by Colbie Kay
Pulling on the steel handle, I open the cooler door—instantly I’m hit with the stench of piss and shit. Red mists across my vision when I walk in, and a loud growl sounds out from deep in my chest. A naked Tink is chained and hanging; his chin touches his chest and he’s not awake. Every part of his body is covered in blood from deep slashes that run along his chest, stomach, arms, and legs. I lift his head with my hand, noting that he’s almost unrecognizable with how badly he’s been beaten. Even if he was conscious, he couldn’t see, because his eyes are too swollen.
I work at trying to get his wrists free from the chains, but it takes a little while for me to get them loose. Finally making enough progress, I pull one hand free, not entirely sure I didn’t break a bone—he’s too out of it to feel anything right now anyway. Releasing the other, I lower Tink to the floor, then pick him up bridal style, feeling the same deep slash marks on his back. My hand quickly becomes wet from the seeping wounds as I carry him towards the back door.
Hearing footsteps behind me, I quickly spin, shoving my machete in the front and out the back of the next fucker’s stomach; he falls to his death at my feet. When I hit the back door, I bust through and run with Tink in my arms, reaching the van in seconds.
Lying him down on the van floor, I ask, “Is he alive?”
Doc checks Tink’s pulse. “Barely.” At least the young kid’s alive. When he’s well and you look at the two of us, we could be brothers. We’ve heard it more than once around the club, and I can see it; we have a lot of similarities: same long dark hair, same crazy in our eyes, same height. I give Doc a nod and watch while he starts cleaning up the wounds.
We don’t wait long before the rest of the Satan’s Sinners come out. We gather around the vehicles and Hanger starts giving an update. “We searched every inch of this place and all of The Four Kings are dead.” Hoots and hollers sound out. Hanger puts his hands up. “Quiet!” he yells, and everyone settles to let our President speak. “Deuce wasn’t here. I think he’s went into hiding again.”
“I found Tink. He’s in bad shape, Prez. Doc’s workin’ on him now,” I announce, letting everyone know the young prospect was found alive.
Nodding, Hanger says, “Let’s wrap this up and get home. We will have church tomorrow to discuss what to do from here. Ghost, light it up.”
Ghost runs over to one of the trucks and grabs a gas can. He carries it into the ramshackle bar, and a few minutes later he returns. Standing right outside the front entrance, he pulls a lighter out of his pocket and a folded-up piece of paper. He lights the paper on fire and throws it into the old bar. As he’s walking back towards us, the shack goes up in flames.
I watch as it licks high into the sky and a calm settles over me that all of those motherfuckers are dead. Now we just have to find Deuce and save that kill for Gunner. The doors to the van are closed, and we make the two-hour journey back home.
Chapter Seventeen
It’s been a couple of weeks since Gunner ended our…whatever we had going on. I’m upset, heartbroken, and I don’t really blame him, because I knew it was my fault. I blamed myself already. I don’t understand why he would throw away everything we were building when the going got tough, though. Gunner’s not a quitter, and he’s never taken the easy way out before. But he hates me now, and I’ve cried my eyes out for the last couple of weeks. I’ve been angry, I’ve been depressed, but now I’m coming to terms with it. I know he is coming home soon, so I have to figure out how to avoid him, which shouldn’t be hard, considering I’ve had to have Drifter take over the bar for me.
Not only have I been going through all of that, but I have been exhausted. So fatigued that I can’t stay awake past ten at night—and even sleeping through the night, I still can only stay awake for a couple of hours before I have to take a nap. I’ve also been sick, like really fucking sick, vomiting my guts out and I can’t keep anything down.
Lying in bed, curled up under my covers, there’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” I try yelling, but it comes out weak.
The door opens, and Crazy Girl walks in, shutting the door behind her. She sits on the edge of my bed with a bag in hand. “I brought reinforcements.” She bites down on her lip as she hands me the bag.
