Page 14 of Crusher

“Blaze, what two prospects do you need this time around?” Cage asks and Blaze answers, “Tray and Lewis,” though I feel his eyes on me, but I ignore him like I always do.

Every fucking club run, he goes down a wrong road on fucking purpose to get me to call him through our helmets so I can redirect him. Sometimes he’ll demand help in front of the other officers. Most of the time I just walk away until Cage opens his mouth and demands I help, using his presidency patch against me.

Fuck I miss the days when he was in prison, then the year he spent riding nomad, forced by his father. Then the fucker met his little ballerina, Drew, and brought her home before having a couple of kids with her. Now he’s in my business, noticing the disconnect I have with the club, something most brothers haven’t noticed.

You’d think for someone who didn’t want his cut, who threw his patch on the ground after his sister was killed, would see that I don’t want to be involved right now?

“Okay, so you’ll go pick up the shipments, then meet the Dark Angels with the gear in Rose Hill, but keep an eye out for the pests, they’ve been too fucking quiet lately,” Cage states before he looks at Bones and asks, “How is the garage doing?”

Bones answers, “Business is steady, really good,” and I jitter my leg slightly while side-eyeing my dad, who is glaring and clearly still pissed that I decided against college and went into the fire service, something he should have seen coming.

I was only going into mechanics because he demanded it. The day he made me into the spare, I decided to finally live for myself. Unfortunately for him, Blaze was already studying business, and when Chains offered him the manager role at the strip club, he didn’t hesitate. Now he only had Bones to take over his legacy within the garage.

“Good… Crusher, you’re on shift in three days?” Cage confirms as he looks my way.

I grunt, “Yeah, for five days, then I have two graveyard shifts before I do three shifts at the firehouse, then I’ll have my normal two weeks off.”

He nods and writes down what I’m saying, and Trick adds, “I’ve got three day shifts after we get back, then four night shifts along with my wife.”

Who has Willow?” Lick, his dad asks and Trick smirks.

“Kodi,” he admits, and Lick groans, “That woman is stealing my granddaughter's time!”

Knuckles chuckles from beside me and reminds them, “Because she’s not ready to try for a baby right now, you know she has a low chance of conceiving and an even lower chance of carrying to term, so let her be, yeah?”

Lick grunts at his protective behavior but nods, making everyone laugh, and I half smile.

After she lost their baby so horrifically and nearly died, she may not conceive at all, and I pray that when she is ready, they get their family, because Kodi not being a mom will be a massive fucking shame.

She was born to be a mama, just like my girl was. Fuck.

I swallow hard and look down, my girl on my mind as usual.

Is she really seeing someone?

Did Leena lie because she wants to punish her daughter for leaving?

Has she started a family of her own?

Cage continues with church, going over finances, and I begin to zone out like I normally do now that the important shit is done with and my mind goes haywire. Thoughts of her moving on, of her being with someone else, starting a family with them and I glare at the black ink tattooed around my ring finger in little patterns that she chose, her name clear as day, despite having it on my neck.

I swear if my wife has met someone else, heads will fucking roll.

***

“Brother, you got any room in the fight tonight?” I ask Knuckles as I follow him out of church, ignoring my dad staring at me, and Knuckles sighs.

“You’ve fought nearly every week, brother. Why not take a break?” he says as he stops in the common room, and I notice Kodi looking our way with concern.

“Because if I don’t fight, then I’ll get myself arrested on purpose just so I don’t have to think anymore,” I admit quietly, and he instantly nods in understanding.

If anyone knows what it is like to feel like they are suffocating, then it’s him.

“Okay, fifth opponent, Mitchells, big fucker, but remember, patients don’t like paramedics with cuts and bruises,” he says.

I nod and mutter, “Thanks, brother,” just as my mom walks over to us.

“Mom,” I state coldly, and she flinches at my tone just as Dad wraps his arm around her protectively.