Gunner

by Daniela Jackson

  I kiss my mom’s head and go to collect the car I ordered two weeks ago. It takes me about two hours then I pop into a shop to buy a new child’s seat and return to the house. Mom is sitting in the kitchen and drinking a cup of tea.

  “Where is Asher?” I ask.

  “Asleep, honey. Are you hungry?”

  “No, I’ve had a burger in town.”

  “Tea?”

  “Orange juice.”

  Mom rises to her feet and moves towards the fridge, taking a yellow plastic bottle out. She pours me a glass of orange juice as I drop into the chair. She hands me the glass and sits opposite me.

  “Sol will be alright,” Mom says and flashes me a warm smile.

  Sol is going to be discharged tomorrow. I’m trying not to think too much about it and I’m trying to focus rather on practical things. Thinking of her would make me nervous. My nervousness would make me say or do something stupid and I could jeopardize her recovery.

  “What if she doesn’t like the house?” I say.

  Mom frowns as her eyes blink a few times. I know that expression of hers. She’s going to tell me something I won’t like.

  “She may not like the idea of living under one roof with you,” Mom says. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “I did what I could. Asher needed a home, a parent.”

  “What is it between you and Sol?” She looks at me sternly.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re looking after her like you’re her husband.”

  “Nikko would do the same. She was Shay’s wife.”

  Her lips form a thin line and her eyes turn glassy for a moment. She clears her throat. “Nikko’s got no chance to even take Asher out for a walk. You took possession of Asher and Sol and you’re saying there’s nothing between you two?”

  “Jesus, Mom, you’re so annoying.”

  “I’m just trying to say that she’s recovered and your life may change. She may want to take him from you.”

  “Asher needs me,” I growl. “He’s mine.”

  “I know. But—“

  “I’m going to bed.” I hate myself for cutting her off, but I can’t stand her remarks.

  Even thinking about Asher moving out to live somewhere else makes my veins fill with ice. He’d cry without his funny evening routine when we’re bathing twenty rubber toys and I’m talking to them. He’d be scared. I’d dry out without him. He’s part of me.

  Mom sighs and rises to her feet then kisses my cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  She leaves the house and I go to Asher’s room. I take him out of the cot and hold him tight against my chest.

  “You, little guy, you know who your daddy is, right? Never forget who your daddy is.”

  I don’t know whether Sol will be pissed off with me or not. She’s better. That’s all that matters.

  Sol

  They’re staring at me like I’m a monkey in a zoo, a monkey doing funny things. My eyes sweep over their faces—Gunner Senior and Carrie, Dad and Mom, Hawk, Nikko. Gunner Junior with Asher hopping in his arms.

  My son is scared of me.

  It hits me hard. It stabs me like a knife. It devastates me to the point where I can’t breathe.

  I fucked up. I fucked up the most important thing in my life.

  I fucked up with Shay and I fucked up with Asher.

  I choke back tears as my eyes slide over the facade of Gunner’s house. Asher’s house. It’s a bungalow with a tiled roof and a small garden.

  Gunner and Asher have been a family.

  Fuck. It hurts so much, like a heated pole has touched my heart and has left an oozing infected burn.

  Gunner pulls Asher to his chest like I’m some fucking villain who has come to kidnap him. It hurts even more.

  “Let’s eat,” Carrie says and enters the house first.

  We queue in front of the burgundy door until it’s finally my turn to step inside. I stop in a narrow hall and hang my biker jacket on an iron ornate hook. The smell of detergents wafts through the air—the smell of cleanliness, care, and effort. Gunner Junior is like his dad when it comes to cleaning. I’m like a filthy tramp and Shay was no better. Rot and worms would have eaten my house if Gunner hadn’t taken care of me.

  A thought blasts in my head. Gunner has never made any comments about my lack of skills to keep my house tidy. He just shook off his cut and did whatever was needed. And a lot was needed. A meal for me. A bath for me. Laundry. Dusting. The repairs of the roof.

  A punch bag was needed and Gunner took every punch.

  I flinch in shame.

