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There’s so much he’s not saying, but I hear it all. He needn’t bother; I know what I have to do when the time comes.
Chapter Four
Pope
Am I pissed my grandson has been taken, and now the club is on the hunt to find him?
Yes.
Am I worried?
No.
Mason is there and won’t stop until he has his brother back. The club won’t stop. They’ll deal with the motherfuckers who got him, and then they’ll return home. My faith in the club is infinite. My faith in Myles to keep himself alive is infinite. He can be a cocky prick most of the time, but he knows how to be in certain situations.
There’s always that slither of fear that circumstances won’t end the way we hope, but that little voice has never really been that loud for me. I’ve been able to squash it down and get on with the task at hand. It’s been a while since I’ve been on the road, fighting for the club, but mentally, I’m there with each and every brother.
Closing my door, my shoulders sag, and I release the façade that I’m still as strong as I once was. I’m fucking old, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m living on a double-edged sword that I never thought I’d get to be on. I’ve been able to watch my grandkids grow and have their own babies. I’ve watched the club grow more substantial and now, under new leadership, move into these so-called modern times. I don’t doubt Leo will be the man to take his father’s place and keep our club, and our lives, thriving and always moving forward. My soul is still in my twenties and roaring to go. In my head, I’m on the road, I’m protecting the club and my family, I’m making cash, I’m taking out any threat to me or mine. But then, my failing body sharply reminds me that I’m no good for anything anymore. Even climbing the stairs takes too much time out of my day and causes too much pain in my joints. I need to piss every ten minutes. I’m starting to forget the most simple of things. Above all, it’s my lack of strength that frustrates me. Who the fuck am I if not the strength that holds this club together. What the fuck am I suitable for? My skin hangs loose, and the muscles I once maintained are gone.
I’m a wrinkled, no-good shell of a man, and as much as I want to be around for my family, these chest pains better turn out to be a heart attack and take me to my Sally. It’s been too long without her, and I need her back in my arms. Fucking waddling around the room, I make sure everything is in its place and lie down on my bed. Since I’m old as fuck, the cold gets to me even on a sunny fucking day. I drape the comforter over me, close my eyes, focus on the precious memories I can still remember, and wait for Sally to come get me.
Nightmares have never scared me. The darkness comes for me every night plaguing me with the faces of the men I’ve killed and buried over the years. Their ghosts chase me hour after hour until the sun rises and a new day begins. Even when theghosts try to kill me in my sleep, I enjoy taking them down again and again. I don’t fear the night because, one, I know they’re not real. And secondly, I have my old lady beside me, dreaming sweet dreams for the both of us.
I admit I spend most of my nights awake watching her sleep. I know when she’s dreaming, a small smile dances along her mouth, and she cuddles up against me, keeping me close to her. Not that I don’t do the same. I’ve spent so many nights alone, but after having Sally in my bed, in my town, I couldn’t imagine going back to sleeping alone. I used to think that sleeping under the same moon was enough when I wasn’t with her, but that was some bullshit I told myself so I didn’t have to answer myself as to why I kept leaving her to be at the club.
Sally’s phone rings on her nightstand, and I roll over her, careful not to put my weight on her, and grab her phone.
Kyla’s name flashes across the screen, and I sit up and answer. Glancing at the clock, it’s just gone two a.m.
“Ky, sweetheart. What is it?”
The only time my black heart beats erratically is when it has something to do with my daughter. The fear that takes over and the dangerous scenarios that run through my mind regarding her overwhelms me.
“I need Mom. The boys won’t stop crying, and I’ve tried everything…”
Sally sits up and takes the phone from me.
“Sweetie… yes… hmm… okay… I’m on my way now.”
She ends the call and tosses the phone on the bed as she climbs out from under the sheets.
“What’s goin’ on?”
“The twins won’t stop crying, and she’s working herself up into a mess. I said I’ll go over and help her.” She pulls clean clothes from her drawers and begins dressing. “I told her it was too soon for Ricky to leave with the club. One new baby is hardenough on your own, but twins! I knew this would happen,” she rambles on as I dress.
“He had club business to attend. He knew she had us if needed,” I remind her.
We drive over to our daughter’s house in the dead of night and let ourselves in with the key we have.
The sound of babies crying hits our ears as soon as the door is open. I lock up behind us while Sally heads upstairs. In the kitchen, bottles, and formula litter the table and counters. When Kyla was little, I didn’t make bottles, but since the twins came along, I’ve learned quickly. With two babies to keep fed and happy, it takes a team. I start cleaning the bottles, putting them in the sterilizer, and using the clean ones to make bottles up.
Kyla and Sally walk into the kitchen with a baby each, both hollering, with little red faces.
My daughter looks tired and worn out to the bare bones. I pass each of them a bottle, and the boys’ cries fade to the soft sounds of them sucking on the teats.
“Why was I blessed with two babies if they’re just gonna hate me?” Kyla cries as she sits at the table with Myles.
“They don’t hate you, sweetheart. They sense your stress, is all,” Sally soothes her.