Sitting up, I open the bag. My eyes widen as I stare at her ‘reinforcements.’ “Pregnancy tests?” I question, pulling one out of the bag, and holding it up between us.
“When was your last period? When I was pregnant with Damien, I was sick all the time and so tired I could hardly move. It was rough because I had the girls to take care of, but I think you are pregnant, Chatty.” Sad eyes gaze at me. Not at the fact I may be pregnant, but she knows what happened with Gunner.
Shaking my head, I tell her, “I can’t be pregnant. I just had my period last week.”
“Are you sure it was your period? Women can bleed the first couple of months and still be pregnant. It’s not actually you having your period, but it will make you think it is. Just take one and see; if it is positive, then we will go from there.”
“I gotta pee anyway.” Huffing, I take the test with me as I slowly walk out of my room and over to the bathroom.
Reading the instructions, I hold the stick between my legs and let the stream of urine hit it. Counting the five seconds, I remove the stick and put the cap back on. I hold it in my shaking hand as it instantly forms two lines. Positive. Tears well up in my eyes—worst fucking timing ever for this to happen.
Like a zombie, I finish up in the bathroom, and walk back to my room. When the door shuts behind me, I blankly stare at the wall while leaning against the door. “It’s positive.” My eyes can’t even make it to Crazy Girl. I think I might be going into shock.
“Chatty, are you okay?” Crazy Girl asks, suddenly in front of me, her hands cupping the sides of my face.
My gaze finally lands on her. “Why did this happen now?” Tears slide down my cheeks.
“Because everything happens for a reason, Chatty.”
“He hates me.”
Shaking her head, she says, “No, he doesn’t. Gunner’s angry right now, but he doesn’t hate you—he could never hate you.”
“You didn’t see the way he looked at me, the way he spoke to me. How can I tell him I’m pregnant with everything he’s going through?” More tears fall as I can barely keep myself standing.
“We will take it one day at a time, and I’m here for you, but please, for the love of God, don’t follow after Jacey. First, you need to go see Sierra. She can check you and the baby to see exactly how far along you are, and prescribe you some medicine for the nausea. Now, come lay back down and I’ll call her.” She helps me walk back to the bed; my shaky legs would never make it on their own. She covers me up because I have no strength, and then makes the call to Sierra.
*****
Sierra scheduled me an appointment at her office for later that afternoon, so here I am after filling out all the proper paperwork, getting my height and weight charted, and taking the urine test. Nervously sitting on the exam table, I kick my legs back and forth, hands in my lap as I stare straight at that door, willing Sierra to come in and give me the news I am already expecting. No pun intended there. Crazy Girl quietly sits next to me.
The door opens. Sierra walks in, closing the door behind her, and sits on the rolling stool. “You are definitely pregnant, Chatty. Since we don’t know your exact due date, I’m going to try an ultrasound. If the baby is too small, then I will need to do a vaginal. I will get measurements, and then write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins and something to help with the nausea so you can start eating and holding it down.” She smiles and I give a halfhearted smile back. I think I’m still in shock and I’m upset, and a whole lot of other emotions are running through me right now.
Realizing she said vaginal, I tell her, “I’m not sure how I feel about you looking at my vajayjay, Sierra.�
�� Crazy Girl busts out laughing. My eyes snap in her direction. “What? I’m serious. She’s my friend and thinking about her head and hands being between my legs…”
Sierra joins in the laughter, and my mouth hangs open at the two of them. “Chatty, she has seen mine, Jacey’s, and Ever’s. It is completely professional, not any different than a male OBGYN. Which would you prefer, someone you know, or a stranger?”
Tilting my head up, I think about it for a second. “Alright, I give you permission to stare at my who-ha.” Relaxing, I join in the laughter and feel better than I have in the last couple of weeks. At least I know what is causing my sickness.
“Would you like hot or cold jelly for your stomach?” Sierra asks from the counter in the exam room.
