Page 18 of Flyboy's Nightingale
Flyboy
The cage pulls upto the large wrought iron gate with the club's logo soldered into it. A prospect, that I’ve never seen before, opens the gate allowing my brothers and I to roll through into the open courtyard. I smile, at long last, as peace washes over me, like a hug only your grandmother can give you, at finally being home. It’s been entirely too long since I was here, that’s for fucking sure. Driving through the gate, I feel more centered and as if everything I’ve been through over the last six months was going to be worth it in the long run.
The front door opens as we stop and out comes Vixen, Edge, and Blue to greet us. I smile as they each meet one of my brothers with a hug and a kiss. I’m completely lost watching them when the van door is pulled up. I look over and quirk an eyebrow at Coin who doesn’t look happy at all.
“You good, brother?” I murmur quietly, in order to not draw the others’ attention.
“I’m all good. Just remembering that things aren’t what they seem,” Coin grumbles, stepping back so I can swing my legs out of the car.
“If you take one step on that leg I’ll beat your ass. I don’t give a damn how crippled you are,” Torch growls, coming over to the van.
I roll my eyes, pissed off that once again, I’m fucking stuck with someone telling me what I can and can’t do. The anger that I’ve been working on dealing with comes roaring to life like a starving lion. Grinding my teeth together to keep from lashing out, I glare at my VP praying he can feel the anger and frustration emanating from me.
“You can glare at me all you fucking want to. It’s not going to change the fact that the only reason Avery let your crazy ass come home is that you promised you wouldn’t overdo it and the fact that you agreed to follow her orders to a T.” Torch narrows his eyes at me, then continues reminding me of what else I conceded to in order to get out of that place. “Let’s not forget you also promised you would have a Physical Therapist coming in to help you with your recovery too. Mind telling me how you’re going to pull that shit off?”
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” I snarl, letting a little bit of my frustration leak out in my tone.
“Considering we’ve got to approve having a random person coming in and out of the clubhouse, itismy fucking business, jackass,” Torch states with his hands on his hips looking just like Vixen in that moment.
I don’t even attempt to try and hide the belly laugh that bubbles up. I haven’t felt this settled and at home since before the night of the accident. I chuckle until my sides hurt and I’m bent over trying to breathe. “Damn, brother, I’ve need that laugh for so fucking long. I need you to do that joking shit more often.”
“What the fuck are you going on about?” Pretty Boy asks as he comes up to Torch's side.
I just shake my head, still unable to speak in coherent sentences. I wave them over so I can slide into the wheelchair that everyone seems to think I still need. I can limp along without it causing too much pain. I don't understand why they seem to believe that I’m not ready to get out of using this pain in the ass contraption. I feel weak using it, as though I’m saying to the world that I haven’t really made any progress in my recovery, yet I know I have and will continue to do so.
As my butt hits the seat of the chair, Avery’s words come back to haunt me.“Slow and easy or you may never be able to get on a bike again. That hand and leg took a really hard beating. Slow and steady.”
When she mentioned me getting back on a bike, the fear that overtook me was like nothing I’ve felt since my days back in the service. The feeling of not knowing whether or not you can do what needs to be done and come out on the other side okay. I have never been scared to be on my bike, it was always the freedom I needed to shut my brain off and center myself. To chase away all the horrendous things I’ve done both for my country and for this club. Now, I’m spinning out of control, unable to find that core center of myself without my bike. My go-to so I can focus is currently outside my reach, which means my emotions are like a fucking rollercoaster. I need to rein them in, however, because my brothers won’t put up with me lashing out.
Making this shit a hell of a lot worse is the fact I may not ever be able to bring myself to get back on a bike again without the fear ruling me and keeping me cage bound.
The dim interior of the clubhouse makes my darkening mood wrap a little tighter around me. Plastering on a smile, so no one can see what’s going on in my head, I welcome the hugs, pats on the back, and good to see you’s. I try to hang onto thattiny hold I have over my anger, yet it’s fraying, and I just can’t keep it locked up anymore. I look around, seeing all my brothers laughing and having a good time celebrating me being home. I make the decision not to bother them. I glance around and find the prospect that’s been my shadow since I woke up in the hospital.
“Prospect, take me to my fucking room. I’ve had enough of this shit,” I angrily demand, finally losing my hold on the temperamental monster.
“Are you sure? The party’s for you!” the prospect asks, not showing any outward fear from my attitude.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? You’re a prospect. That means you do what a brother tells you with nothing more than a fucking, “yes, sir.” If you can’t do that, you can get the fuck out of my club.” I’m so pissed that I’m vibrating.
The little shit doesn’t say anything, just stands there and stares at me like I’m speaking a different language. Before he can say anything, my chair starts moving and I look over my shoulder to see the longest lasting prospect of the club pushing me toward my room. He smirks, not saying a word.
“You’re one sneaky, son of a bitch. Where the fuck were you hiding?” I wonder.
This man is always around. He’s had all of our backs and never backed down. Hell, I still remember when he went toe to toe with all the officers to get help for Edge. He took a hit from Duck without a backward glance. That is, once he pulled himself up off the floor. He was then able to get Edge help. I would’ve thought by now he would be a full-fledged member. That reminds me that he’s been a prospect for longer than any in history.
Deciding to continue on being an asshole, I start talking. “You know for someone that seems to be all-knowing, don’t you think it’s time to give up the dream of becoming a brother? Imean fuck, man, you’ve been a prospect for how long now?” I sneer at him.
The prospect stops walking and bends over in order to whisper in my ear. “I think you’re fucking right! Time and time again you assholes show me that I’m too good for this club. Show me that the bullshit speech and bylaws you live by are fucking bullshit. I should be a patched member by now, yet I seem to keep getting time tacked on and my time as a prospect expanded because I stop to remind you that you’re fucking better than the ways you act.”
I tilt my head sideways, only far enough to see him out of the corner of my eye. “What the fuck do you know about brotherhood and the way they should act?” I growl.
His words hit me hard, like a sledgehammer being swung at my face. Have we all really gotten so caught up in ourselves and our own shit that we’ve forgotten what this club is about, what we believe in, and who we are? I think back over everything that’s happened in the last year. Memories flash through my mind like a movie, showing me that time and time again, he’s right. We haven’t been acting like the dedicated, strong brotherhood we preach we are.
“Don’t like the truth when it’s told to you, do you?” The prospect shrugs his shoulders, stating, “Maybe you’re right, it’s finally time I give up on becoming a brother. I mean, who the fuck would want to be a part of this shit show?”
“Just take me to my fucking room.” I can’t handle this shit right now.
I’ll also be talking to the guys later about what the prospect has had to say. His words hold merit and I’m ashamed of how we’ve acted toward him and most likely more of our allies.
