Reclaiming His Life

by KL Myers

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Acknowledgements

  Reclaiming His Life © 2017

  Cover Design © 2017 Adam Nelson Designs

  Photography © 2017 Eric Battershell

  Model © 2017 Burton Hughes

  Formatting by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs

  This is a work of fiction. Any characters, names, places, brands, media and incidents are used solely in a fictitious nature based on the author's imagination. Any resemblance to or mention of persons, places, organizations or other incidents is coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted electronically or in print without the permission of the author. All rights are reserved.

  To my most beautiful friend, Brooke Haack. Thank you for your continued support, your friendship, and your love. You inspire me daily to be a better person.

  To Susan Hayes, my most special friend and Beta reader. Your dedication to helping me make my books better is always appreciated. Though you weren’t able to participate this time around, know that I love you and that I feel your pain for the loss of your soul mate. This is for Gary.

  In loving memory of Gary D. Hayes Jr. Dec. 28, 1971 – January 22, 2017

  T.R.O.U.B.L.E. SEVEN LETTERS that sum up my existence. It isn’t until you lose everything that you realize something has got to give.

  Looking back, there are so many things I wish I could change about my life. First, I would have thought things through before acting on them. I wouldn’t have been so wild and impulsive. I would have put my family first instead of my own personal needs.

  As a teenage boy, I thought I was above it all. In my eyes, I was invincible, but oh, how wrong I was. If there was trouble to be found, I was right in the middle of it. I couldn't care less who I hurt as long as I had a good time.

  My parents paid the price for my overzealous youth. Mom never got a good night’s sleep. Every time the phone rang after midnight, she knew it would be bad news; she just didn’t know how bad it would be. Because those calls came too often for her liking. I know she was just waiting for that dreaded call no parents ever want to get. Looking back, I was such an inconsiderate son of a bitch.

  My parents used to talk about their teenage years and how sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll were the motto they lived by, and so I made that my credence as well. If there was a drug, I tried it, and when it came to sex, well, let’s just say the kinkier, the better for me.

  Once I grew out of my troubled youth, I knew I needed to be a better man, so I joined the police force. I didn’t want to be a beat cop; I wanted the action, to be right in the middle of it all. I still lived for the adrenaline rush, but at least it wasn't coming at someone else's expense anymore.

  Nothing ever works out the way you plan, though. All my good intentions ended up landing me on the wrong side. Common sense went out the window, and the thin line between right and wrong became blurred. I was above the law, right? I mean, I was the law; I could do whatever I wanted and not worry. Oh, how wrong I was. See, it doesn’t matter if you are the good guy or the bad guy; you break the law, you pay the price. And I paid the price.

  Arrogant was my middle name, Cocky was my first, and Motherfucker was my last. When someone asked, ‘Who is that cocky, arrogant motherfucker?’, I knew they were talking about me. One thing I learned as a teenager was how to hold my own in a fight and not give two shits about what anyone thought of me. That was the worst possible combination for someone like me.

  I wasn’t afraid to piss anyone off, which made me perfect for my job. I could infiltrate any gang and hold my own. Becoming one of the Devils was like a walk in the park for me. When I got the assignment, I almost shit a brick. I’d only been part of the Special Investigations team for two months, but I must have done something right for them to throw that bone my way.

  Little did I know at the time that I would destroy my family, my life, and my future. Did I tell you I was a cocky, arrogant motherfucker? And that was my downfall.

  Now, here I am years later, trying to put my life together again. I’ve been given a fresh start. And what I do with it is all on me. Let's just hope I learned enough over the years to not screw it up again.

  My Teenage Years

  “GAUGE, WHERE ARE you, Gauge.”

  My little brother is running around the house calling my name. He’s a good kid, but sometimes he can be a pest. He’s nine years younger than me, you know, the ‘oops’ your parents talk about. I laugh to myself, because I can remember the day my mom found out she was expecting again. My dad almost passed out when she told him. I can still see his face turning green at the gills and his eyes getting as large as quarters. As active as their sex life was, you would think they would have taken better precautions.

  “I’m upstairs, Brae!” I call down from my room. I can hear his footsteps running up the stairs. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before he trips if he doesn’t slow down, but being the good brother I am, I call out to him.

  “Slow down, Flash, before you fall and hurt yourself.”

  “I’m not gonna hurt myself,” I hear him say. “And don’t call me Flash!” he yells back just as he rounds the corner to my room and bursts right on in, not even caring that I had the door almost closed.

  “Where’s the fire, little man? And ask next time before you come in, will you.” I often forget to close and lock my door. It’s a miracle I haven’t been caught doing something wrong yet.

  “Gauge, Mom brought a puppy home. Come on and see! We have to name him. Come on!”

  Just like that he’s out the door and running back down the stairs. It takes all of a minute before I hear the thump thump and then the screams telling me Braedyn fell down the stairs. AGAIN. That kid has one speed, and it’s called turbocharged.

