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“Ma, I gotta go. I got a run and shit to do. If you need anything, let me know.”
Not waiting for an answer and ignoring Beverly’s protest. I walk out of the room. I need a fucking drink.
One year later
“Gunner, you need to help me. I can’t do all this myself. He’s your son too. You can’t keep leaving me to deal with him by myself. All he does is cry, and I can't get my hair and nails done with a whiny baby, and your mother can’t watch him for me.” Beverly screeches as she follows me from our room to the kitchen, where she leaves the baby in his high chair, making a mess of his food.
I whirl around on her so fast that her front slams into my own, and I quickly take a step away from her. Her hands on me make my skin crawl. I fucking hate her touching me.
“Your nails and hair. What the fuck do you need to get that shit done for? So you can sit around here doing fuck all, whining, and pawning the kid off to anyone willing to watch him. Don’t think I don’t fucking know about the ol’ ladies coming here to watch him. Or how you threaten them to keep their mouths shut.” That has her scurrying away from me and to Chase. “What was it you told them? You’ll fuck shit up with them and their ol’ men if they don’t do what you say because you’re the future first lady of the club?” I sneer at her as her eyes widen. “He’s your kid; you wanted him, and now you got him. I take care of your needs, his needs, and every fucking thing else. What the fuck else do you want from me? Fuck.” I say louder than I mean to.
I turn and drop my saddlebag down on the kitchen table, causing Chase to squeal and clap his hands, which has whatever shit she was feeding him flying all over himself and her. Beverly squeals and jumps back, almost causing his seat to tip over. Which she doesn’t even notice. Thank fuck I was close and caught it. Fuck, selfish bitch.
Looking down at my smiling kid, I smirk at the mess he made. Good job, buddy. Make her work for you. He squeals a laugh, flinging more food around like he knows what I was thinking.
She returns from the kitchen with a dish towel and wipes Chase down. “I’m so sick of this, Gunner; you are my husband and his father. I deserve better than this. I shouldn’t have to do all of this. I don’t understand why you can’t hire staff to take care of everything. I know the club can afford it. Your mother lives in that big house and has help when needed.” She says, wavering her over-entitled hand, still clutching the dish towel.
I look at her like she’s fucking crazy. My ma is the first damn lady of the club. She takes care of a lot of shit that has to do with the families. And Nan helps because it's something for her to do since her ol’ man passed a few years ago. This bitch would know that if she took an interest in getting to know the other family members of the club for more than what they can do for her ass. So no, there isn't any fucking way I’m going to pay someone to do the shit she should be doing. She doesn’t do shit but sit around pawning the kid off and bitching about what she had at her parents and how I need to do this or that. Fuck that.
Shaking my head at her. I don’t even tell her for the hundredth time that shit isn’t happening. I pick up my saddle bag and walk out of the house without a backward glance as she yells my name, but I ignore her.
Ten months later
“Gunner, you have a phone call, hun.” Gigi, one of the club girls tending the bar, yells over the music.
My eyes narrow on her as she holds the phone up for me. I don’t know why anyone would call me at the clubhouse. And everyone who matters is here, well, except for Ma. She went up to her and Pop’s room for the night. I smile, thinking about her. Tonight was one of the rarer nights she joined the party. She was very tipsy when my Pops dragged her off to talk. My smile drops when I remember what brought that thought on.
With furrowed brows, I stand from where I’m seated and push through the crowd to reach Gigi and the phone.
“Yeah,”
“GUNNER…. You.. y… have to come now. I… I don’t know… wha…what’s wrong with Chase… he…he..” Without asking questions, the phone drops to the bar top, and I’m out of the clubhouse without seeing or speaking to anyone. Not realizing that my best friend followed me. All I knew was I needed to get to my son.
Two hours later
Sitting in the waiting room of the hospital for the last few hours has been torture. Not knowing how Chase is doing is killing me. All I can think about is what the doctors said when we brought him in. He wouldn't be here if I hadn’t come when I did. We could have lost our son if I would have ignored that phone call. Fuck.
Beverly sniffles as she leans further into me as I hold her. Rubbing her back, I think back to a few days ago, when she told me that Chase wasn’t feeling good. She thought she might need to take him to the kid doc; I told her to handle it and left and haven’t been back since. And now my kid is in surgery because I wasn’t there.
Ma comes rushing into the waiting room and immediately snatches Beverly out of my arms as she questions me about Chase. I tell her and Pops what we know. That he had appendicitis, and shit blew, so they had to do surgery to fix him up. Letting out a breath, I step away as Ma consoles my wife.
“Brother, let's go get a coffee. The Doc said it was going to take some time. Let's take a walk, yeah,” Turbo says, clapping me on my back. Wordlessly, I give him a nod and signal to my Pops that I’ll be back.
Following Turbo, when we reach the coffee machine. He stops and steps in front of me. I look up in his eyes and see anger and worry.
“Brother, I don’t get in your shit. You know that.” He runs his hand over his beard. “But you are fucking up, man.” He says, frustration lacing his voice. I go to speak, but he cuts me off. “Yeah, I know the situation is fucked, and you didn’t ask for this shit, but here you are. This is your fucking life, Gunner. That’s your kid in there fighting,” He says, pointing down the hall. “He’s fighting and has been fighting for fucking days while you were fucking off and getting blitzed at the clubhouse.” He growls. “You want to hate the bitch for what she did? Fucking hate her guts. But that kid, your kid. He doesn’t deserve what you’ve been doing. You’ve been ignoring him and that fucking name.” He shakes his head. “Fucking Hell, man. Come the fuck on. He deserves better than this, better than you.”
Placing his hands on my shoulders, making sure I’m listening.
“One day, this kid is going to grow up. And he is going to have memories. Memories of seeing his father’s back. Memories of you walking away, of you treating his Ma like shit. And that kid is gonna fucking hate you. Do you want that? Do you want your kid to hate you? I know you. No way in fuck would my best friend want to be anything other than a man his kid could be proud of, a man like his grandfather, a father like his grandfather was to you. You need to get your shit straight and figure it out. Ain’t no changing shit. Chase is here. Don’t lose him because of what could have been.” With a shove, he turns and walks away from the waiting room, and I stare after him.
Fuck.
My knees nearly buckle, and I have to catch myself on the wall as my chest aches at what I’ve done, who I’ve become. Closing my eyes, I take a few breaths, trying to keep my shit together. At this moment, clarity and realization hit me hard. Turbo isn’t wrong. Fuck, not one fucking thing he said was wrong. I am fucking up. With my eyes still closed, I promise to do better for my boy and his mother. My wife.
Ten
GUNNER