  Mom guides me to a square dining room with a round table dressed in white and pink. A silver candelabrum holding five candles adorns the top.

  “Who’s been cooking?” I ask.

  “Me,” Mom signs and kisses my cheek.

  There will be a lot of fish, I suspect. She’s obsessed with seafood. I hate it. My dad hates it. Hawk loves it.

  “Salmon,” Mom signs and winks at me like she knows my thoughts.

  I move closer to Gunner and Asher and stroke my son’s hair, but he looks at me like I’m an old ugly witch. I’m shaky. My chest feels like I have a stiff corset on.

  We take our seats and Carrie takes over Asher.

  “The house is really nice,” I say. “The décor is very warm like it’s a cottage.”

  “Mom helped me choose the colours,” Gunner says.

  I notice my mom’s three drawings on the walls—each represents two fallen angels holding hands, one has my face, and the other has Gunner’s face. I will kill her. It’s not even funny.

  Uncle Gunner and my mom start delivering the food on the table and I focus on eating.

  “So, are you still on drugs?” Hawk asks.

  Yep, I can always count on my brother’s straightforwardness.

  “No, I stopped my antidepressants two weeks ago,” I say.

  “So what was it like when you were on drugs?” Hawk asks.

  “Like all the problems didn’t concern me,” I say. “I had a cool head. I had endorphins in my blood.”

  “Cool,” Hawk says and I see he’s genuinely interested, intrigued even.

  “Yep,” I say. “Very cool. And it helped. Now, I have to deal with all the problems with my shaky mind.”

  Our forks screech and scratch against the plates. Glasses clink. Cans of beer click.

  “So,” Dad starts. “Where are you going to live now?”

  I knew he would ask. Why would he let me eat my first meal after leaving the hospital in peace?

  “In my house,” I say.

  “This is your house now,” Dad says.

  “No,” I snap. “This is Gunner’s house.”

  “Your kid has to stay here,” Dad says, anger sizzling in his eyes.

  “My son is going to live with me,” I say.

  “You can’t take the kid out of the only house they know,” Dad rumbles.

  “Asher is my son and he will go where I go,” I hiss.

  “You can’t take my son from me, Sol,” Gunner says, his voice cold, sending a warning.

  “Excuse me?” I rise to my feet as my chair screeches against the cream tiled floor.

  “You heard me,” Gunner says.

  All the gathered people freeze as electricity oscillates in the air.

  “We need to talk, Gunner,” I say. “Seriously.” I grab my head in both my hands as my eyes roam over the gathered people. “Fucking hell. You people can’t decide about my son’s and my life. I’m not five years old any longer.” I turn my face to Gunner Junior. “Outside. Now.”

  He smirks and makes a gallant gesture with his hand. I walk out of the room as he follows me closely behind. We step out of the house and walk towards a stream burbling behind a line of trees. A car hums in the distance.

  “I want my son back,” I say.

  “I know.”

  “No, you don’t know anything. He’s my baby, Gunner. I want to give all the time
we lost back to him. I’m not a selfish stupid bitch, Gunner. I can see what you did for him and for me and I’m so so grateful. But I need to be with my baby now.”

  “He’s my baby, too.”

  The rough emotion in his voice makes my own throat tighten. “I can see that too.”

  “Why can’t you just live with me and Asher in this house I bought for you?”

  I can’t articulate a single word. He’s talking to me like we’re married. Like we’ve been married for years. And I fucking don’t want to stab him. I don’t want to argue. Gunner is a good, caring man. I can see that. I’m not that blind or stupid.

  “I can’t, Gunner. I need to be on my own now. I need it. And I need my son with me.”

  Anger fills his eyes. “You won’t take him from me.”

  “I don’t want to take him from you. He needs you, I know that. Let’s meet half-way, Gunner, like two parents who are divorced.”

  Gunner

  A very fucking brilliant idea. My hands itch to twist her neck or bend her over the table and fuck her raw, I’m not sure which is more appealing to me. Or maybe both are equally appealing.

