18. Vaughn
Chapter 18
Vaughn
S itting on my uncle's porch with Ghost, looking out over the estate, a sense of calm washes over me. Returning here feels right, like reconnecting with a part of myself I had long neglected. A month back and I've settled into a routine here and it's great to have Ghost back in my life.
"To be honest, Ghost, I hadn't really considered how Michelle was gathering these omegas. I was too focused on our pack," I admit, taking a sip of my beer and shaking my head at my own tunnel vision.
Ghost nods thoughtfully, his expression serious. "It's easy to get caught up in our own battles. But now that we know what's at stake, we can't afford to ignore the bigger picture."
I glance over at my oldest friend, feeling a sense of camaraderie and nostalgia. "It's good to see you, bro," I acknowledge, a small smile playing on my lips. Ghost leans in, clicking his bottle against mine in a silent toast.
"We've been through a lot, Vaughn," Ghost replies, his gaze distant for a moment. "We grew up together in this club, and watched it change over the years. It's good to have you back here."
The memories flood back—childhood mischief, teenage rebellion, and the bond of brotherhood that had withstood the test of time. I nod in agreement, a wave of gratitude washing over me.
"You always had my back, Ghost," I say sincerely. "And I'm grateful to have you by my side now."
Ghost grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Don't get too sentimental on me, Vaughn. We've got a raid to plan, and I need my partner-in-crime focused."
"Do you remember that one time we pulled a prank on Vipe?" he asks, with humor in his voice.
I chuckle, the memories of our childhood mischief flooding back in vivid detail. "Oh, how could I forget?" I reply, a grin spreading across my face. "That prank with the itching powder was legendary."
Ghost laughs, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Vipe was furious," he recalls, shaking his head. "But man, was it worth it."
"Yeah, he banned us from the clubhouse for a week," I reminisce, recalling the stern lecture we received from Viper afterward.
"We were troublemakers, that's for sure," Ghost remarks, a nostalgic smile on his lips.
"But we were a team," I add, feeling a surge of camaraderie. "Just like we are now."
Ghost nods, his expression turning serious. "That's right, Vaughn. Tomorrow, we'll show them what the Steel Serpent's are made of."
I raise my bottle in agreement, a renewed sense of purpose settling over me. "To brotherhood," I declare, clinking my bottle against Ghost's.
"To brotherhood," Ghost echoes, his gaze steady and determined. The weight of our mission settles back into my mind.
"Right, let's talk strategy," I reply, leaning forward with renewed determination. "We'll hit them hard tomorrow, send a message they won't forget."
Ghost nods, his demeanor shifting to one of steely resolve. "We'll make sure the Sterlings and their allies regret ever crossing the Steel Serpents."
The cicadas chirp in the distance as Ghost and I sit on my uncle's porch in comfortable silence. The summer night is warm, and the air is thick with the smell of pine and earth. I do miss this place. It may not have been the life I wanted for myself, but the club was home, and it’s good to be back. I settle back in my chair, the wood creaking in protest as I rock back and forth. The gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the trees, adding to the symphony of night sounds.
Ghost takes a swig from his beer, glancing over at me with a smirk. "Never thought I'd see the day you’d come back, Vaughn. Thought you were done with this life."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "Yeah, well, life has a funny way of dragging you back to where you started."
He nods, his eyes distant as he stares out into the dark. "Ain't that the truth. Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like if I’d left too. Tried something different."
"But you didn't," I say, looking at him. "And here we are."
"Yeah, here we are," he agrees, raising his bottle in a silent toast.
The porch light flickers, casting long shadows that dance across the worn wooden planks. I take a deep breath, the familiar scents of motor oil and leather mingling with the fresh night air. It feels like a lifetime since I’ve been here, but in reality, not much has changed.
Ghost was born into this life. His real name is Ghost, given to him by his father, Gears. And because his dad’s the VP, he’s been patched in since birth. Ghost didn't choose this life; it chose him, molded him.
Funny how fate works like that.
"I heard about what went down with you and Creed," Ghost says, breaking through the silence and my thoughts. "You alright?"
I shrug, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. "Been better, but I'll survive. Always do."
He looks at me, his gaze sharp and assessing. "You got that look in your eye, Vaughn. The one that says you're plotting something."
I can't help but smile. Ghost knows me too well. "Maybe I am. Got a lot on my mind."
"Like what?"
"Thinking about the future, about what comes next. The Sterlings, the Hounds, my pack... It's all a mess."
Ghost whistles low. "Sounds like it. But you know we’ve got your back. The club stands with you, no matter what."
"Appreciate it," I say sincerely. "Things are gonna get rough. I’ll need all the help I can get."
Ghost leans back, his expression thoughtful. "Well, you know where to find us. The Steel Serpent MC never backs down from a fight."
The words are comforting, a reminder of the strength and loyalty of the club. I know I can count on them, just as they can count on me. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.
"Thanks, Ghost. Means a lot," I say, clinking my bottle against his.
We lapse back into silence, the night wrapping around us like a familiar blanket. The sounds of the cicadas, the creak of the porch swing, and the murmur of distant voices, create a sense of peace that I haven't felt in a long time.