“Hot.” She grabs a bottle, brings it over, then lifts my shirt and pulls my pants down to the pelvic area. She squirts some of the jelly on my stomach then turns out the light. She pushes all around on my belly until she finds what she’s looking for.
She uses the cursor to point out everything. “This is the yolk sac, here is the amniotic fluid, which looks very good, and here is the baby. Do you see that little fluttering?”
“Yes.” I watch everything in wonder. We created this little human that is now growing inside of me. New tears come to the surface, but these are in happiness, joy, and love.
“That’s your baby’s heartbeat. Let’s listen and see how strong it is.”
Crazy Girl holds my hand. I look up at her and smile; she returns it with one of her own, and her shimmering eyes go back to looking at the screen. “176, a very strong heartbeat,” Sierra informs as we listen to the quick little beats. “Now I’ll do the measurements. Butt to head is measuring at eleven weeks two days, head is measuring at eleven weeks four days, and weight is 45 grams. So by estimates you are almost three months pregnant and your due date is showing for December 25th. A Christmas baby—congratulations, Chatty. I’m going to check one more thing, since you have been bleeding.” My heart rate speeds up at the possibility of something being wrong.
“You have blood lining your cervix. It’s not anything we need to worry about right now, but I want you to come back in two weeks. If it grows, then we will need to be concerned; you will keep bleeding as long as this is there, but if the bleeding gets worse, call me immediately so we can get you checked out.” She prints off some of the pictures and hands them to me. Grabbing some napkins, she gives me those to wipe off my stomach. I pull my pants back up, then lower my shirt. She helps me sit up. “So, on a friend level, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. How is Gunner doing? Does he know about the baby?”
“He hates me, Sierra. He blames me for what happened—he kicked me out of his room a few weeks ago, and I haven’t talked to or seen him since. He’s due to come home soon, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.” My face screws up tight as if I’m in pain. Which I am, because of him.
“Oh, Chatty, I’m sorry. I don’t think he hates you, though. He’s going to go through a process of emotions: anger, depression, and acceptance. It’s a big deal for someone to wake up in his state. Give him time to come to terms with everything and I have no doubt he will be begging for you to forgive him. ” Sierra smiles and pulls me in for a hug.
“I hope you’re right, because I miss him.”
“I agree with Sierra; he’ll be back, Chatty.” Crazy Girl joins in the hug.
I set my next appointment for two weeks and Crazy Girl drives us back to the clubhouse. The ride is quiet and I have all these questions running through my head. How am I going to tell Gunner? Can I even tell him? Would he be happy or angry? Is this what Lil Mama felt like when she kept her pregnancy a secret from Bear? I guess I’ve learned a lesson: Don’t ever judge someone by their actions until you are in that same situation.
Chapter Eighteen
I got released from the hospital a couple of days ago, with instructions that I will need to continue with my therapy. Over the last few weeks of talking with Spike, I am in what he calls the acceptance stage. I think he has helped me come to terms with my situation, and the words that Chatty left me with have made me realize that it could have been a lot worse. She was right—I could have died, but I didn’t, and I need to embrace that. I need to look at the bigger picture: that, while I may not be able to walk right now, there is a chance I will walk again one day. Even if I don’t, occupational therapy is helping me understand that I can still live my life and do things; I just have to make adjustments as to how I would have done them before.
There was a discussion between my mom and Hanger at the hospital about where I would go when I was released. Mom wanted me to come live with her, but Hanger wanted me back at the club; they argued for a while, until I made the decision myself. I was returning to the club; it’s where my home is with my brothers and Chatty. Even though we had the falling-out—which I feel fuckin’ guilty about—I want to be close to her. I want to try and salvage our relationship, I just gotta figure out how. It was a stupid fuckin’ move on my part, pushing her away, and I hope that she can forgive me.
When the decision was finally made, Doctor Guthrie told Hanger exactly what I would need in returning home: a shower chair, a commode, and a wheelchair. I remember back a couple of days when Hanger came strolling in to pick me up.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider coming to stay with me? It’s just for a little while, until you’re more capable of taking care of yourself.” Mom tries once again to convince me that I should stay with her. Her expression pleads with me to say yes.