  I’m losing her now like I’ve been losing her over and over again since she fell in love with Shay. I can’t lose Asher.

  “Alright,” I say. “I want him four days a week including the nights.”

  She nods. “It’s very reasonable.”

  “I want him every Sunday.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want to go on a vacation with him sometimes.”

  “Okay.”

  I nod. “Tomorrow I’ll bring him to your house.”

  “That’s sensible.”

  We stand in silence for a moment. A sense of loss wafts through me. Something between Sol and me is breaking and turning into ashes and it’s inevitable.

  “What about us, Sol?”

  “There’s no us, Gunner.”

  Right. There can’t be any us if I’m the only person interested in building us.

  I nod several times, my heart crumbling into pieces, hurting, dying. “Good to know.”

  She looks at me with cold eyes. “Let’s go back to the house. The dessert is on the table.”

  I’m cold inside too. Detached. That ungrateful bitch has just stopped existing for me.

  “Let’s go then,” I say.

  I return to my seat and I am the old Gunner, the Gunner from before Shay’s accident. I used to be a funny guy.

  I say jokes that make everybody laugh; I make sure glasses are never empty.

  It feels good to be the old me. Sol’s surprised expression when I ignore her entirely feels even better.

  Later this evening, when Asher and I are finally alone, I focus on him. I’m the new Gunner. The Gunner who loves his son more than anything in the world. The Gunner who’d die for his son.

  I tell Asher to be brave. I tell him to be a good boy and to love his mom.

  When tears prick my eyes, I tell him to sleep. He’s a good boy and drops off to sleep at once.

  Chapter 8

  Gunner

  Sol is a single mom, and I’m a single dad. It’s very absorbing to be honest. Painful each time I see her come to take Asher to her place.

  We’re polite to each other, but reserved, like distant relatives who see one another every five years.

  I did everything I could. It didn’t work so fuck her.

  Fuck her—this is my mantra.

  I must admit, she’s a good mom to Asher. He is her whole world now. I love watching them when they’re in the park or in the garden. Sol will talk to him like a child and he will giggle at her every smile for him.

  I promise myself to erase every memory of that ungrateful selfish bitch from my mind.

  Yet, I jerk off in the shower every night, thinking of her.

  I promise myself to hate her.

  Yet, I love her even more. I love her with even more despair and rage.

  I promise myself to go on a date with a nice girl.

  No—

  I’ve changed my mind. Never. No dates. No other women.

  I’m not going to give up on Sol. I fucking can’t give up on her. I just need to find a way to her.

  A thought sprouts in my head and then a plan is born. I speak to Axel and take time off work. My uncle doesn’t ask any questions, just pats my shoulder and tells me to watch over myself. I book a transatlantic cruise. I pack a small bag, and, on one winter morning, I jump on my bike. I start the engine and go to visit the Devil’s Tears MC.

  Mike greets me with his werewolf-like hug and with his hand slapping me on the back. Daisy squeaks like a five-year-old and Amber reminds me of Asher, causing that fucking heaviness to press against my chest.

  After dinner, Rebel, Mike and I sit in the bar to have a few drinks. Mike orders them for us as I let my eyes roam over my surroundings. The music’s playing as the stripper is gyrating around the pole. Her naked perky tits are bouncing, evoking a wave of howls.

  The club whores are squealing and laughing in the corner as the club members are growling and whistling.

  Bottles of vodka slam on the tables. Pool balls bang. Glasses clink. Nasty swear words waft through the air mingling with the smell of tobacco.

  “I need a favour,” I say and thrust my chin forward, nodding at Rebel. “From you actually.”

  Rebel puts his elbows on the table and grins. “Speak straight from the shoulder.”

  “I heard you were good at finding dead people,” I say.

  “It depends,” Rebel says.

  “Fifty thousand,” I say.

  Dimitri put a lot of money into my bank account. I don’t use them too often so as not to bring the cops’ attention to me or my family, but yes, I’ve got money.

  “Deal,” Rebel says and extends his arm to shake hands. “I’m going to give you my whole attention and all the investigator skills imprinted in my genome.”

