Page 8 of Property of Bigfoot
I glanced up and shook my head briefly. “I keep forgetting about doing that. It’s like, duh, it happened, but it doesn’t even register as being important. At least, not until you just brought it up again.” We were both silent for a minute before I added, “It should, though. Right? It should be at the top of the list of things that mattered about last night.”
Baffle leaned forward and took one of my hands in his. “We all process shit in our own time. It might not hit you until you’re back home and comfortable in your own surroundings. It might never really sink in. Sometimes shock, or the adrenaline high, trick your brain into forgetting or trivializing a situation, so you feel distanced from it. It’s almost like you saw it in a movie instead of having it happen to you.”
“Makes sense, I guess. That’s kind of what it feels like.”
“If or when it hits, you need someone to talk to about it, you have my number.”
“Why?”
“Like I said, the club owes you. Least I can do is be there for you if shit gets too real in your head and you have trouble dealing.”
“Thanks. I don’t think I will, but I appreciate the offer anyway.”
“You sure about sticking around?” Baffle looked antsy, like he wanted to be anywhere else but the hospital.
“Yeah, if you need to get going, I’ll be here.”
“Great. I wouldn’t ask, but since you’ll be here anyway, I’d rather him not wake up alone.” He took two steps back toward the door. “We have club business, trying to find out why things happened the way they did that night.”
I nodded. “I hope you figure it out and handle the situation accordingly.” I could speak in code as well as any of the motorcycle men who had been doing just that since they rolled up to the accident scene. Baffle threw me a wicked grin and turned to head out the door.
Once he was gone, my attention returned to the man lying in the hospital bed. Even through the bruising and swelling on his face, I could tell the man was attractive. Honestly, he was probably shit hot under all that purple and blue. He had what must normally be a well-kept beard and mustache. It was full but trimmed neatly and peppered through with enough silver strands to tell me that he had a few years on me without being old enough to be my father. His hair was likewise neatly trimmed at the sides and longer on top.
I reached up and pushed some of that hair back off his forehead and took a closer look at the bruising along his hairline. Bigfoot had been lucky. If he hadn’t been wearing that helmet, I don’t think he would have survived. I shook that thought off before it could form images I didn’t want to clog up my already fucked-up memories of that night.
My phone buzzed from my pocket and I sat back to pull it out.
Jake: Where are you?
Sammy: Hospital with a friend.
Jake: I didn’t think you had any friends.
Sammy: Thanks, asshole.
Jake: Sorry, I came in with flowers to apologize for what happened, but Brady said you might not be in this week.
Sammy: Like I said, hospital with a friend.
Jake: Is this like having to leave a concert to go wash your hair or is it something real?
Sammy: Get back to work, Jake.
Jake: I really am sorry. Will you forgive me? Maybe go out on a date with me sometime, now that I’m not seeing Sandra anymore?
Sammy. Forgiven and no thanks.
Jake: That was cold.
Sammy: We don’t like each other like that. Don’t make it a thing.
Jake: Fine. See you when you get back from the “hospital with a friend”.
I chuckled over the fact that he thought I was blowing smoke up his ass. Jake wasn’t someone I would ever date. As my eyes lifted to the man in the hospital bed, I knew why. Jake was soft. Granted, he had a decent body and was capable enough as a mechanic, but he wasn’t someone I could see myself with. There was something about him that I knew I’d have to take care of him all the time and not the other way around. I’d bet money that if Bigfoot wasn’t lying there recovering from his accident, he would be a force that couldn’t be ignored. He had to be, since he was President of the local Kings of Anarchy MC. His job description alone said he was capable of taking care of whoever belonged to him. Whether it was his club brothers or whatever woman was one day lucky enough to call him hers.
No, Jake didn’t stack up to Bigfoot even while the man was unconscious. I chuckled again as their differences became painfully obvious. Jake’s muscles certainly didn’t have anything on this man, and if I were being really honest with myself, that silver interspersed with his brown hair was sexier than I cared to admit. I shouldn’t feel that way. Lord knows, he might not have been old enough to be my dad, but he was certainly old enough to be my dad’s younger brother. Brady had to be close to his age.
Speaking of, my Uncle Brady would probably kick my ass all the way back to Violence if he knew who my “friend” was. He didn’t have anything against the Kings, but he’d always warned me to keep my distance from them, too. It had never been a problem since I worked on the campground side of my family’s business and moonlighted in the big garage when people needed repairs on their RVs. The motorcycle shop was across the property, and I never ventured there. It was the only place I really would have come into contact with the MC’s members. They didn’t have a shop of their own, so my uncle would sometimes lend out a bay in his shop to their club’s mechanic to do routine maintenance on their motorcycles. Any major repairs, Uncle Brady did himself.
