Page 74 of Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC 7)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Late Winter 2015, Austin, Texas, USA

The day was unseasonably warm, and I was glad to be riding the motorcycle. A thirty-minute ride had the ability to transform my mind to another place altogether, and allow me to release things I would never be able to let go without it.

It seemed the nation’s perception of a man in Levis and boots riding a Harley was one of drinking, fighting, and the commission of crimes. From what I had learned of bikers – and I had been exposed to all walks of biker life – the exact opposite was true.

Bikers were the first to stop and lend a helping hand, the last to resort to violence without a reason, and although they were quick to protect their brethren, they typically didn’t do so with any more force than was necessary to do so.

As I sat at the traffic light one block away from my destination, the woman beside me in the minivan stared straight ahead at the traffic light, seemingly petrified in fear of what may happen if she glanced in my direction.

In the back seat, her children waved and made faces.

I grinned at the children, stuck out my tongue, and waved one last time before pulling in the clutch as the light changed from red to green.

I pulled into the driveway, shut off the engine, and let the bike coast to a stop. After a short emotion-filled hesitation, I tossed my leg over the bike and walked to the porch.

On my third knock, the door opened.

“I heard you half way up the street. I didn’t think any of those damned things were louder than Mike’s, but yours sure is. Got a distinct sound, too. Come on in, Son.” he said as he opened the door.

“So, you called and said to get the pack of cigarettes ready. What’s going on?” he asked.

“Can we go out onto the back deck?” I asked.

“Hell, we can go anywhere you like, Son. This is just as much your home as it is anyone’s,” he responded with a light laugh.

“You go on out there, and I’ll grab those smokes,” he said as he turned toward his bedroom.

I walked out onto the deck, glanced around the back yard, and inhaled a long slow breath through my nose. As I opened my mouth and tilted my head back, he opened the door to the deck. I exhaled and turned toward him.

“Great day, Sir,” I said.

“Sure is. Damned near eighty degrees. Spring is almost upon us,” he said as he handed me the pack of cigarettes.

Since I gave them to him, I had been back on three occasions. I took one from the pack, reached into my pocket, and removed my lighter. As I flipped the lighter between my fingers and toyed with the cigarette, he sat down in the chair beside me.

“Now I’m gonna guess because you’re here and you’re wanting a smoke that this is a tough day for ya, Son. Just what’s going on?” he asked.

I sat down across from him, flipped the cigarette into my mouth, and bit into the cotton filter. As I clenched it lightly in my teeth, I shifted my eyes toward the large maple tree in the corner of the yard. I imagined each of his children attempting to climb the tree as they grew old enough to reach the lowest of the branches. I laughed to myself, took another breath of courage, and turned to face him.

I had no way of knowing how he was going to react to what I had to say, but I’d never been one to sugar-coat subjects or dance around the truth. There was one way and one way only to do what it was I came to do, and spitting out what I had to say was a far better alternative than chewing on it.

I raised the lighter to the tip of the cigarette, lit it, and inhaled a long pulled deep into my lungs. As the smoke from the stale cigarette burned my lungs, I fought not to cough. I tilted my head to the side, exhaled, and took another long drag, watching the paper burn as I mentally prepared to speak.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” I said as I exhaled the smoke toward the yard.

The deck was concrete, covered, and a very peaceful place to sit. I found it quite relaxing, and although Katie and I often used the space for relaxation and make-out sessions, the remainder of the family rarely came out onto the deck.

“I have a question for you,” I said.

“Something’s eatin’ ya, I can see that. What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing happened,” I said as I leaned forward, resting my forearms onto my thighs.

I fixed my eyes on his, swallowed, and said what I came to say.

“I’ve got something I feel like I need to do, and although I’m not planning on doing it for a while, I need to see if it’s acceptable to you before I make any plans to do it,” I said.