Page 44 of Fight Or Flight

Brooklyn

Once it becomes clear neither one of us are planning on getting out of the bed, we start to talk. There is no flipping of the coin this time, and another realization dawns on me. I’m comfortable around him.

I notice there is a tattered American flag hanging on the wall behind the television. As much as I don’t want to rehash his passionate pledge to serve our country, I can’t help but ask where it came from.

“That flag looks like it’s seen better days,” I say hoarsely, watching as he lifts his head and stares at the flag above the television.

“Yeah, I guess that’s a fair presumption.”

“Is it yours?”

He turns those baby blues to me.

“It is now.”

Intrigued, I roll back on my side and prop my head up with my hand.

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“Yeah, but it's not really my story.” He looks back at the flag. “The flag really belongs to Stryker,” he says. His brows pinch together as he turns to me. “I’m not sure if you’ve met him yet. He’s a member of the club, though.”

I try to place Stryker, but over the last two weeks, I’ve met so many bikers. What I really need is a family tree or something. A diagram, perhaps.

“Anyway, before Stryker decided to pledge his life to the club, he served in the Marines. It was back in the height of the United States war on terror, and he did a tour in Afghanistan.” He pauses, his eyes cutting to the flag. “He took that flag back with him when he was discharged and for a long time, it hung in his room at the clubhouse.” He pauses, then clarifies. “Before Kate’s the Knights had a compound back in the day, and most of the guys actually lived there. Your dad included.”

“What happened to it?”

“It blew up.”

“Blew up how?”

“A bomb.”

My eyes go wide, and my mouth drops open in shock. I haven’t had a chance to give much thought to the whole motorcycle club lifestyle and what it entails. I knew there were different types, that some clubs were designed for leisure. But I think it’s safe to assume the Satan’s Knights are not one of those clubs. Especially if their clubhouse has been blown to smithereens.

“Was anyone hurt?” I ask.

He nods, a thoughtful expression painting his face.

“War doesn’t discriminate. It’s not always overseas or in the desert. Sometimes it’s in your backyard. That flag not only survived Afghanistan, but it also made it through the worst attack on the Satan’s Knights too.”

Apparently, Old Glory was a hurricane too.

“After the clubhouse was destroyed the club operated out of Uncle Pipe’s garage. A lot of the guys were single and misplaced at the time and Uncle Jack, being the president back then, rented out a motel off the Staten Island Expressway. It’s actually a Ramada Inn now, but back then it was a shithole that eventually went on fire. But that’s another story.”

Bombs.

Fires.

It’s really no wonder the guy wants to go to war.

“Anyway, some of the guys took rooms in the motel, Stryker being one of them. Then he moved in with Gina and the flag hung in their house in a frame until they decided to renovate. He couldn’t throw it out and it really didn’t go with the farmhouse theme his wife was aiming for, so he brought it to Kate’s and hung it from the wooden rafters of the ceiling.” He pauses and smiles slightly. “I remember running into the bar as a kid and always looking up at that flag and when it was time to leave, I always looked over my shoulder, making sure it was the last thing I saw too.”

The familiar ache in my chest returns and my throat grows dry as I stare at him. The passion in his eyes is palpable, diminishing any hope that this decision of his is just a passing phase. Eric isn’t enlisting because he’s lacking options or drive. He’s not some misguided teenager who can’t decide what he wants out of life. He’s given this thought. He’s weighed his options. Some people, people like me, see a battered flag, but he looks at those red and white stripes and those stars and he sees life, liberty, and promise. He sees a future he can be proud of.

I swallow hard, forcing the lump down my throat.

“So how did you wind up with it?” I rasp.

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