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That’s a sign that this conversation is to be taken seriously and I shouldn’t laugh or joke his question away. Not that I would ever make light of anything Guardian says anyway. He’s going to be the next leader of the club and respect is critical to the health of our organization, not to mention the personal health of everyone involved.
“My neighbor,” I say.
“The college student,” he says, “yeah, I know.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “That a problem?”
His brow furrows and I immediately regret being defensive. He doesn’t react angrily, though, but only says, “Come on, Chip. My ol’ lady is the same age. I don’t have a problem with the fact that she’s nineteen.”
“You’re right,” I say, “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a little on edge.”
“Why’s that?” he says.
I shrug. “I like her, Guardian. I really like her. She’s beautiful and sweet and sexy and she’s great with Gillian and she doesn’t seem to mind that I’m—well, that I’m…”
“A Ridge Devil?” he finishes.
I nod. “I mean, I’m used to girls thinking I’m sexy because I’m a biker. I’m just not used to girls knowing I’m a biker but liking me for other reasons.”
“You mean you’re not used to normal girls liking you and not sweetbutts?” he says.
I nod again.
“Chip, forgive me if I’m missing something here, but everything you’ve said sounds like really good things, so why are you on edge?”
“Because I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing,” I say. “Megan’s a good girl. She’s sweet and kind and—well, I said all that already. I just don’t want to bring her into this life and corrupt her. God, I feel stupid for saying that.”
“You’re not stupid,” he says, “Trust me, I felt the same way you did when I started dating Cayla. That’s why Shotgun and I have tried so hard to keep the club away from wars and violent crime. That’s why we’re so strict about what happens in town. We’re not the only members with families, Chip. A lot of the guys have wives and kids who go to normal schools and wear normal clothes and study to have normal, lawful careers. This is the lifewechoose, but it’s not a life we expect anyone to choose who doesn’t want to, including family. I mean, how many times have you seen Cayla here?”
He has a point. He and Cayla have been together for quite a while now, but she’s never been to the bar. She visits the garage every now and then and she’s perfectly friendly to everyone, but she’s definitely on the outside as far as what the club does. A number of old ladies—usually former sweetbutts who settled down with a particular club member—are more involved in the activities of the club. Not closely—as a rule, women can’t become full-fledged members—but they hang out at the club and are treated more like members than like civilians.
Cayla isn’t like that. She doesn’t look down on us at all, but she doesn’t want to be a part of what the club does. I can understand that. We’re not the violent, aggressive gangsters that Hollywood paints us to be, but we’re not saints and we’re not above violence if violence is necessary to protect the gang or its territory.
I don’t want Megan anywhere near that part. What’s more, I don’t want Gillian anywhere near that part.
“That’s true,” I say, “I just worry that with Gillian and all, I might push Megan to commit more than she wants to.”
“You mean you might marry her just because she’s helping you with your daughter?” he asks.
I haven’t even thought in terms of marriage before now, but now that Guardian mentions it, it’s clear to me that that is exactly where my mind is headed.
“Yes,” I say. “I feel like I won’t do that and I know I would never do that intentionally, but I’m afraid that maybe I will keep so much of myself away from her that she won’t know the real me until it’s too late.”
“This is the real you,” Guardian says, “The honorable man who makes no bones about the baby he has to take care of and who is only worried about a future with his ol’ lady because he’s afraid his association with the Ridge Devils might cause her pain.”
“That’s true,” I concede, “But I’m also the man who beat Trevor Gaines with a tire iron and threatened to break all four of his limbs if I ever see him again. I’m the man who meant that threat too.”
He scoffs. “Trevor Gaines was a woman-beating piece of shit, and I can’t think of anyone, biker or civilian, who would have held it against you if you didn’t bother with the threat and just ended him right then and there.”
“You know what I mean, Guardian,” I say.
“I know what you mean,” he says, “But you’re wrong to think of yourself as evil.”
“I don’t think of myself as evil,” I say, “Just not good enough for her.”
“That’s a problem too,” he says, “You don’t get to decide what’s good enough for her.”
That statement throws me for a loop, and I sit silently as I process what he said.
