Page 29 of Warrior's Walk

He brightens visibly. “Do we get to leave now?”

I bite back my smile, knowing Mandy is dragging him to the support group next.

“The gym, yeah. But we’re not finished milking BALLS dry. The fun’s just getting started.”

Rhett’s expression falls. “I’m up for whatever, as long as you quit the lame-ass ball jokes.”

Mandy chuckles and extends a hand, helping Rhett up.

“Shit, I can’t. I’m stuck,” he huffs, sounding irritated.

Mandy looks to me for assistance, and I set my clipboard down and walk over to them. Squatting down, I explain to Rhett, “When your leg locks up like this, roll to your left hip, get your left knee under you, and push yourself to a kneeling position. Then you can slowly manipulate your right knee until you can bend it; like you’re lunging.”

Rhett tries it and flails around as he rolls, face-planting on the mat. “A little help, please?” he grates, frustrated with himself.

I stay Mandy’s shoulder with my hand. “Try again.”

This time he succeeds, glaring as he pushes to his knees. “Thanks,” he says with zero gratitude.

Rhett may not appreciate my approach now, but when he’s alone and stuck like this, he’ll thank me. Well, probably not, at least not out loud.

Thinking of his spitfire personality makes me smile to myself. It’s crazy that I can predict his reaction so accurately after only knowing him for such a short time, but I know I’m spot-on.

When he’s on his feet, Mandy leads him towards the doors. He nods at me, and I wink. I can’t wait to see Rhett’s reaction to the Bitches. I have absolutely no idea how to predict that one.

I busy myself in the gym for a few more minutes so that I’m the last to arrive, and when I push through the doors of the classroom, the Bitches are all present and seated in a circle, some of them already pulling colorful balls of yarn from their bags.

“Riggs, how ya hanging, man?” McCormick asks.

“High and tight, unlike yours,” I tease. Of course, Stiles laughs.

Any dig at McCormick is hilarious to him. McCormick is an easy target with his loud mouth and burnt-orange hair and beard. He’s easy-going, good-natured, and even-tempered… until he’s not. Once, a while back, he had a bad time and called me in the middle of the night. His voice sounded spooked, haunted, and scared, and I had goosebumps all over as I drove to his apartment in the dark, wee hours of the night. We sat on the floor of his kitchen for hours as he rocked back-and-forth, reliving some of his worst days. I hope it’s a long-ass time before he has another episode like that, for his sake and mine.

Stiles, his sidekick, basically, is a lot like him in the personality department, which is probably why they get along so well. Where McCormick is red, Stiles is dark. They’re bothtatted and scarred, with McCormick missing a leg, and are proud vets, Bitches, and members of the ALR—the American Legion of Riders, a veteran motorcycle club.

They’re all eyeing Rhett, and I know from Brewer’s comments earlier that the Bitches already had a heads up about him, probably from Mandy. Armando Cahill looks like a beast of a man, but he’s a big softie inside. It would be just like him to call the guys and let them know Rhett moved into the neighborhood and to be on their best behavior with him until he settles in.

I take my usual seat and call the meeting to attention. “Listen up, gentlemen. This is Rhett Marsh. Let’s give him a proper Bitchin’ welcome.”

They go around the circle round-Robin style, starting with Mandy. “You already know me, but I’ll say it again, anyway. I’m Mandy, retired Army, your neighbor, and proud to be your ball buddy.”

I notice West Wardell glaring. He’s not happy about sharing his ball buddy with Rhett.

“Dude, I told you to quit with the ball jokes. I’m fuckin’ serious,” Rhett complains, making Jax snicker.

McCormick goes next. “McCormick, retired Army, ALR member, and proud Bitch. Here’s our phone tree. You find yourself in a jam, a flashback, or just feeling down, start at the top and call each number until someone answers.” He crosses the circle to hand Rhett the paper.

Stiles follows. “Stiles, retired Army and ALR member. Call me anytime.”

“Jax. Retired Army and ALR. Give me a call if you need me.” I smile and nod at Jax. His anger issues and faux mohawk—faux hawk?—might give the impression that he’s an asshole, and he is, mostly, but I know for a fact he’s a good guy. They all are.

I’m supposed to be next but I look to Brandt Aguilar instead. “What about you?” he asks me.

“Rhett already knows all about me. Your turn.”

I might as well have handed them gasoline and lit a match because I can feel their curiosity burning hotter than hellfire.

Brandt shrugs. “I’m Brandt. Retired Army. Glad to have you join us. I’ve got a hearing problem, so speak up. If I don’t answer, it’s ’cause I didn’t hear you, not ’cause I’m a dick.”

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