Jackson #2
The clubhouse has an industrial look to it, because everything is either wood, metal, or leather.
Pres’s wife renovated and decorated the entire area before she died ten years ago.
Some people think that she was trying to make it look more put together, compared to the random old pieces of furniture that accumulated there over the decades, but she really just wanted everything to have surfaces that could be disinfected.
She knew exactly what went down at a party with a bunch of bikers, and she said she understood.
But if she was going to spend any time there, or have everyone’s families there for some of the club events, she wanted to be able to have everyone sit and eat without wanting to throw up.
The longer she’s been gone, the more it’s lost its homely feel.
She was the real ‘Ol Lady in charge. She was kind and thoughtful to the Brothers, but also to their ‘Ol Ladies and kids. She was the mother figure for this entire club. Pres threw himself into the club even more, but unlike my asshole of a father, he didn’t abandon his kid, but brought him along with him.
Mostly because he wanted to, but also because he knew his wife would be pissed if he abandoned Flame when he needed him the most.
Luckily for me, Flame and I were attached at the hip, so I got to come along, and Pres became a father figure for me, too.
He and my dad were super close before he found his wife; he was only ever faithful to her and treated his wife with respect.
He and my dad were never on the same page after that, because Dad thought that the “good of the club” should come before any ‘Ol Lady.
I park my truck on the side of the building; most members only bring their bikes, but I like having the option of my bike or my cage. Winters in Texas were unpredictable, and I never wanted to be trapped in the clubhouse if the weather was being a bitch.
I piled all the boxes into my arms and headed in, not wanting to make more than one trip.
Luckily, it’s still pretty empty. Most of the bodies in the main room are passed out with beer and liquor bottles surrounding them.
I’m a little annoyed as I make my way through the mess, but I know that when they wake up, the club girls and prospects will clean this shit up, and it’ll look like nothing happened.
Someday, I’ll be able to walk into my own kitchen without shoes on and not be worried about what I’m stepping through.
As I make my way towards the member bedrooms, Flame stumbles out of his room behind Brandi, one of the club girls who showed up this year.
I try to stay away from her. She’s one of the new girls who doesn’t get how things work around here.
She thinks that if she stays long enough and becomes one of the favorites, she will earn an ‘Ol Lady patch. It hasn’t occurred to her that the more Brothers you run through, the less likely that is.
I think the other girls encourage it so they can watch her get her hopes up for their entertainment.
It’s fucked up, but I know how catty they can be, and I’m not planning on telling her, either.
Flame notices the boxes in my arms and greets me with a nod. “How’d you go somewhere already? I feel like I’m gonna need two more just to put on my boots and not puke,” he says while rubbing his eyes, trying to wake up and stop seeing two of me.
“Nah, I dipped out early last night. Had some business to handle and didn’t wanna look like I couldn’t walk straight,” I answer as I reach my door, which is conveniently right next to his.
As the next President and VP, we both got the biggest rooms. They used to be our dads’, but they’d moved out of them and into their houses on the property.
“What kind of business did you have? Why don’t I know about it?” His curiosity shows in his raised eyebrows as he eyes the boxes. He’s usually the first and only one to know what I’m doing.
“Just some personal shit I had to work out,” I say as I push open my door, not bothering to shut it behind me because I know that asshole is going to follow me in anyway.
I place the boxes on my desk that sits next to the door, which usually catches all the shit I walk in with.
I reach into my cut and take out the envelope, tossing it on top.
I can go through it all later, once Flame leaves.
I know he wouldn’t say anything if I asked him not to.
He knows as much as I do about my birth mother and the rest of my family.
I was at his house almost every day growing up, just trying to avoid the Step-cunt and my annoying ass half-sister.
But I want a chance to look at everything before I even try to explain the call about my mom, the weird ass meeting, and what’s in the boxes.
I like to plan and have all the information before I act.
“So, are you going to share?” He breaks the silence after a minute of waiting for me to tell him what’s going on.
“Not yet,” I say in a certain tone. He knows I’ll fill him in on everything eventually, like I always do. It’s how we work so well as friends and Brothers. He jumps into action to get shit done; I have to think about the situation and give him all the information before he charges in.
He nods and turns around to leave. “Okay, just let me know if we’re making food for the gators ahead of time.
Last time, I wore my new boots and couldn’t get all the blood out.
I can’t keep buying a new pair every time I have to take care of someone,” he says over his shoulder as he leaves my room and closes the door behind him.
Usually, he would stay behind, annoying the shit outta me to fill him in.
I think the hangover’s helping to put off his questions for later.
I stare at the door after it closes. I know I need to start going through the information, but part of me doesn’t want to.
I grab the envelope first, pull out the chair from the desk, and sit down.
I take a deep breath and tear it open. Inside is another smaller, letter envelope with my name written on the back and a few papers that are stapled together.
Looking over the papers, I realize they’re statements for an account that was labeled “trust.”
My eyes widen at the balance stated on the paper— there’s over $750,000.
00 in that account. It shows that every month, money was added to it.
They went all the way back to when the account started.
I would have been five at the time. This is a shit-ton more than I expected.
There are also documents for investments that were made in my name and a deed for an “investment” property.
I make good money building custom bikes with Flame.
We started the business a few years ago, and got more popular through social media.
We opened an actual shop two years ago when business started picking up, so much that we couldn’t work out of the clubhouse garage anymore.
It’s just the two of us for now, but we bring in more hands when needed, and are interviewing to bring on some new employees to help keep up with demand.
We pay the club our dues, just like every member, but we get to keep the rest since we did it on our own and didn’t ask the club to help finance it like they do with the above-board businesses that they started when we were trying to get out of the “darker” stuff to make money.
After stalling by staring at the statement for a while longer, I pick up the letter, brushing my fingers over the neat handwriting on the back.
This is going to be the first time since I was two that my mom acknowledged me.
My thoughts go back to the chick at the coffee place talking about mommy issues. What a fuckin’ bitch.
I take a deep breath, willing myself to stop being a pussy and just open it. I pull out the three pages, filled front and back. It looks like she wrote me a whole ass book. It’s more than I expected. I figured since she never reached out, it’d be a piece of paper saying “fuck off.”
I flatten out the paper. It has the date 3/21 on the top, so I’m assuming she wrote it a few months ago.
To my first, greatest love, Jackson.
Hi, Jackson. I’m not really sure how to start this.
I mean, I’m your mother. I have loved you your entire life, but I am a stranger to you.
Since you are reading this, I’m sure you have met Willow because she would never turn down a request from her family.
There is so much that I want to say in this letter, but unfortunately, I don’t think I can convey everything that I want to.
All I can hope for is that after reading this, you will forgive me enough to go through the boxes.
I’m not sure what your father has said to you about me, but I would like to give you my side and hope that, even if you don’t believe my story, you will believe that I love you, and that I have loved you since the day I found out that I was pregnant with you.
You changed my life, and I don’t want you to doubt that I have wanted you from the day that the stick showed two lines.
I didn’t start off with the greatest life.
I was taken away from my mother at five and placed into foster care.
After being placed in a few homes and running away from each one, they moved me into a group home.
I found out that living on the streets was better than some of the “families” they assigned me to.