Page 104 of Resilience

“He’ll get there,” Duncan said. Duncan was easily the most laid-back of the group and could be counted on to find the brightest view of most situations. “It’s like your old man, Jay. Rad fought the trike hard at first. I remember how salty he was back when he retired. But that trike’s why he still rides. Gun’ll see that eventually. Right now, he’s still healing from the shooting and everything it did to his insides. It hasn’t even been two months yet.”

The server came up to their table. She focused like a laser on Monty and gave him a flirty grin. “Hey boys, how’s everything over here? Y’all need refills? Maybe some pie? We got apple, pecan, and pumpkin chiffon.”

Jay and Monty looked like they were about to entertain the idea of dessert, but Sam wanted to get to the hospital and get back home. He’d promised his mom he would help Mason get the last of the winter’s hay into the loft this afternoon, and he had to do a load of laundry so he had clean underwear for his trip with Athena.

“No, I think we’re good,” he got in first. “Just the check’ll do.”

Jay and Monty both gave him a sad-puppy look, but they didn’t push the idea of pie.

The server—her name tag read Lainey—tore their check off her pad and leaned down a lot more than necessary as she set the check next to Monty’s plate. “There ya go, boys. You have a good day, now.” She winked at Monty and turned away, rocking a cute pair of hips like a runway model.

She was pretty cute all around.

Monty grinned and showed the check around. Lainey had written her number on it. “Even when I don’t cast a line, I pull a catch,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off, Michael B. Jordan,” Duncan said, laughing.

––––––––

~oOo~

––––––––

“Fuck off!” Gun roared. “Get out!” He grabbed the puke-yellow plastic water pitcher off his over-bed table and heaved it toward the door, where the Young Guns were clustered. The throw wasn’t powerful enough to reach them, but when the pitcher hit the floor, the top came off and water splashed them.

They hadn’t even managed to get all the way into the room. As soon as Gunner saw them, he’d started shouting. Nothing wrong with his voice.

“Uncle Gun,” Sam started. He’d visited regularly since Gunner had been shot, and he’d seen his uncle depressed, in serious pain, doped up, tired, resigned, and once or twice even almost his old self. He’d seen him pissed off a few times, too. But he’d never seen him fully losing his shit like this. Hostile to people who loved him.

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT!” Gun roared again before Sam got more out than his name.

A hand landed on Sam’s shoulder. “Let’s go, bruh,” Jay said at his ear. “Today is not the day.”

Aunt Leah was in the room too, focused on Gun, trying to calm him down. Sam felt like he should help her, like he couldn’t leave her to deal with this on her own. Gun had been hurt saving his life. He had to do what he could to help.

But Jay was pulling on his shoulder. “We gotta leave him be, Sam. C’mon.”

Leah looked over and met Sam’s gaze. When she nodded and mouthed Go, he backed off and followed the others out.

He really hoped Duncan was right, and Gun would come to terms with the turn his life had taken.

And remember how many people had his back.

––––––––

~oOo~

––––––––

Sam picked Athena up the next morning. Both her parents were there, and they sent her off like she was leaving to live abroad with no plans to return rather than driving up to a neighboring state for a couple nights.

Eventually they were able to climb into his truck with Blanche between them and head north. Athena wasn’t much interested in communicating, and shortly after Sam pulled onto the interstate, she settled in against the passenger window and went to sleep. Blanche slept with her head in Athena’s lap for about an hour, then woke and resituated herself to get pets from the awake person in the car, tucking her head under Sam’s arm and giving him the sad eyes. Sam was happy to oblige.

He drove more or less on autopilot, letting his brain rifle through its shelves. He thought about Gunner, and the fight in Laughlin that took his legs. His memories of that night were simultaneously fuzzy and powerful, and the thing that fucked him up most was how quickly everything had turned bad. He’d been hanging out on his guard shift, then he’d been heading to bed. His big concern had been Monty’s horrible flatulence. A few minutes later, everything had been chaos. Noise and blood, danger and pain. All because someone they’d thought was one of them had very much not been.

Strange how the fear happened mostly in retrospect.

He’d been scared in the moment, too, but his brain hadn’t focused there. Instead, he’d been intent on figuring things out, keeping safe, making sure his people were safe, working on getting out of the trouble. It wasn’t until well afterward, when he was in the hospital, that the fear had turned his stomach and made his limbs shake.

---