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“Let it go, son,” Eight said to Jay and then turned to Christian. “You need to do somethin’ about it?”
It hadn’t been all that long since Zach was a prospect, and he remembered the way the power dynamic worked—more than that, he remembered the way it felt. He’d wanted a patch from the moment he’d understood what it was, and, despite the fact that he was a legacy, that he was Rad Jessup’s eldest son, he’d been terrified every day of his prospect period that he’d fuck up and wash out. In fact, maybe he’d felt thatmorebeing Rad’s son. There was a lot of pressure in measuring up to a Bull like his old man.
If Eight had asked him a question like that when he was a prospect—assuming such a question could resonate for him like it had to for Chris—Zach didn’t know how he’d answer. He supposed he’d be grateful for the offer to respond to the insult, but he didn’t think he’d be able to ignore the way it had been asked: first telling another patch to ‘let it go,’ and then turning to the prospect who’d been insulted and asking if he ‘needed to do something about it.’ There was a lot of confusing messaging in there.
His father valued resolve above most things. Sometimes Mom chided Pop for confusing stubbornness with resolve, but Zach understood the difference. He tried to stand tall always, to be forthright and confident, even when he didn’t really feel it. Even as a prospect, he’d tried to find ways to advocate for himself. Christian was a little more hesitant. He wasn’t a pussy, and he hadn’t balked at anything he’d been told to do, but he was naturally quiet in personality, measured and careful in the way he responded to challenge.
Also, he was coming up on his do-or-die date, when he’d get a patch or wash out, so for sure he wouldn’t want to cause any kind of problem for the club right before the patches voted on whether he was one of them.
Now, as usual, Christian thought before he spoke. Discreetly, he shot a glance at the bar. Zach looked, too; all the cowboys had turned back to their drinks.
“They’re old assholes. I don’t need to beat on no grandpa. I’m good.”
With a smirk that might well have been pride, Eight nodded.
Then Christian added, “Any of ‘em say the word, though ...”
“Then we make sure they mind their manners in the future,” Dex cut in.
Jay grinned. “Chris, you should go up and feed the juke. Betcha a Ben Franklin there’s nobody darker than Elvis in there.”
Eight shook his head. “Don’t start shit, my brothers. Let’s just eat our crappy pizza and drink our crappy booze and crash out in our crappy beds.”
The bartender had walked up behind him with a tray bearing a bowl of peanuts, two pitchers of beer, a bottle of Cuervo, and assorted glasses. He dropped all of it on the table with enough force to slosh the beer and jostle the nuts and said, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start shit. Those fellas are harmless old gasbags, all three got one foot in the grave and the other on shaky ground, but they’ll take the bait.”
After he stalked away, the Bulls exchanged a glance. The kind of glance where everybody in it was thinking the exact same thing:same shit, different day.
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~oOo~
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That evening, whilehis brother was in the shower, Zach stretched out on his saggy motel bed and opened his message app. He hadn’t checked it in several hours; if the guys caught him looking too much, they’d give him relentless shit. At breakfast that morning, Jay had told them all that Zach was hung up on Lyra, doing his usual obnoxious-brother schtick, regaling them all with an extremely over-the-top description of their few kisses.
Zach had laughed along, because otherwise they’d never let him up about it, but really he’d been pissed. He wouldn’t say he was ‘hung up’ on Lyra, but he’d definitely enjoyed being with her, and he wanted to see her again. To be honest, he’d been thinking about her all day, remembering the feel of her in his arms, under his mouth.
Jay’s burlesque about it had cheapened something that maybe felt a little important to Zach. Significant, at least.
So he hadn’t given anybody any cause to cheapen it further. But the result was he’d left her last message, from this morning—I had fun too. Ride safe—on read all day.
It wasn’t like she’d said something emotional, but still, she was a chick, and chicks read trouble into every empty space. Almost half a day had passed; maybe by now she’d decided he was an asshole.
Well, one way to find out. He texted,Hey there.If she ignored it, he’d let the whole thing drop.
But three little dots popped up almost at once.
Hey. Have a good ride?
Zach grinned. He shifted the pillows to prop himself up more comfortably on the uncomfortable bed.Pretty good. We made it to Shitheel AZ. How was your day?
The dots flashed a lot longer this time, but when her message came, it was short.Pretty shit tbh.
Surprised, and a little disarmed, to get an actually honest answer like that, short as it was, Zach took a minute or two to decide if she’d meant that as an opening for something she’d want to tell him.
He didn’t know her well enough to guess, so he just asked.Sorry to hear it. You want to talk about it?
The next dots flashed for a really long time. They went away and came back a couple times, too. Finally, a message appeared:
