Page 5 of Ruin
The kitchen, dining room, and living room are one big open space and constantly crowded from everyone being here.
I watch Grizz, but don’t say anything. He looks like he just rolled out of bed and crawled in here. I think the guys were here late last night, partying at our bar across the lot, so it’s possible he spent the night there and walked over here.
“What the fuck,” he mutters, slamming the drawer shut and moving to the one that’s on the far end of the counter space. There is one drawer that holds silverware, all the others hold junk that should be thrown away. He mutters to himself as he digs around. He finally gives up and slams that one shut too. “Well?” he says when he looks at me again, hands on his hips.
“No.”
His eyes narrow.
“No, what?”
He just fucking asked me if I needed help with the charity event.
I shake my head and give him my back as I head toward the door. As I step outside, I nearly knock into my brother.
“Morning,” he grunts.
I’m not planning on responding, until I think of something that needs an answer.
“You give someone my phone number?”
He’s halfway into the clubhouse already, but he stops and looks at me over his shoulder.
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
“Did you or not?” I ask firmly.
“No, I fucking didn’t.”
He too mutters to himself as he lets the door fall closed.
I’m used to that. I make people want to talk shit under their breath. Happens all the time, and at this point, I ignore it because it’s their problem, not mine. I hop on my bike—the one thing in life that brings me happiness. Maybe it’s another reason I stay. This baby is my pride and joy. I give my Street Glide a little pat before starting her up, feeling the vibration through my body as I put on my helmet and strap it. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I can’t stay here. Not today. Not after that fucking text. Not with everyone in a bad fucking mood.
I find myself riding for a long time, and no matter where I go and which turns I take, I somehow always end upthere.
I haven’t set foot in the park since the day I was with him last,though I pass the entrance all the time. It’s overgrown, blocking it from view. If you don’t know it’s there, then you’ll never see it. That makes it a nice place to hide, but I have no interest in going there anymore. Too many memories that I don’t fucking need to remember.
There’s a shit ton of things to do back at the club, and I should be there doing them. As the Treasurer, I always have shit to do, but today it’s going to have to wait. I can’t think straight. That one text is scrolling through my brain on repeat, over and over and over. Just knowing he’s going to be here has me on edge. It’s likely I won’t see him. It’s not like I go out and socialize, even if there were places to do that in town. He won’t show his face at the clubhouse. And I have meetings all weekend with the school to finalize the details for this charity event that the club is running.
We do at least three a year, sometimes more. One in the spring, one in the summer, one in the fall around Halloween. This particular charity event is raising money for the school to get a better library. Though the school was newly built not too long ago, the original library was kept, and it needs a lot of renovations. We got a bad storm a few years ago that put some wear and tear on the roof, and they’ve had some leaks. Our school system isn’t big, and so they don’t have a ton of money for repairs. The state doesn’t want to hand it over, since we’re not important. Just a small town full of people who don’t matter. Sometimes, I feel like we aren’t even part of the country at all. We get forgotten over here. Sometimes that’s nice; other times, it’s frustrating.
When I find myself heading toward the convenient store, I pull into the lot to get a drink. My walk from the door to the back section of the store to the coolers, I feel eyes on me. It’s no secret Terry, the owner, doesn’t like us. Most people in this town don’t like us, and if they do happen to like the MC, they certainly don’t like me.
I bring my iced tea to the counter, hold it up to show him, then slap a five-dollar bill on the counter.
“Keep the change,” I grunt as I walk out.
Terry doesn’t realize that if he were nice, we’d be nice back. But he wants to be an asshole and so we’re assholes back. Being passive aggressive is my favorite form of communication.
I hop on my bike, crack open my drink and guzzle half. My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I check it, figuring it’s going to be the Prez, bitching me out for being gone all day. Only, it isn’t.
Jeremy: You free later?
My gaze flicks to the time. It’s nearly dinner, meaning everyone at the club is likely done for the day. It’s not a typical job, and not even really a job at all. But we show up in the morning, do the shit we gotta do, and then we go home. Most of the guys linger around the clubhouse or at the bar to get drunk and fuck whoever is hanging out. There’s always someone there.
Kaison, my brother, has a girl caught in his sights so that’s what he spends all his time doing these days. Prez disappears before dark, and I usually leave the moment I can too. Except when I’m figuring things out for charities. It’s probably what they all thought I was up to today, but I’m well ahead of what needs to be done, so a lost day won’t matter.
Just as I glance back at the text, another comes through.
