Page 54 of Hawk's Cry

He doesn’t react, just nods, and taps at his keyboard making notes. We talk about whether anyone else in my family has ever suffered depression or stress. I almost laugh. Drummer? He’s always in total control, and so is my mom. We talk through the events of the past few years, concentrating on the last twelve months. He seems particularly interested that I was voted in as VP, though I’m careful not to say all that entails. I concentrate on telling him how I take overall responsibility for the running of our businesses, and the general well-being of the club. And that, if Wizard is away, step in and act as the president. My long-term relationship with Liv is picked apart, how we moved from friends to lovers, then to being wed. His eyebrows rise slightly when I add she’s expecting a baby in a month.

Finally he pushes away his keyboard and takes off his glasses, swinging them gently. “Barring nothing untoward turning up in your bloodwork, I think what we’re looking at is clinical depression brought on by the stress of sudden life changes. You’ve had a lot thrown at you over the past year.”

Raising my eyes, I look toward him as he gives what I’m suffering from a name. Clinical depression. I’d half expected a pull-myself-together lecture, to be told I’m a man and my lot’s much the same as any man carries. That I’m wallowing in self-pity and to pull myself together, to suck up what’s been thrown at me by life.

“I don’t know myself anymore,” I admit. “I feel inadequate. My club trusts me, and I’m not sure I’m worthy of that. I could,” lead a man to his death, “make a decision that ruins us financially.” He waves at me to go on. “My wife is depending on me to be there for her and the baby, but I’m worried I’ll fuck up.”

He doesn’t tell me all men worry when they’re expecting a child imminently. Instead he taps out a few more notes.

“Why has this happened to me?” I suddenly cry out. “I don’t understand.”

He gives me his full attention. “Depression is far more common than you would expect. I suspect you always have been self-aware and self-critical. Stress can build up when there are a series of events that bring it to a head. Maybe none of the events by themselves are particularly serious, but they can add together and put you on a downward spiral. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and something we can help you overcome. Asking for help, coming here today, is an important first step.”

I was forced to come, but I don’t tell him that.

He’s given me a diagnosis. I’m no longer floundering wondering what’s wrong. I don’t want to live the rest of my life like this, if I do, it’s likely to be short. I may have needed persuasion to speak to someone, but now I have, perhaps I owe it to everyone, Liv in particular, and even myself, to continue to get help.

“How can I fight this?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realise I want to fight my demons. Right now I know I’ve got a battle ahead, and though I’m not sure I can win it, I’ll give it my best shot.

A half-smile appears on his face. “Continue taking the antidepressants—”

“They do nothing but make me sleep.”

He dismisses my objection. “They take time, two weeks or more to have an effect. It’s important to keep taking them regularly. I can reduce your current dosage if they make you too fatigued.”

I hate the thought of being doped up, but I also hate feeling the way I do now. I’m more interested when he suggests CBT—Cognitive Behaviour Therapy. At first I shrugged it off until he explains what it is. We’ll pinpoint my negative thoughts, feelings and behaviours, and work on changing my response. I can even do the course online. He’s right, I’ve always been critical of myself, starting from when I was a child. I would think before acting, part of the reason I was made VP, but also the reason I failed. Maybe if I can learn not to take it to extremes, I’ll be able to manage my own expectations better.

He encourages me to stop doing what I’m most guilty of, shutting people out. Maybe Hound and Throttle appearing today show I’ve a whole wealth of support that I’d thought I’d left behind. Maybe moving back to the compound would help, confronting my fears rather than running away. If someone doesn’t kill me on sight.

When he mentions exercise, I smile. I’m sure Peg would help me get back into shape. The corners of my mouth quickly turn down. Am I ready to go through an intensive training programme with Peg in the gym? Well, it’s one way of killing yourself.

Surprisingly, I leave the doctor’s office with more positive thoughts. The biggest takeaway being he was confident that I’d come out the other side okay. That these feelings I have are not going to stay with me for life. That I’ll have confidence in myself again one day. That I can be man enough to be a dad to my kid.

Hound’s head tilts to the side when he sees me. Then he smiles and his arm goes around my shoulder, slapping me on my back. “You’re walking taller, Brother.”

Drummer stands from the seat where he’s been waiting. His steely eyes settle on me. I frown, unable to read the expression on his face as he steps closer.

“Fuckin’ proud of you, Son,” he tells me, his voice cracking. When I crease my brow, he explains, “You’ve taken the first step.”

I’m thinking hard as we walk through the hospital corridors, making our way outside to the parking lot. Dad goes to his bike telling us he’ll meet us back at the house. I follow the others to the truck. When we get there, I finally speak.

“Throttle, Hound—I owe you an apology.”

“You don’t owe us fuck,” Hound growls. “You want us to get all lovey dovey and apologise for the beating you took? You want to spend your time reliving all the old slights and rehashing them again and again? Or does the future start now?” He waves at the building to our rear. “In there, with your therapist, you can talk about what went down, but with us? All we need to know is how we can help and what you need to get through this.”

“While I agree with the sergeant-at-arms,” Throttle begins, “Brother, I’m here if you do want a sounding board to talk about where things went wrong.”

It’s my state of mind, but tears well up in my eyes as everything I’d thought I’d willingly left behind hits me right in the face. How did I think I could do without my Satan’s Devils’ family beside me?

I didn’t tell them because I was ashamed, guilty that I was letting them down, even if it was only in my head. Their forgiveness and ability to start over fresh makes me chagrined and regretful I didn’t speak to them before.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

Home sounds good. But it’s not Heart’s old house that I want to return to. Suddenly I make a decision. “Forget what I said earlier. I want to move back to the compound.”

Throttle fist pumps the air. “Now that’s fuckin’ music to my ears, Brother.”

He prods my back and pushes me into the car.

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