my stomach was being rolled by a rogue wave. I woke up on the beach beside my two buddies and barely managed to avoid puking on one of them when I got up and the world spun. Couple seagulls were screaming at us and diving down to pick corn chips out of the sand. I didn’t even remember having corn chips until I noticed the busted bag and a bunch of chips spilled all over the place like we’d been throwing them at one another.
The worst part was the noisy as fuck bus ride to the other side of the island where I promptly had the worst showing of my entire life when I hit the waves.
Had to work extra hard the next day to get back on the leader board and only placed third in the end. I never drank before an event again.”
“Booze has a way of teaching lessons most of us weren’t ready to learn,” Pope said.
“You can say that again,” Danger replied.
“What was your first hangover?” Ocean asked.
“Ugh,” Danger groaned. “Dandelion wine. Smooth and sweet going down, putrid coming back up with everything else I’d eaten that day. My mom made it. Had me and my old man picking dandelions until our fingers were stained so yellow I didn’t think it would ever come off.”
“I’ve had a couple bottles of that stuff over the years,” Pope said. “Some were as mellow as a wine cooler, and others had so much octane to them that they knocked me on my ass. That’s the danger of homemade stuff.”
“Hearing you guys talk about it, I’m glad I’ve never had a hangover,” Roan said.
“Whenever someone offered me a drink, I took it, then nursed it, since ick, I hated the smell and how strong the alcohol tasted, even in sticky sweet fruit punch which masked absolutely nothing. Sometimes, if no one was paying attention to me, I’d just find a potted plant or something to dump it out in. ”
“And left some wilting geraniums in your wake, I’m sure,” Danger shot back, making them all snicker.
A shrill whistle pierced the air, drawing everyone’s attention to where Mark stood bathed in the glow of the flickering flames.
“Alright fuckers, it looks like everyone whose gonna be here is here, so we’ve got a bit of club business to attend to before this shindig kicks off,” Mark declared once silence had filled the beach. “Where’s Roan.”
Oh shit.
Fear shot through him as he mentally tried to catalogue everything he’d said or done the last few times he’d been in the clubhouse, unable to come up with anything that could have pissed the Prez off.
“Right here,” Danger called out, pointing to him while Ocean pressed a hand to his back, urging him out of his seat.
So he went. Head held high, proud that he didn’t trip over his own two feet in the squishy sand.
“Now, we all know that when Roan came to us, he was a bit of a problem child,” Mark announced, causing Roan’s face to flush, and not just from the heat of the bonfire. “But you name a single fucker out here who wasn’t.”
Chuckles followed, as Roan felt himself beginning to relax again at their Prez’s words.
“Thing is, he took a lot less time to get his head out of his ass than some of us did,” Mark declared.
“And while he was doing it, he worked his ass off for us, both in and out of this clubhouse. We all know the image we cast in these kuttes and the feelings some folks get when they see them. Yet when the time came to show them what the Jokers were truly all about. He didn’t hesitate. ”
Clapping, snapping, and whistling followed. Mark waited for it to die down naturally before speaking again.
“Prospecting has been a longstanding tradition. It gives folks a chance to see if this is where they really wanna belong and it gives us a chance to see if they’re a good fit.
A vote took place in chapel this afternoon, unanimously declaring that Roan will no longer be considered a prospect. He’s a Joker now.”
“Wha…” It took a moment for the words to sink in as cheers rose up again.
“Take that kutte off kid and pass it here,” Mark said, so Roan did as he was told. “You’ll have it back by the end of the night with that prospect patch gone and your full colors added.”
When Mark hugged him, Roan felt like he’d finally been welcomed home.
The man’s backslaps were heavy, but damn did it feel good, and when he stepped back, it was into the embrace of his men as their pups pranced around their feet.
He’d done it. He’d earned his place, won their acceptance, and shown that even a brat could change his ways.
Those weren’t the only hugs either.
He was embraced by everyone in attendance, with words whispered in his ear expressing pride, brotherhood, respect. It was all he could do not to let the tears that stung his eyes fall where everyone could see them.
When Scout hugged him, Roan clung, because damn, he’d nearly fucked things up trying to go to war with a man who’d gone through as much, if not more shit than Roan, trying to make his place with them.
“Congratulations, brutha,” Scout said.
“Thanks man.”
“I knew you had it in you.”
“H-how?”
“‘Cause I know what it’s like to try too hard. Only I lost out the first time, trying to fit in with my brother’s club. Never been more grateful to be rejected than when I landed here and learned what brotherhood truly meant.”
He hadn’t known he’d prospected elsewhere.
Hell, he hadn’t tried to know Scout at all, just his daddies, after seeing how protective and nurturing they were of him and Axel.
If there was any one lesson he’d learned over all the others, it was that everyone here had a story of struggle, triumph, and personal demons they’d had to overcome before finding their place among the Jokers, the same as him.
He’d kept his secrets to himself believing no one would understand the shit he’d dealt with.