Page 105 of Patching Over

JINGLES’ BELLE

PROLOGUE

Jingles, age 14

I wince as my brother’s boot connects with my ribs, praying that he didn’t break any because if so, it’s going to make this week’s cross country meet pure hell for me.

Not that I’m not living in hell already, with a brother like mine. My father’s too busy trying to keep a roof over our heads, while killing his liver with the rotgut alcohol he drinks after every shift to even notice that his youngest son looks like a failed prize contender most days. Although, Brysonhasgotten smarter, and he doesn’t mark up my face ever since the state was notified by a well-meaning teacher of possible abuse.

That month was honestly the best of my life. I stayed with an older woman, who, according to her, had raised ‘close to a hundred kids by now I reckon’, in a rundown trailer park. It’s where I saw my school rival, Wiley, and also where I noticed his home life was probably as shitty as mine.

What can I say? We bonded over abuse; except he ended up helping me in more ways than he’d probably ever realize. The same age as my asshole brother, he told Bryson the next time hecaught him beating on me it would be the last time. I just hope he remembers that promise because I’m counting on him to help me with this slight issue of mine.

“You stupid motherfucker!” Wiley exclaimed, running up to where I’m curled on the ground, grinding my teeth to keep the tears and whimpers of pain at bay. “I told you what would happen if you touched him again.”

I let the darkness carry me away as the sounds of fists striking flesh fill the air. Hours later, I came to in an unfamiliar place. “Where the hell am I?” I questioned, looking around.

“The clubhouse for the Royal Bastards MC,” Wiley stated. “Some of my friends are helping you out.”

“Why me, man? You’ve been an asshole to me for years now,” I questioned.

“Because I know what you’ve gone through with your brother,” he admitted. “This is Ghoul,” he said, pointing to the man who was swiping alcohol wipes along my broken skin. “And this is Sleeper, he’s a nurse.”

“Appreciate the help, I’ll get out of your way as soon as I can.”

“We’ve made a suggestion for your brother to relocate elsewhere,” Ghoul stated. “Your father too, although not gonna lie, the fact you’ve been able to take this shit like you have says a lot. But, sometimes, changing the scenery helps.”

“Ghoul, shut the fuck up, he’s a kid,” the guy called Sleeper muttered before turning to me. “This is gonna hurt, gotta put a few stitches in, but I’ll numb the area first with some lidocaine.”

I shrug because no one’s ever cared enough before to make sure any of my gashes were stitched, so I’ve got my fair share of scars up and down my arms, as well as on my back and torso. I don’t watch what Sleeper’s doing because I’m not about seeing my own blood, although in truth, I’ve seen more than enough of it over the years. I don’t even know why my brother’s the way heis, but I guess the anger he wants to burn off is easy to direct at me.

Jingles, age 17

“I see you brought Jingles around again, Wiley,” Ghoul said as we walked toward the bar where he was sitting.

“Why do you call me Jingles?” I asked, genuinely curious. He’d done so practically from the first time I’d ever met him.

“Ever since we met you, kid, you’ve always had your hand in your pocket, jingling change. It was either call you that, or Pocket Pool.”

My face flamed as the other Bastards brothers, who were sitting around, broke into raucous laughter. “Jingles is fine,” I muttered.

“He’s off to Roanoke, Ghoul. There’s not a Bastards clubhouse there, is there?”

“Not that I’m aware of, kid. Of course, once he’s eighteen, he can come back up here and we’ll let him prospect for us,” Ghoul stated.

I shrugged, used to being on the outside looking in. “It’s okay, not sure what I’ll be able to get for transportation by then,” I replied.

“Well, the offer’s still there,” Ghoul advised. “Take care, Jingles.’’

“I will.”

Jingles, age 18

I didn’t. But in all fairness, it wasn’t my fault. My old man moved us to Roanoke, claiming he had a great job opportunity, only it fell through. The problem is, as soon as I turned eighteen,he kicked me out of the hovel he called a house and told me I had to make it on my own now since I was ‘a man’.

Yeah, a ‘man’ with little more than a high school education seeing as I hadn’t graduated just yet, with minimal skills, who wasn’t familiar with the area or town, wasn’t exactly set up for success. The only thing was, I didn’t know how to admit defeat, which was why one of the guys I’d met just before my dad kicked me out was able to find me.

“Kracken, my dad’s gonna kick our asses if this is another one of your strays.”

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