  Mike laughs and pats Rebel’s shoulder.

  The music fades and the stripper walks off the stage. One of the girls starts moaning and I turn my head towards her. Right. Not that it surprises me or something. One of the boys is fucking her from behind. They’re between the couch and the wall adorned with the photo frames exhibiting the club members and the club’s logo—a demon’s face with red shimmery tears flowing from his black eyes.

  “Too much of weed,” Rebel comments and chuckles.

  “Have fun, kids,” Mike says and slides from the bar stool. “My girls are waiting for me.”

  I salute him and Rebel does the same as I.

  “Beer?” Rebel asks.

  “Sure.”

  He waves his hand to Rita, the bartender, and she refills our glasses. Slim arms wrap around me from behind and the smell of green tea mingling with a female’s musk settles in my nostrils. Hot wet mouth plants a kiss on my cheek.

  “Hello, pretty boy,” a breathy voice says into my ear as a tiny hand travels to the front of my jeans and strokes my dick.

  My member twitches in my pants.

  My brain detaches though.

  I turn my face to the chick embracing me. “Back the fuck up, sweetheart, or your brain will splash against the wall.” That’s very fucking Uncle Axel-like.

  Pride surges through me.

  The chick stiffens with dread in her brown eyes. She’s really pretty, but I’m not in the mood. I’m a father, for fuck’s sake and I’m on a mission. The girl moves back and staggers towards the bathroom door.

  Rebel flashes me a wide grin. “I heard you’re all very eccentric.”

  “It’s just that I have a son, you know. If you have a kid, everything changes.”

  “I haven’t tried that yet so I’m not gonna argue.”

  We drink a few more beers and leave the compound the next morning.

  Rebel proves to be worth the money and two months later, I call him my brother.

  ***

  We are sitting on the bar stools. Rebel downs a shot of vodka.

  “Four
days and nothing,” I complain like a chick, which is met with Rebel’s wide grin.

  “We need four weeks at least, if not four months. If we’re not careful enough, we’ll bring the cops’ attention to us.”

  I nod and down my beer with four gulps. My president, Zane, told us to wait at least two years before we start looking for Shay’s remains so the cops won’t sniff around us.

  “It’s kind of important to me,” I say.

  “To make the blonde bitch be nicer to you?”

  “Something like this.”

  To make Sol love me. To give my mom the peace she needs so much.

  Rebel empties his glass. “Dad told me about your brother and your whole eccentric family.”

  “We must be pain in your ass.”

  “Something like this.”

  I stare at the bottles that stand on the shelves of the bar. Two bartenders are serving the customers crowding along the counter that’s illuminated by light unlike the rest of the interior. It’s layered by darkness and streaks of mist. The music coming from the small stage at the opposite end of the pub seeps into my veins. It’s a life performance. Seafra, they call the lead singer. His band is called ‘Red Asylum’. I never heard of them until I swept my eyes over the posters on the pub’s façade as we entered it, but the music is actually very good.

  “He has a good vocal,” Rebel says.

  I nod. “Really good.” I wave my hand to the bartender and she hurries to refill my glass. “Your stepmom okay?”

  “Annoying.”

  I laugh. “Daisy is the sweetest of them all. Aphrodite is annoying. Good you haven’t met her yet.”

  “The kid is sweet.” Rebel says more to himself as his eyes fill with warmth, and I see love in his gaze. Love for his little sister. “Amber likes me, you know. She giggles when I throw her over my shoulder.”

  “Asher loves me, you know, like I’m his dad by blood.” Emotion strangles my throat. I take a sip of my beer. “I have to fix it, you know, fix everything for Asher.”

  Rebel raises his shot glass. “To the fixes we’re both in.”

  We clink glasses. “Some snooker?”

  “Sure.”

  We move towards the pool table I can see in another room that’s separated from the pub with an arched passage.

  Three women surround us at once, their breasts pouring out of their vests. They’re very attractive, a blonde and two brunettes. Something in my glance must be deterring them from me, because they are closer and closer to Rebel, like hyenas circling a dead animal.