Page 54 of Patching Over

“RiffRaff, you really should try to eat some more of your breakfast,” I plead. I’m concerned because he looks a little pale today. I make a mental note to talk to Brick about it because he could be coming down with something, especially if he’s not willing to eat.

For some reason, Brick left me with his dad and the two prospects, citing ‘club business’ and ever since, I’ve been trying to get the older man to eat. The man is in desperate need of some iron and calcium added to his diet. Hell, even the club girls are gone, picking up all the supplies we need to start baking and preparing stuff for our Christmas gathering.

“Told you, sweetheart, when I’m working, I don’t eat,” he replies. “I got my coffee so I’m good, don’t worry about a thing.” His coffee is dark and gritty, it’ll definitely put some hair on his chest. I internally snicker thinking back to the other day when Brick took a swallow of the pot Pops brewed and spit it out stating‘that shit’s gonna add a few chest hairs’.

“What are you doing?” Now, I’m curious. His nurse took the morning off to run some of her own errands since he’s been having some good, lucid days.

“With Brick away, it’s my job to watch over you. The prospects are outside checking the perimeter right now. We gotta keep you safe, sweetheart. You’re carrying the next generation of the club.”

I think he’s slipped into the past once more, so to humor him, I merely nod and smile. “Okay, RiffRaff. I appreciate you taking such good care of me while Brick’s out taking care of business. I’m going to clean the kitchen, tidy things up, and get stuff ready for when the girls come back so we can start baking. You going to be okay out here?”

I’m kind of excited, because once we’re done baking, I’m supposed to go shopping with Cassie. This time, instead of trying to surprise her since that didn’t work at all, I actually texted her and made a plan. Of course, I don’t feel bad about not going the other day because I sat between my brother and my ol’ man and was able to see the home movies and checked out all the pictures which helped me realize just how wanted, treasured, and loved I was when I was a little girl.

“Go do what you gotta do, girl,” he gruffly replies. “I’ve got this just fine.”

With a nod of my head, I go into the kitchen and start pulling out the cookie sheets to do the prep work on. I read in a magazine where the easiest way to keep things organized was to put all the items needed on a cookie sheet, along with the recipe itself. Once I have them lined up on the huge island, I turn on some Christmas music then begin gathering what I can. I know the club girls are getting the rest of the items, but I can make sure the butter is out and softening, plus measure out the flour and sugar until I run out.

As I hum along to the songs, I think about one of the gifts I’m working on for Brick. I found a website where I could upload all the pictures that’ve been taken of us together and have created a photo album for him. I also have a fuzzy throw coming for me that has pictures of Calvin and Hobbes all over them. Seeing the pictures my mom did, I’m using that for inspiration and will keep adding pictures to showcase us as well as my pregnancy. I did make a throw for him, however. It’s got the club’s logo on the top along with a picture of his bike and the phrase ‘Brick’s House’ written in italics at the bottom.

“I should probably check to see when they’re supposed to ship,” I murmur as I pull down the sprinkles for the sugar cookies now that everything has been measured.

I’m rather astonished that we have the sheer number of mixing bowls we do, but then it dawns on me that the club’s size has probably ebbed and flowed through the years, and they would’ve needed a lot in order to make plenty of food for everyone, especially seeing as most of these men have large appetites and can put away copious amounts of grub.

Whatever the reason, we have enough to suit our needs.

Glancing at the clock, I see it’s closing in on lunchtime so wash my hands then put together enough sandwiches for me, RiffRaff, and the two prospects who’re acting as our guards. Placing them on a meal tray, I carry them out to the common room and over to where RiffRaff is sitting, his eyes glued to the door.

“Brought out some lunch, will you sit and eat with me, please, keep me company so I’m not eating alone?” I ask.

I’ve found with him that if I make it about me and my comforts, he’s more inclined to say yes than no, which is exactly what he does.

“Why are there so many?” he questions, grabbing one off the top and placing it on the paper towel I brought out for us to use in place of plates.

“Figured Jaydn and Haydn would want to eat with us as well,” I reply, taking a bite of one of the cut-up sandwiches.

“Who?”

“The prospects.” I forget that for these men, prospects are nameless until they’ve patched into the club and earned their road name.

“Ah, well, they’ll eat when we’re done, missy. That’s how it’s done around here,” he states, proudly letting me know the order of things.

“Oh, okay.” I don’t necessarily agree with it, but I’m not one to buck against the rules either.

A sudden screeching noise from outside the door has RiffRaff tossing his sandwich onto the table while motioning for me to get behind his wheelchair so he can protect me from whatever chaos is ensuing out there.

The door bursts open and four scrawny men storm across the threshold, their body odor wafting before them and causing me to gag as the stench of their neglected hygiene hits my sensitive nose.

“Who the fuck are you?” RiffRaff bellows.

“We’re the Demon Devil Deuces MC, old man. Give us the girl and we’ll get out of your hair and leave you in one piece,” the one with the greasiest hair sneers through yellow, rotted teeth.

These men need to be educated on what soap, water, deodorant, and a toothbrush are used for because they are rank.

Peering around from behind RiffRaff’s chair, where I crouched down at his insistence, I see the four men are wearing cuts with their names monogrammed on the front, just like Brick and his brothers, only their names are weird; Hog, Clock, Beaver, Sands. What kind of names are those? At least with thisclub, their road names make sense most of the time. Or they do once I’m told the story behind them, that is. I have a feeling these guys named themselves.

I hear a click and watch in horror as RiffRaff pulls out a huge gun and points it at the four men, who start laughing maniacally as they pull out their own weapons. I know for a fact RiffRaff’s has no bullets in it because Brick double checks it every single morning before the old man wakes up to make sure no one gave him any ammo. I’m pretty sure the four junkies’ guns are locked and loaded and right now, they’re pointed at the center of RiffRaff’s forehead.

“Drop it, old man, give us the girl, and we won’t hurt you,” the one called Beaver says.

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