  “Gauge, bring me the first aid kit from the bathroom, please!” Mom yells up the stairs.

  “Coming!” I yell as I'm climbing off my bed to head to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit.

  Descending the stairs, I see my little brother sprawled out on the floor crying and my mom telling him he’s going to be all right as she attempts to comfort him.

  “Here, Mom.” I hand her the stupid Spongebob band-aids and then head toward the back door, placing the remainder of the first aid kit on the table on my way out.

  “Where are you headed, Gauge?”

  “Headed to Tom’s, Mom. I’ll be back before dark
. See ya!” And before she can say another word, I jog across the yard and break out into a full run.

  Tom is my partner in crime. If there is trouble to be found, we can find it. Tom’s mom has been working two jobs since his dad split, so there is never anyone telling us what we can and can’t do. His brother, Rob, doesn’t seem to care if we hang with him, even though he is in his twenties. I think it makes him feel cool that we want to be just like him.

  Rob lets us drink with him and gets us high all the time. He even taught Tom and me how to fight, and I don’t mean just how to box, I mean street fight. You know, the kind of fighting where anything goes. He taught us to never slow down, get in the first punch, put your foot on the gas and go full steam ahead until your opponent can’t stand any longer.

  I’ve been in so many fights over the last year that I rarely find myself on the losing end. I think maybe someday I might be a UFC fighter. Last fight I got into, my mom and dad had to pick me up from the police station. Ronnie was a pussy and told his parents everything that happened, and before I could even reach my front door, the cops were pulling up alongside of me and hauling my ass down to the precinct.

  A week later, my parents got a letter from a lawyer telling them they owed restitution to Ronnie’s parents for the medical bills they incurred for their kid. Let’s just say my ass found itself locked up in my room for a week, only allowed out to go to school. That sucked balls.

  When I get to Tom’s house, Rob is in the garage getting high. I can smell the skunk before I even get to the driveway. Excitement fills me with the thought of smoking a blunt and downing a beer.

  “Hey, Rob, where’s Tom?”

  “In the kitchen.” He stokes up the end of the blunt again and drags in a breath so deep his lungs expand like the wings on a bird before flight.

  “Cool, can I have a hit?” My mouth is watering at the thought of getting that Switzer Sweet filled with the best bud ever between my lips.

  “Sure, and grab me a beer when you’re done, will you?” He takes one more drag before he hands me a little piece of heaven.

  I grab it with my thumb and forefinger and bring it to my lips, sucking in the biggest hit I can take and holding it in my lungs. I can feel the calm ease its way through my body as I slowly release the white smoke from between my lips. The first time I ever tried the stuff, I choked for three minutes straight, and both Rob and Tom laughed at me. Now I’ve become an expert at this. Bringing my hand to my mouth one more time, I blaze the end of the blunt, sucking in the warm smoke and filling my lungs once again.

  “Hey, don’t bogart that blunt,” Rob snarls at me.

  Being the cocky son of a bitch I am, I take one more drag before I hand it back to him and then head into the house.

  “Don’t forget to bring me back a beer, dickhead.”

  I flip Rob the bird and don’t even bother to look back. Inside the kitchen, Tom is making himself a sandwich. “Got one for me?” I ask.

  “You got two fucking hands, Gauge, make your own.”

  “Whatever, just make me one while you’re there.”

  I reach into the fridge for a beer and hear the rumble of motorcycles arriving outside. It's loud and growly, the distinctive sound that only a Harley Davidson makes. When I open the garage door to bring Rob his beer, I see that he isn’t alone anymore. Two guys dressed in black leather vests are standing with him. Their backs are to me, so I can see the words ‘Vipers MC’ and ‘Phoenix’ stitched on the back, and in the middle of those words is a snake coiled up and ready to strike. Rob introduces me as his kid brother’s best friend.

  “Gauge, this is Stitch and Rev. Say hello and then get the hell out of here.”

  A quick nod of my head is all I give before I head back into the house. “Hey, did you know there are two biker dudes in your garage, Tom?”

  “Yeah, those are Rob's brothers from the local Vipers chapter. They’re pretty badass, so I would stay away from them if I were you.”

  “Badass? How do you mean?”

  “Let’s just say you don’t want to be anywhere near those guys when they are around. I stay far away until they are gone.”

  “I think it would be cool to be part of a gang. No one would fuck with us, dude. We could do whatever we want and never have to worry about people bothering us.” I am as excited as a kid on Christmas morning as I envision it in my little mind, everyone backing away as I walk by and whispers saying, ‘Don’t fuck with that kid.'

  “Gauge, you don’t even know what you are talking about. Trust me, just shut your mouth and stay inside until Stitch and Rev leave.”

