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The resonance of Brick’s mom’s words, the admittance of her choice of love over safety, depth of feeling over peace of mind, stirs within me a strange cocktail of emotions. There’s regret, there’s sorrow, and, most frighteningly, a smidgen of hope that threatens to overwhelm the carefully constructed defenses around my heart.
With Brick’s mom’s words still lingering, a sense of resolute determination takes hold. I am resolved to reclaim my life—the one that existed before the Reapers, before Brick. My old apartment, my old routines, my job at the hospital—it’s all familiar, safe. It’s all void of the risk, the uncertainty that came with Brick and his life.
But there’s a profound difference between knowing your path and walking it.
Once familiar walls feel too empty, the silence in my apartment too deafening, replacing the once-constant hum of engines and the hushed whispers of the night. I return to my work at the hospital, seeking solace in the bustling corridors and the comforting rhythm of routine.
But as I move through the hallways, the memories of Brick walking these very corridors, his presence filling the room, is a ghost I can’t shake off. The constant adrenaline, the breakneck pace, the looming shadow of danger – it’s all glaringly absent in the fluorescent-lit sterility of the hospital. And I miss it. I miss him.
I throw myself into my work, losing hours, days, in a whirlwind of patients and paperwork. It’s a welcome distraction, pulling me away from the thoughts of Brick, from the constant worry that’s become a part of me.
And yet, the emptiness persists. It sits in my chest like a hollow echo, a painful reminder of what I have left behind. A loneliness that wasn’t there before, that didn’t exist when I was ensconced in the thrum of the clubhouse, enveloped in Brick’s unwavering presence.
One evening, as I leave the hospital, the setting sun casting long shadows on the pavement, a biker roars past. The sound of the engine, the sight of the leather-clad figure speeding away, it’s all too familiar. A pang of longing slices through me. The wind on my face, the thrum of the engine beneath us, Brick’s solid warmth at my back—I miss it all. I miss the rush, the thrill, the liberation that came with every ride on Brick’s bike.
And suddenly, it hits me. Despite the danger, the chaos, the uncertainty, there’s a part of me that yearns for the life I’ve left behind. A part of me that’s missing the raw, unfiltered intensity that came with being a part of the Cascade Reapers, with being a part of Brick’s life. It’s a startling revelation, one that threatens to dismantle the carefully constructed walls of my resolve.
The chapter of my life with Brick was supposed to be over, a closed book. But as I stand there, the roar of the biker’s engine still echoing in the distance, I realize that the story isn’t finished. It’s just paused, waiting for the next page to be turned. The question is, do I dare to turn it? Do I dare to plunge back into the chaos, back into the storm, for a chance to find my rainbow? It’s a question I can’t answer, not yet. But it’s a question that’s there, nestled within the hollow echo in my chest, refusing to be ignored.
CHAPTER17
Brick
I’ve never beenone to wallow in self-pity, but Ava leaving... it hit me like a bullet. There’s a hollow space in my chest where she used to be, a constant ache that no amount of liquor can numb. But this pain, this heartbreak, it’s more than just a testament to lost love. It’s a wake-up call.
I look around the clubhouse, my gaze landing on the same old faces, their expressions etched with the grit and grime of the life we’ve chosen. But beneath that hardened exterior, there’s a weariness. A weariness I’ve become all too familiar with.
“We’ve gotta change, brothers,” I find myself saying at the club meeting, my voice echoing in the silence. There’s surprise in their eyes, but there’s also understanding. They know as well as I do that the path we’re on only leads one way: to an early grave. I make a vow then and there, to the club, to myself, to Ava’s memory. We’re going to clean up our act. No more illegal shit. No more risking our lives for quick cash. The Cascade Reapers deserve better.
Stray’s the first one to step up, the kid’s got fire in his eyes that reminds me of a younger version of myself. We get to work, brainstorming, planning, devising new strategies for our club. No more money laundering, no more drug running, just honest work. We start talking to locals, small businesses, seeking partnerships, offering our protection services. It ain’t glamorous, and it’s definitely not easy. But it’s right.
Late nights become our norm, hunched over papers, crunching numbers, working our asses off to pull the Reapers out of the muck we’ve landed ourselves in. The club watches us, skepticism slowly melting into cautious optimism. They start pitching in, contributing ideas, sharing contacts. It feels like a new beginning, like we’re finally steering the club toward something good.
The ache in my chest doesn’t subside, but it becomes a companion of sorts. A reminder of the love I lost, the love that changed me. I still miss Ava every damn day. Her laughter, her defiance, her passion... she was the storm I never knew I needed. And even though she’s not here, I feel her. In the winds of change sweeping through the Reapers, in the resolve strengthening my spine. Ava might have left, but she’s left her mark on me, on us. And I’ll be damned if I let that be in vain.
One night, I find myself standing outside Ava’s apartment, my heart pounding in my chest. The street is quiet, the city asleep, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The security cameras I had installed a while back stare back at me, disconnected, silent. I had turned them off, a promise to Ava, a promise to respect her privacy. But now, every instinct in me screams to make sure she’s safe.
It’s a battle inside me, between my need to protect Ava and my commitment to respect her space. I remember how she looked when she discovered my surveillance, her eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. I don’t ever want to see that look again.
With a sigh, I reactivate the cameras, the tiny red lights blinking back to life. It feels like a defeat, like I’m breaking a promise. But I convince myself it’s for her safety, nothing more. I can’t bear the thought of her getting hurt and me not being there to protect her.
Despite the gnawing guilt, I decide on a compromise. I’ll keep the cameras running, but I won’t watch the feeds. That way, she’s safe, and I respect her privacy. It’s not the ideal solution, but it’s the best I can do under the circumstances.
Back at the clubhouse, the bank of monitors in my room stands as a stark reminder of my struggle. I glance at the one linked to Ava’s cameras, the screen dark, unwatched. My hand twitches toward the switch, but I pull back, clenching my fist. No, I won’t invade her privacy. I won’t break her trust, not again.
Days turn into weeks, and each time the urge to check on Ava gnaws at me, I force myself to turn away. I remind myself of why I’m doing this, why I’m respecting her autonomy. Because I love her. Because she deserves better than a man who doesn’t trust her enough to respect her decisions.
As each day passes, my resolve strengthens. It’s a battle, a painful one, but one I’m determined to win. For Ava, for me, for the man I’m striving to become. The guilt lessens with time, replaced by a strange sense of pride. A small victory in my personal journey toward change.
By the end of it, I’m left in a state of quiet determination. I’m not the man I used to be, not completely. Ava’s absence is still a gaping wound, but her impact remains, a beacon guiding me through the tumultuous waters of change. I’m becoming someone she can be proud of, someone who respects her choices, someone who loves her, truly.
The Cascade Reapers are changing, and so am I. And while I miss Ava more than words can express, I know I’m doing the right thing. I’m growing, learning. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough. For now.
After a week of research and late-night strategizing with Stray, I decide it’s time to bring Ghost into the fold. The club’s resident tech expert and hacker is not only a wizard with all things tech, but he’s also got an uncanny knack for seeing through people’s BS.
“Ghost,” I say, meeting him in the clubhouse’s main lounge. He raises an eyebrow at me, his fingers never leaving the keyboard of his laptop. “I need your expertise.”
“Sure thing, Prez,” he replies, leaning back in his chair. His fingers cease their dance on the keys, and he turns his full attention to me. “What do you need?”
