Page 8 of Doozer

“No one was around.”

“Except the six security cameras that no doubt caught everything from several different angles,” he pointed out.

“I’m sorry, but that guy—”

“You wanted me to say something, didn’t you?” Cowboy snapped, checking his side-view mirror, before pulling the truck to the side of the road. He turned on the hazard lights then faced me. “Do you remember the story I told you when you patched into the club? The one about choosing what kind of person you’re gonna be for the rest of your life?”

I nodded. “The one about the wolves, right?”

“That’s right. What do you remember me telling you?”

I cleared my throat, feeling like I’d been called to the front of the class by a stern teacher. “You told me that everyone has two wolves living inside them. A good one and a bad one.”

“And which wolf wins in the end?” Cowboy asked softly.

“The one you feed,” I replied.

“No matter what that guy did back there, was it worth you risking your freedom? Or beating him to death?”

“I only hit him once,” I protested.

“And you know damn well sometimes once is all it takes. Plenty of bar fights land people in prison or the morgue.”

I blushed. “I know.”

“And I know you’re smarter than how you acted back there, so you’ve gotta tell me what the hell you were thinking by going off on that guy like that? When I left, you were all smiles. I came back to fetch you because I thought you’d fallen into one of them fish tanks,” Cowboy said, his smile finally returning.

“I fed my bad wolf. I’m sorry, Cowboy. I really am.”

“I know you are, and I appreciate that, but sorry don’t make things right.”

“Are you kicking me out of the club?” I asked, breaking into a cold sweat.

“No, dummy. I’m asking if you’re okay. I haven’t seen this side of you in quite a while and I’m worried.”

“I’m okay,” I lied. “That guy, Tony, just set me off, I guess.”

What I didn’t want to tell Cowboy was how much I hated this time of year, and how cigarette smoke didn’t just bother me. It triggered me. I didn’t want to burden him with my “daddy issues” when I knew the club and kids needed his full attention right now.

Christmas was the busiest, and most important time of year for our club. Bikers for Kids earned more in donations between November first and New Year’s Eve than the rest of the year combined and doubled. We were also most visible in the community around the holidays and were to be on our best behavior when in public. For many BFK members, myself included, the club provided a shelter from a turbulent past. For some of us that past is far in the distance, and for others, it’s staring at us from the rear-view mirror. Normally, I looked forward to the distraction of this busy season as it helped keep my mind occupied. It was easy to avoid focusing on my own pain when I had so many other people and tasks to keep me busy. But so far this year’s holiday hustle had failed to distract my demons and I felt myself missing my dad even more than usual.

“Did you really clock him over a cigarette butt?” Cowboy asked.

“He flicked it right at me and acted like I was the one with the fuckin’ problem.”

“Do you have a problem?” Cowboy asked. His voice full of concern.

“Come on, man. What are you, my therapist?”

“I’m your friend, I’m your president, and I’ve ridden with enough men to know when one of ’em’s got a hell hound on their trail.”

“Well, there’s your mistake. You’ve only ridden with men,” I joked, attempting to deflect.

“Have I ever treated you any different because you’re a woman?” he asked.

“No,” I admitted.

“Then how ’bout you don’t treat me any different because you are one.”

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