“Mom, I will be fine. There are plenty of people to help me at the club.” Chuckling, I turn my attention to the door as it opens.
Hanger rolls in with my new wheelchair and a shit-eating grin on his face. Looking towards my mom, her eyes widen, and I bust out laughing. “How did you get a custom chopper chair made?”
“You’re my best friend, and if you gotta be stuck on your ass for who knows how fuckin’ long, you gettin’ top quality shit, brother. And, well, I pulled a few strings.” His smile is full of confidence.
Checkin’ out my new ride, it has the signature chopper chrome wheels, the guards are painted black with lime green flames, the seat has flames embedded into it and the foot pedal that holds both feet is chrome. “I fuckin’ love it! Thank you.” I smile at Hanger. I can’t believe he did this for me, it couldn’t have been cheap that’s for sure.
“Thank you, Nico! It was a nice thing you did for Caide.” My mom’s eyes tear up. She never has been able to call either of us by our road names. I don’t know why; maybe because I’m her son, she gave me my birth name and she wiped Hanger’s ass as a baby just like she did mine. Maybe because she has always thought of him as a second son. She did help raise him as if he was her own.
“No need to thank me. Now, let’s get outta this fuckin’ place. I hate it here.”
I rolled outta the hospital in fuckin’ style! A smile forms on my face at remembering the nurses and doctors clapping as I was leaving. When we returned to the compound that day, everyone congratulated and welcomed me back except for Chatty; I have yet to see her. They threw me a party, but I didn’t feel much like celebrating, so I ended up out in the garage by myself spending time with Cherry my Harley.
Since I can’t do anything with my legs right now, I’m learning how to do shit on my own in the wheelchair, but I still need help. I haven’t gotten the transfers down yet, but as my arm muscles strengthen it’ll get easier, or so Spike tells me. That means I have to have help getting in and out of bed, sitting on the commode, help in and out of my wheelchair, getting in and out of the shower, and getting my jeans on.
“You ready to get in the shower?” Bear asks, bringing me out of my thoughts. We’re in Hanger’s old room at the clubhouse, because his room is the only one that has a private bathroom.
“Got the water runnin
g,” Hanger tells us as he walks out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom.
Lifting my arms, Bear puts his under my armpits and clasps his hands behind my back. “Ready?” I nod against his shoulder. “One. Two. Three.” He lifts me up while hanger pulls down the grey sweats I have on. Sitting me back in my chair, Bear bends down, pulling my feet free and throwing the sweats into the clothes hamper.
Wheeling myself closer to the bathroom, I wait for them to lift me again and transfer me over to the shower chair. I do well at washing most of myself, except for my backside, so they help with that also. It’s not too embarrassing or humiliating having them do this, not like I thought it would be; they’re my brothers and we’ve all seen each other’s dicks way more than we should have. Plus, everyone at the hospital worked with me to help me get over my insecurity. They said it’s a part of the process of once being so independent transitioning into now having to depend on others, but before long I will be able to be just as independent now as I was before. It’s all about adjusting.
“You know your woman could be in here washin’ your ass instead of me, right? If you wouldn’t have been an asshole and pushed her away,” Hanger states as he lathers my skin with soap.
Hanger sits me back down on the shower chair and hands me my shampoo. “What would you have done? What would you do if you woke up and was told you were paralyzed?” Putting the soap in my hair, I look up at him, waiting to hear his response now that he’s standing in front of me. Bear moved over to the side, staying quiet for the moment.
“I don’t know. But I can say that if it was Crazy Girl in that bed, I wouldn’t leave her. I’d stay by her side all the way. Just like Chatty would have done for you.” I have to turn my head away from the pity in his eyes.
“Same for me with Lil Mama,” Bear chimes in as he leans against the doorframe.