  I’ve never thought of my friend Tom as being a pussy, but right about now that is exactly what I am thinking. Tom and I are supposed to be badasses. We don’t give a shit about what anyone thinks. He has my back, and I have his, and right now, I want to know everything there is to know about the Vipers.

  “Come on, Tom, let's just go hang with your brother.”

  “Not interested, Gauge, but you do whatever you want. It’s cool.”

  “Suit yourself. I’m going back out there.”

  I’m not known to be subtle about shit, so the first thing I can think to do is ask Stitch what I have to do to become a Viper. I know I’m too young to be in an MC, hell, I’m still just a kid, but someday I think I might want to be part of this group.

  Stitch thinks I’m just some punk kid, laughing out loud at my request, and maybe he is right, but I'm not feeling quite that way right now. I want to show them all that I can be their equal even if I am years younger, and so I hatch my plan to show them just how awesome I can be.

  Running back into the house, I call my mom to tell her that Tommy asked me to stay the night. I know it’s a school night, but I beg her to please let me stay. She has a soft spot for Tommy since she knows he doesn’t have a father and that I am his only real friend.

  “Gauge, I’m trusting you to stay out of trouble tonight. I’ll be by bright and early to pick you two up for school, so don’t make me regret saying yes to this.”

  “Thanks, Mom, see you in the morning.” Once I hang up the phone, my mind is hatching the plan that will solidify my coolness and hopefully my future as a Viper.

  If only I had really thought it through, I would have seen what a bad idea it truly was.

  What Was I Thinking?

  BEING COOL ISN’T always as easy as it seems to be. What you think is a great plan at the time soon becomes the worst night of your life.

  Tom tried to warn me to stay away from Stitch and Rev. I thought Rob would have my back, and so I decided to be the cool kid who could hang with the adults. In my mind, Rob would make sure I didn’t do anything stupid, but I was wrong, so very wrong. Rob is loyal to his brothers in arms, not to my little punk ass.

  Two beers, and I am acting like an idiot. I truly felt I was indestructible, so when they pass the pills around, I am the first to hold my hand out. I don’t care what it is; I am more than willing to try anything, and if we are all doing it, how can it be bad? Famous last words, right?

  The last thing I remember is everyone laughing at me. My head is spinning, I can barely keep my eyes open, and I feel like I am going to throw up. Everything around me is fading into darkness before my eyes.

  Bright lights are blinding me as my eyes begin to focus and my senses come back. I realize I am lying on the ground in a parking lot behind a trash dumpster. There are flashing blue and red lights all around me, but my mind can’t seem to fully comprehend what is truly happening to me.

  “Son, what is your name? Can you hear me, son?”

  I don’t recognize the voice; it’s an older voice, not one that belongs to Rob, Stitch, or Rev. The voice belongs to someone I don’t know, and for the first time, I am truly scared. Unable to focus on where I am or what is going on around me, I begin to panic.

  “Son, I need your name. Can you tell me your name, please? What did you take, son, do you remember?”

  “My name is Gauge.”

&n
bsp; “Gauge, what,” the voice asks.

  “Gauge Ellington.”

  “What did you take, Gauge? Can you tell me what you took and how much?”

  Trying to remember exactly what it was that I put in my mouth, I come to the realization that I’m not indestructible. In fact, I am quite the opposite. I don’t even know how to answer this man’s question because I don’t know what I took, but I do know I sure as hell am not telling anyone where I got it from. I may be young, but I am not stupid. I am much wiser than my years, and telling anyone I got stoned with a bunch of bikers from the Vipers is not a smart thing to do. I might as well just slice my wrist or put a bullet in my head, because that is exactly what would probably happen to me if I told anyone.

  “Son, how do I reach your parents?” the voice asks me.

  Before I can realize what I’m doing, I’m rattling off my home phone number and listening to the conversation that would change my teenage life.

  “Mrs. Ellington, I’m sorry to wake you at two a.m. My name is Steven, and I’m with the Phoenix Fire Department. We found your son behind a dumpster, and we are moving him by ambulance to Banner Hospital. It appears he has overdosed.”

  The conversation is one-sided since I can’t hear what my mother is saying, but I’m sure I don’t want to know. This time I’ve gone too far. All I can think about as I’m being lifted into the ambulance is how I’m going to get myself out of this mess.

  Apparently, I’m a suicide risk. That is what the doctors think when I can’t tell them all the drugs I must have ingested to almost overdose. My doctor is a complete asshole, and rather than asking me if I would prefer to swallow the activated charcoal, he decides it would be administered via a feeding tube. My gag reflexes are working in full force, and it isn’t long before I’m vomiting all over myself.

  Mom is in tears, blaming herself for this happening. The whispers between her and my father are causing me to strain to hear what is being said. Dad says I’ve gone too far this time, this is more than adolescence experimentation, and wants to send me to a Saddle Ridge Rehab facility. Mom doesn’t want to do it and is arguing with Dad about other options.