Page 5 of Brazen Being It

The motel is a dump, but it’s familiar. Cheap furniture. The hum of a wall unit. The kind of place where no one asks questions. We split one room—two beds, no boundaries.

Clothes fly. Bodies move. It’s wild, messy, and loud. Exactly what it’s supposed to be.

Except it’s not enough.

The blonde falls asleep on her side of the bed, hair tangled, lipstick smeared. I sit up, sweating, staring at the ceiling. My patch lies on the chair, catching the glow of the parking lot light leaking through the blinds.

It should feel like everything I ever wanted.

Instead, it feels like nothing. I grab my jeans and slip out onto the motel balcony. The night’s heavy with Carolina humidity. I light a cigarette, the end flaring red as I lean on the rusted rail. The parking lot is nearly empty. A couple cars. Our bikes.

Toon steps out beside me a minute later, hair damp, jeans half-zipped. “She asleep?”

“Like the dead.”

He lights up too. “You look like you didn’t even enjoy it.”

“I didn’t.”

He exhales smoke. “Something’s eating at you. Release is still release, brother.”

“You ever wonder if this is it? Just bars, bikes, bullshit?”

“You sound like a man having a quarter-life crisis.”

“I’m serious, Toon.”

He leans against the rail. “You got patched in. You’re in good standing. Rex has your back. Hell, Axel’s trusts you with everything. You’re the only one doubting your place. What’s it take? What’s missing?”

I let the question hang.

What is missing? What will it take? The truth is, I don’t know.

There’s a hole inside me, one that patching in didn’t fill. One that even Shooter’s praise can’t cover over. Maybe it’s respect. Maybe it’s just purpose. But whatever it is, it sure as hell isn’t in this motel room.

“I just want to matter,” I say finally.

“You do.”

“But do I? Not to them.”

Toon sighs. “You’re looking at this all wrong. They do trust you. They just don’t say it. This club? It’s not about words. It’s about actions. About knowing your brother will take a bullet for you without hesitation.”

“I would.”

“I know. And they know too. You’ll see.”

I nod, grinding the cigarette under my boot.

Inside, the blonde stirs. I don’t want to go back in and pretend to sleep. I want to ride. I want the wind. I don’t want pretend. I want real.

Toon looks at me, reading my thoughts like a damn book. “Wanna roll out?”

I grin. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Without waking the women, we gear up and roll out just before dawn. The sky bleeds pale pink over the Carolina treetops, and the road ahead is wide open.

I twist the throttle, the engine screaming beneath me. I don’t know where I’m going. But I know I can’t stay still. Somewhere between Charlotte and nowhere, I let my thoughts run wild with the road under me. What would it take to really be seen? To not just wear the patch, but to be it? I ride harder. And I realize—I need something bigger. Something wild.

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