Page 34 of Dash

Both of the lower ranking bikers nodded. Dixie, Sparrow’s mother, wrapped her arms around herself. The blonde woman glanced toward the doors to the emergency room with red-rimmed eyes. “He’s been back there a long time,” she said.

“Running tests,” Dash suggested. He didn’t know, but it sounded good.

“We already know he’s dying of lung cancer. What more do they have to test him for?” she snapped.

“Mom!” Sparrow admonished, peeking out from Romeo’s arms.

“What?” Dixie sniffled, using the back of her hand to wipe at her nose. “They just need to tell us what to do to make him comfortable and send him home so he can die peacefully with us. That’s what he wants. He wants to die at the clubhouse.”

“Mom!”

“Stop.” Romeo pulled his woman’s head against his chest, and if he could, he would have shot daggers out of his eyes at the older woman.

“Dixie.” Clark’s warning tone had her focus on him immediately. If Dash didn’t know any better, he would assume that those two were involved and Clark had her over his knee a time or two. Damn, he needed a scene because he saw power exchange everywhere.

Scrubbing his hand over his bald head, he turned away from his group. Lightly, with an open palm, he slapped at the back of his head. He didn’t want anyone to think he was insane, but he might be. He’d never been so one-track-minded before. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“VP,” Clark called, and Dash turned. “Call a prospect. Dixie needs to go home.”

The older woman balked, obviously not appreciating the statement.

Dash made the call without question, despite the woman chirping at Clark. That was his problem. As expected, the Marine prospecting the club answered on the first ring. He gave the order and hung up. There was no doubt that Chuckie hadn’t let the phone finish ringing before he answered. He’d make a good brother, and a fine addition to the club.

Returning to the much smaller group, Dash noted Dixie’s head was down, and her arms were crossed. Resembling a scolded child, she said nothing.

“Prospect will be here in five with a cage to take her home.”

Clark nodded.

Dash didn’t fully understand Dixie’s standing in the club. At one point in time she’d been an Ol’ Lady, and should have kept that status when her Ol’ Man, Sparrow’s dad, died. For some reason, she chose to give it up. Dash would never understand women.

The doors to the emergency room opened. Jan, who normally defied her age, looked every bit of her forty-four years as she entered the waiting room flanked by her teenage sons. Unable to find the will or the strength to move, Dash stood there, staring at the two boys. He’d forgotten about Bowie’s kids.

Dixie pushed past them. “Hey babies,” she cooed. “How are my tough men?” She patted each of their cheeks, sounding every bit the part of a maternal figure.

Giving them each a reassuring nod, Jan released them and moved toward the patched members of Odin’s Fury. Hugging herself, she took a deep breath. “They won’t release him. He’s in and out of consciousness. His oxygen levels are very low. They admitted him. I tried to tell them his wishes are to die at home. He has a DNR, but they won’t listen to me.” Frowning, she shook her head. Sparing a glance over her shoulder to look at her sons, she took a deep audible breath.

Dash couldn’t fathom the strength in this woman to stand there and coherently speak to them while her Ol’ Man died in another room.

She took a moment before looking back at Clark. “I don’t know if he will make it through the night.” Her voice warbled when she said it, and she finally broke as though she had heard his thoughts. Sobs followed, and it took her a few seconds before she could relay any more information.

The three of them escorted her to a seat. Once again, her sons, doing their best to appear tough despite crying, took their posts on either side of her, and her husband’s patched brothers surrounded her. When the prospect showed up, Dash told him to watch the bikes instead of sending Dixie home. She had a purpose, and it was watching over Bowie’s boys. Turns out, she had something to offer in this fucked up situation.

Eventually, the whole crew of them, except the prospect of course, went up to Bowie’s private room. They weren’t allowed to go in all at once. It was intensive care, after all. The place smelled like the inside of a bleach bottle. Clark, Dash, and Romeo stood outside the room while the girls and Bowie’s sons went inside.

The short-haired nurse wearing glasses that were too big for her face glared at Dash as he hummed to himself. Fidgeting with his thick skull ring, he met her irritated gaze. “Sorry.” He shifted his weight and turned to Romeo. “How bad—”

“Really fucking bad.” He didn’t even have to complete the thought. His best friend knew his line of thinking and cut him off before he said it.

Nodding, Dash couldn’t deny he was an idiot. Drumming his own fingers on his thighs, he decided that he could never try heroin or meth. Not that they were on his bucket list or anything, but if he was this addicted to cigarettes, he couldn’t imagine what he’d do for crank.

The door to Bowie’s room opened, and the three bikers turned immediately. All thoughts of smoking and addiction immediately fled his mind. Was this it?

Dixie seemed to be holding Sparrow up, and Romeo swooped in to scoop up his woman. Jan and her boys were behind them. She held a tissue to her swollen, tear-stained face and turned to Clark. “He wants to talk to you and I need to talk to the nurses.”

Cutting his eyes to Dash, Clark nodded. “All right.”

Message received. They were going in, and damn it if that didn’t make his stomach sour.

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