Page 71 of Resilience

His father glanced over with a frown. “Of what? Being at the table?”

Sam nodded.

Dad pulled into the next parking lot—for a strip mall—and parked. After he cut the engine, he shifted on the seat to look at Sam directly. Still frowning. “I thought you wanted this.”

“I do ...”

“But?”

Sam had been thinking about this for days, but he still needed a minute to put those thoughts into something he could say. “I ... don’t want to say I didn’t understand what it would be like. I mean, I knew. I was here to see the Perro years, and other stuff. I heard stories, and saw shit. I’ve understood what the club is as long as I can remember. But ... I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know what I would be when I was part of that.”

His father frowned at him, perfectly still, and said nothing, like he was waiting for the end of the story.

So Sam continued and said the scary part. “What if I’m not good enough? What if I’m not brave or smart enough to do my part when it gets hot like that?” His throat tightened, and he swallowed. “Fuck, Dad. I feel like I’m just a kid.”

That made his father chuckle softly. “I know. I feel like you’re just a kid, too. But you’re not. You’re a man, Sam. A good man. And you’ve got a good, calm head on your shoulders.” He looked out the windshield for a moment, focused on the passing traffic. “You know, it’s a mixed bag for me and your mom, you taking that patch, knowing Mason wants to follow right at your heels. We want you safe and happy and living a long life. When we got the word you’d been shot ...”

He drifted off without finishing, but his head dropped as he shook it.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

Raising his head, Dad fixed Sam with a laser stare. “No. Don’t do that. You’ve chosen the life you want to live. Is that still true? You want this life?”

“I do. I just ... I need to be good at it. I don’t want to fuck up and get anybody else hurt. Or worse.”

“There’s no guarantee you won’t fuck up. Everybody makes mistakes, and mistakes have consequences. More to the point, everybody makes choices, and sometimes we gotta make a choice even if we know it’s got trouble attached. The thing you want to avoid is being a fuckup—somebody who doesn’t think first, who doesn’t care about consequences. You’ve never been that guy a day in your life.”

He reached across the console and clasped Sam’s shoulder. “You will be good at this, son. You already are. Everybody who was here the other night says you are the reason we didn’t lose that van.”

“But calling it out is why Uncle Gun’s paralyzed and Big Ben is dead. What if they would have just taken the van and left everybody sleeping?”

“Samuel. Now I know you’re looking for a reason to blame yourself. You know what was in that van. If it had been stolen from us, not one Bull, not one member of our family, would be safe. That was millions of dollars in cargo, headed from a Russian mobster to a Mexican druglord. That’s not a thing you just write a check for. That’s the sort of thing that takes payback out in blood. A lot of blood. You did the right thing—and you were smart enough to see the trouble right away. You know this, bud. I know you do. Why are you trying to feel bad about this? Is it Gun?”

Sam sighed and studied his hands. “He got hurt saving me.”

“Yeah, he did. And it sucks. His life is gonna change a lot. But understand this, son: Gun knows the risks of this life. Far better than you. He’s taken hard hits before, because this life is full of hard hits. But he loves this life anyway. Maybe more than anybody at our table, Gunner loves being a Bull. The risks, the pain, the damage—even the grief—it’s worth it. If the life is right for you, if the good is the good you need, then the bad is worth it.” Dad smiled. “You didn’t see me hang up my kutte after I got out of Beaumont. Those were five hard years, and that stint changed me. I know it was hard on your mom and you and Mace, too. But you gotta stick with what you love. You don’t bail when it gets hard—that’s when you fight. This is our family, Sam. It’s worth the fight.”

Several blocks slipped into place in Sam’s mind, and he chuckled softly.

“What’s funny? his dad asked.

“Not funny. Just ... like I finally got hold of something I’ve been reaching for. I was thinking about something Aunt Leah said earlier today. She told me not to apologize for what happened to Uncle Gun because feeling guilty ... I guess ... makes it seem like I did something wrong and not that he did something right.”

Dad grinned. “That is definitely Leah logic. And she’s right. It should be about thanks, not blame. Because it’s what we do for the people we love.”

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~oOo~

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The Laughlin chapel was cramped, with both charters of the Brazen Bulls wedged in around the table, but it was quiet. As tightly packed as they were, the shadows of those missing cast a pall over the room: Ben, whom they would bury the next day. Gunner, who would be in a hospital bed for weeks if not months. And Jordan. The Nevada prospect had never had a seat at this table, but his betrayal had caused their losses. His shadow hung heaviest.

Sitting at the far end of the table, between Jay and Monty, Sam tried not to scratch at his neck. He also tried not to look as overwhelmed as he felt. So far, nothing about being a Bull was as he’d expected, because nothing about the way he’d been made a Bull was normal.

Cooper opened the meeting not with a gavel—there wasn’t one on this table—but with a sigh. “We got a couple things to talk about as a whole. But first, let’s take a beat and give Sam and Monty their due. The two newest Bulls aren’t getting the party they probably expected. They’re getting a wake instead.”

Geno laughed darkly. “That’s the way we do it in Nevada, boys.” A few other grim laughs answered him. Sam wasn’t sure what he meant, or what the joke was.

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