Page 17 of Reclaiming Venom

How much have I missed?

I approached the bar. If I’d ever needed a drink in my life it was now. Laughter and banter filled the air, a cacophony of voices both familiar and strange. I knew my wife was around somewhere. She’d stuck to me for the first little bit, then she’d wandered off. Probably thought if she wasn’t glued to me, I’d go mingle. “Whiskey. Neat.”

As the bartender, a Prospect I didn’t recognize, poured my drink, my gaze swept across the room once more. The weight of memories pressed down on me, suffocating in their intensity. I took a long pull from my glass, savoring the burn.I used to know every damn face in the room. Now I feel like a stranger.

Ridley slid onto the stool next to me, her presence a balm to my frayed nerves. She flashed me a reassuring smile, her eyes twinkling with understanding.

I snorted. “I remember the days you wouldn’t be allowed in here. Now you’re sitting next to me like it’s nothing, and there’s not a naked woman in sight. I can’t figure out where I fit in the present.”

Ridley’s hand found mine, her fingers intertwining with mine. “You fit right here.”

A towering figure approached, his leather cut adorned with patches I didn’t recognize. He’d been among the group of officers I’d spotted earlier. His eyes held a mix of reverence and wariness as he extended his hand.

“Venom,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “I’m Royal. I figured you didn’t remember me.”

“He joined the club about seven or eight years after you and I got together,” Ridley said, helping me figure out the timeline.

I clasped the offered hand, feeling the strength in Royal’s grip. He was younger than me, confident, shoulders squared. I saw the officer patch on his cut: Secretary.

“Royal,” I echoed, keeping my tone neutral.

“When all of you stepped down and handed your positions to new officers, you and Torch decided it was time the club had a secretary. I was honored to be offered the position.”

“Good to meet you, kid,” I said, my voice gruff. “Again. Sorry I don’t remember you.”

“It’s okay. Ridley says they think your memories will come back in time. We’re all here for you.”

I nodded, unsure how to respond.

Ridley’s hand on my arm broke the tension. “Come on, babe,” she said, her voice light but brooking no argument. “Let’s make the rounds.”

We moved through the clubhouse, the scent of leather and old beer growing stronger. Old faces emerged from the crowd, weathered and worn but achingly familiar.

Torch approached. His silver hair gleamed in the dim light, his gray eyes full of mischief and melancholy. We’d spoken briefly, but it hadn’t felt the same. At least, not the way I remembered things being between us.

“For me, I just fought beside you a few months ago. But for you… guess it’s been a lot longer. You doing okay? I mean with all this.” He waved a hand at the room in general. “You’ve lasted longer than I thought you would. Figured you’d have been overwhelmed by now and gone home.”

My chest tightened. “Yeah. Just taking it one day at a time. Or in this case, one hour at a time. Ridley is helping a lot.”

“She’s always been good for you,” Torch said.

We exchanged stories, Torch filling me in on club business and family news. I listened, nodding and grunting at appropriate intervals, but my mind whirled. I recognized some of the events Torch spoke of, but they felt distant, as if belonging to someone else’s life. Fleeting memories – there, then gone again.

“Your boy’s doing well,” Torch said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Dawson’s got your fire, that’s for damn sure. That club of his isn’t like ours, but they’re good men.”

Pride warred with a sense of loss in my gut. I’d missed so much of my son’s life, of all my children’s lives. The realization left a bitter taste in my mouth. I hadn’t even had the chance to meet any of them yet.

We moved on, and Bull’s massive form loomed before us. My father-in-law regarded me with a mix of affection and wariness.

“Welcome home,” Bull rumbled, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug.

I returned the embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of motor oil and cigars that clung to Bull’s cut. When we parted, I saw the questions in his eyes -- questions I wasn’t sure I was ready to answer.

“Good to be back,” I said, the words feeling hollow even as I spoke them.

As we continued our circuit of the clubhouse, I felt the weight of eyes upon me -- some curious, some wary, all assessing. I squared my shoulders, determined to project the strength and confidence that had once come so naturally.

But inside, doubts gnawed at me. What would happen if my memories never returned? Would I still have a place in this world?

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