Page 24 of Riding the Edge

As Patty returned from her cigarette break, the doctors joined us and asked Kelly and Linc to leave. They examined him and cleared us to go back inside. Nico kept nodding off, but we were assured that was normal. A couple of hours later they removed the vent and told us we should let him rest. His throat would be sore from the tube and it would take some time for him to speak.

Neither of us wanted to leave him but Nico was lucid enough to lift a finger and point towards the door. Maybe the kid had heard all the bickering we did after all and was happy to get rid of his mother and me. Can’t say I blame him. I was getting tired of listening to us go back and forth too.

However, leaving the hospital meant I could no longer avoid the inevitable. Not only did I have to go home and stare at my son’s blood on the floor but, I also had to sit down with my club. By now, I thought I would’ve changed my mind in regard to handing in my patch. I figured the magnitude of the act would settle in and I’d question my choice. It shouldn’t be easy for a man to walk away from thirty years of service. Truthfully, if it was anyone else, I’d probably give them shit. I’d call them a pussy and spit in their face. After the anger subsided, I’d remind them of the oath they took and the brotherhood of which it stands. I’d tell them we all got a cross to bear, and this is theirs.

Killing my engine, I remove the helmet from my head and take in the lone Harley parked on the lot. Nowadays, when it seems like everyone is out for our blood, it’s very rare for Jack to be alone. Approaching the garage, I spot him sitting on a crate, shirtless. My eyes dart to his shoulder and the fresh black ink covering the tribute to Cain he had tattooed to his skin. For years, Jack wore that man’s name on him as proudly as he wore his cut. Now, all that remains of Cain is the darkness of his dishonor and the heavy burden of his deceit.

Lifting his head, our eyes lock and the air shifts with tension. He doesn’t question my presence and I don’t acknowledge the tattoo. Instead, I silently enter the garage and let my gaze sweep around the room.

“Where is everyone?”

“They left after I smashed the table,” he replies.

My gaze wanders to the beloved table that now sits in ruins. It wasn’t that long ago that, the nomads recovered that thing from the remains of our clubhouse. We all knew how much that table meant to Jack. In fact, part of me believes he held that handcrafted table in such high regard because it allowed him to preserve a piece of Cain’s legacy.

“Turns out that mallet is good for a lot of things,” he adds, rising from the crate.

Crossing the room, he grabs his leather vest that’s draped over a tool chest and shrugs it on. Grunting as it brushes against his sore shoulder, he fixes me with a stare.

“Linc was here earlier,” he says. “Told us all your boy woke up.”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Thank God.”

“That ain’t why you’re here though,” he continues. I gave up on trying to read Jack’s mind, knowing only the truly twisted are privy to that wonder and yet still, I can’t help but be curious as to what he is thinking as he stares at me.

“No, it’s not,” I say, clearing my throat.

Diverting his eyes to the left, he takes in the barren spot on my vest that once was home to my officer patch.

“Didn’t waste no time cutting that shit from your leather,” he growls.

Reaching into my pocket, I produce the patch that’s labeled me the treasurer of the Satan’s Knights for decades and trace the pad of my thumb over each letter.

“It’s not about the club,” I start, lifting my gaze to his. “It’s about me.”

“Right,” he says with a nod. Taking two steps closer, he holds out his hand expectantly.

“You’re not going to try to persuade me to change my mind?”

“No, I’m not. I might not like it but, I respect your choice.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I had prepared to go head to head with him and now he’s changed the rules of the game. Swallowing, I close the distance between us and drop my patch into his palm. He doesn’t even bother looking at it before he stows it away in his pocket.

“Before you give me Cain’s truth, I’m going to deliver you, yours,” he reveals, crossing his arms against his chest. “I won’t admit this to anyone else, but this is the right move for you. We all got something, Wolf, something that keeps us breathing through the mayhem.”

I know what comes next. I’ve heard him deliver variations of the same speech countless times over the years. Too bad he’s a day late and a dollar short.

“Like you’ve been by my side the last three decades, I’ve been by yours too. I saw you try your hardest with Patty. Then, with Carmela, you tried to right the wrongs of your first marriage. You put your marriage before the club until Junior’s death. Then you put me and mine before yours. My mind might fail me, but I’ll never forget how you stood next to me as I made the arrangements for my son’s funeral or how you never left his side until they lowered him into the earth. It wasn’t long after that before you were onto marriage number three, stopping off every Monday to buy Sophie flowers and teaching your nice Jewish girl how to make a pot of sauce on a Sunday.”

The trip down memory lane suddenly feels like an episode of Divorce Court.

“What’s your point, Parrish?”

“You look in the mirror and see a failure, I look at you and see a man who wanted a family more than he wanted anything else in this life. We’ll always be brothers and you will always have a place in my family…”

“Save me the property of Parrish speech.”

“It's time you go and find your heart, Wolf.”

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