Page 37 of The Pursuit of Her Happiness

I sigh, swallow hard and tell him, “I have Multiple Sclerosis.” He snaps upright, his jaw dropping to his lap. “When we bumped heads…they did a CT scan, then an MRI, and a bunch of bloodtests…found lesions, ruled out a bunch of other things, and…I have MS.”

“Fuck.” He stands up, stepping closer to me, taking my hands in his. “Do you need anything? What can I do?” I smile and tug him into a hug.

“Be my friend.”

“Done.” He rocks us back and forth, humming a tune. “Do you think I can rework that soil thing as a pickup line?” I shove him away from me with a laugh, wiping at my eyes to catch a few stray tears that escaped.

“How about you sit tight, and I’ll send up a few lobbyists for you to practice on?”

“You’re my best friend.” I chuckle, stepping back, but he grabs my right hand tightly. “I mean it, Quinn. I’ve never had a female friend before, but you’re mine and I’m gonna make it up to you. I might not want to see you naked, but your friendship means the world to me. And I’m gonna do better, be better for you.”

“And the world will thank me.”

“Let me drain the snake, then you can send them up.” He releases my hand, and bends into a lunge. Lifts his arms over his head and cracks some joints. Fuck, he’s limbering up. He’s disgusting.

“You better pray your dick doesn’t fall off before you meet your person.”

Polk 20.

I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been this mad in my life. Incensed. Yeah, that’s a good word for it. I’m gonna kill him. Then I’m gonna revive him and kill him in a totally new way. Rinse and repeat until the bloodthirst is sated.

Who the fuck does he think he is coming after my woman like that? He ain’t blind. Brain surgery is no excuse for his utter disrespect and stupidity. Quinn said she’s fine, and knowing her, she probably is. She’s so damn levelheaded. Me? No, I’m INCENSED!

I rip the front door of the clubhouse open, the sound of it crashing into the wall surprises everyone inside. The clubroom stills, my eyes scan its inhabitants. Jules is straddling Ford on one of the couches, but when his eyes meet mine, he jumps up, dumping her to the ground. Dick glistening and wagging, he tries to run to the stairs, no doubt seeking the sanctuary of his room.

“Gotta be quicker than that, fucker!” I roar, gripping his shoulder and spinning him around to face me. I rear back, punch him solid in the gut. He bends over double, wheezing as several hands try to pull me back.

“Polk! He just had fucking brain surgery!” Buck yells behind me.

“Spoke to a friend, gut punches won’t hinder his recovery. Though it won’t matter much longer because I’m going tofucking kill him!” I lunge forward, breaking free from whoever is holding me, but before I reach Ford I’m tackled from the side to the ground by Carver.

“I’m sorry!” Ford manages to push out between gasping for breath.

“Sorry? You’re sorry? Fuck that. And fuck you!” I scramble to my knees, stretching as far as I can, I punch him in the dick.

“Goddammit!” He drops to his knees, his wheezing turning into gagging.

“What the fuck is going on here?!?” We all turn to find Madison scowling at us, his eyes blazing with fury. I glance at Ford briefly, surprised to find him with his head down, his shoulders slumped.

“Quinn came to check on him after her…earlier today.” We haven’t told anyone yet about her diagnosis. She’s still trying to wrap her head around it and figure out what it means. And knowing her, she’s making plans upon plans upon plans so as not to be caught unaware or ill-prepared. I love that woman. “He took her to his room and confessed his love for her and tried to convince her they belonged together.” She came straight to the clinic to tell me. She was Quinn, composed and rational and I was not. Of course, the enthusiastic blow job she gave me in my office was thoughtful and a wonderful way to calm me down. Until now.

Langley kicks Ford in the leg, “You’ve had sex with three women since Quinn was here! No way you love a woman like Quinn and then fuck anyone else.”

Ford rubs his leg, then holds his hands up, “I had it all wrong. I’m sorry. I thought…Quinn helped me figure it out. She’s orange and I’m Vermont.” There is a long, pregnant pause in which we all fail to understand what the fuck he’s talking about.

“Fucking idiot.” Madison shakes his head, his voice gruff yet affectionate? Sitting back on my ass, I pull my knees up and rest my forearms on them.

“Brain surgery or not, that was bullshit,” Adams spits at Ford. No traces of humor or affection. He’s pissed. Good. I’m glad someone sees it my way. Adams shares a look with Madison and Hayes, then Hayes and Adams nod at Pres.

Madison holds his hand out to Ford. “Get up.” On his feet, Ford stands stock-still, awaiting punishment. “Pack your shit.”

“Pres! No, please. I’m sorry, I know I fucked up, but please…this club—”

“I’m not kicking your sorry ass out. I’m sending you for some immersion therapy in Pittsburgh. The Golem Guerillas are anxiously awaiting the opportunity to straighten you out.”

I wait, as does everyone else, for Ford to flip out. Only, he doesn’t. He nods in understanding, heaves a deep breath and agrees. “I can be ready within the hour.”

“It’s for your own good, son. I don’t think this is the place for you to heal.”

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