Suddenly, the sound of an engine roaring disrupts the tranquility of the night. A truck comes zooming down the dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris in its wake. Ghost sits up straighter, squinting into the darkness.
"Isn't that your boy's truck?" he asks, nodding towards the approaching vehicle.
My heart plummets. What is Creed doing here? There's no way he came all this way bearing good news. A sense of dread settles over me, heavy and foreboding. I stand up, the chair creaking beneath me as I push it back. I stride towards Creed's truck, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The door creaks open, and Creed practically spills out of the truck. In a few easy strides, I'm at his side, helping him stand. His caramel scent is saturated by alcohol, and worry immediately coils in my gut.
"Love, you drove here drunk!" I practically shout, my heart hammering in my chest.
"I had to see you," he slurs.
The sight of him like this breaks my heart. I grit my teeth as I steady him, my mind racing with what-ifs. What if he had gotten into an accident? What if I’d lost him forever? I couldn't handle it if something happened to him.
"How could you be so stupid? So reckless?" I hiss, anger and fear intertwining.
He flinches at my words, his lower lip wobbling as he tries to hold back his tears. "I don't want to punch lemons!" he cries with big heaving sobs. "I want chocolate... Dark chocolate," he cries, his voice cracking.
"Fuck," I growl, pulling him into my chest to soothe him. He’s so out of it I have no clue what he is talking about. But it doesn't matter. His fists twist my shirt as he hugs me tighter. "Don't leave me," he begs.
"Shh, love, it's okay. I got you. I'm not going anywhere. I promise," I assure him, his sobs growing louder against my chest.
He sniffles, pulling back slightly to look up at me with tear-filled eyes. "You promise?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I promise," I reply without hesitation, holding his gaze steady. "I'll always be here for you, no matter what."
With a shaky breath, Creed leans into me once more. We sway slightly, and I embrace him as he cries, running my hands through his sweat-soaked hair. The desperation in his grip is palpable, and I feel the weight of his anguish crushing my soul.
My eyes sting with tears as I hold Creed close, feeling the weight of his pain pressing against me. He's so broken, so vulnerable, and it's all my fault. Guilt churns in my stomach. A heavy, suffocating weight that threatens to consume me. How did it come to this? How did I let things spiral out of control like this?
The sound of gravel crunching beneath footsteps draws my attention, breaking through the haze of self-blame. I glance up to see Ghost standing nearby, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding. He doesn't say anything, but his presence alone is a comfort.
I swallow back the lump in my throat and focus on Creed, brushing a gentle hand through his hair as he clings to me. "Shh, love," I murmur softly, trying to soothe away his pain. "I'm here. We'll get through this together." But even as I speak the words, doubt gnaws at the edges of my mind. How can I promise him that everything will be okay when I'm not even sure if I believe it myself?
"Oh, shit," Creed mutters, before he's doubling over, retching violently and projectile vomiting on my boots.
"That's it, love. Get it out," I say, rubbing his back soothingly, trying to offer whatever comfort I can.
As Creed's body convulses with each retch, I try to maintain a calm exterior, but inside, I'm struggling to keep my composure. The acrid smell of vomit stings my nostrils, and I fight the urge to gag myself. I can feel the bile rising in my throat, and I swallow hard, trying to suppress the nausea building within me. I too have had a bit too much to drink tonight.
With a deep breath, I force myself to focus on Creed, pushing aside my discomfort to be there for him.
As we approach the door, Ghost comes up on Creed’s other side. "Yeah, we got you," Ghost chimes in, his voice filled with concern as he takes hold of Creed's other side. "Just a few more steps."
Creed nods weakly, his eyes glassy with tears as he struggles to keep himself upright. "I'm sorry about your boots, Vaughn," he mumbles, his words slurred.
I tighten my grip around him, trying to reassure him. "It's okay, Creed," I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. "We'll get you cleaned up and in bed. You'll be alright."
As we guide Creed towards the clubhouse, Ghost interjects, "You alright there, Vaughnie Boy? You're looking a little pale, my friend."
I shoot him a warning look, but he just grins, clearly enjoying himself. "Shut up, Ghost," I mutter under my breath, trying to hide my own amusement.
Ghost chuckles. "Hey, at least he's not puking in your bed," he teases, earning a glare from me.
"Seriously, shut the fuck up, Ghost," I growl, my patience wearing thin. Sometimes, he just doesn't know when to quit.
Ghost raises his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk never leaves his face. "Fine, fine. Just trying to lighten the mood," he says, but there's a twinkle in his eye that tells me he's not quite done yet.
I roll my eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corners of my lips despite myself. "Not everyone has a stomach made of steel," I retort, trying to keep the mood light as we navigate Creed's drunken state.
"Fair enough, fair enough. Let's get our drunken mess inside before he embarrasses himself any further," he quips, his tone lightening the tension between us.
With a shared grin, we continue guiding Creed towards the clubhouse, the banter between us providing a much-needed distraction from the chaos of the night. Ghost may be a pain in my ass, but he's also been there for me through thick and thin. And right now, I could use a friend who knows how to keep things light, even in the darkest of times.