Page 68 of All Your Firsts

There’s complete silence on the other side of the bed, so I close my eyes and inhale deeply, then exhale slowly in an attempt to find enough tranquility to drift off.

“Why don’t you guys have names?”

My eyes bolt open, and I look up at her, looking down at me.

“What do you mean?”

“Every motorcycle club has nicknames for its members.”

My lips part, and a small chuckle exits as I listen to her explain. “The older members did, but we decided not to.”

“Why?”

“It’s just not what we wanted, although I understand why clubs do. It’s a tradition, helps with anonymity, and creates a shared connection among the members.”

“Oh,” she says thoughtfully as she looks around. “What made you decide to be part of the MC?”

It’s both bewildering and endearing for her to ask me questions about myself. She’s trying to get to know me, and for that reason, I answer.

“After my parents died, I was in and out of foster care until around ten. Then, I ran away and ended up coming here. Trey, Marcus, and Julian were friends from school, and they welcomed me with open arms. The rest is history.” I leave out some pieces she doesn’t need to worry about. A dark past formed the foundation of the club. One that we don’t ever discuss.

All of us have lost something precious because of this lifestyle, because of the club. Trey lost his mom, Julian lost his dad, Marcus lost his mom and sister, and I lost years of my life.

I contemplated going nomad while I was in prison. Not being affiliated to one charter in general, but still being part of the brotherhood. It wasn’t something I wanted, but I was tempted as fuck to go through with it.

Trey’s father, our old prez, brought us down a dark, twisted road, and many lives were lost. It was careless and heartbreaking.Trey’s promise to be better than his father was the only thing that kept me around. They’re still one-percenters and do the shit that needs to be done, but greed, power, and vengeance don’t blind Trey so heavily that he will sacrifice anyone and anything to get it.

Then, I had another hearing and reached a plea deal for early release. It was either take the deal or serve out the rest of my fifteen-year sentence.

The bargain made me lose what felt like everything at the time, but nothing felt better than walking out those doors and knowing I was free.

She seems thoughtful as she looks over at the chair in the corner, spotting my kutte. “I know a little when it comes to your world. Mostly from shows. The patch right there tells me... things,” she says, pointing at my one percent patch on my kutte.

“I would never hurt you if that’s what you’re worried about. Your brother entrusted me to protect you, and I promise I will.”

“But you’ve done bad things.”

This isn’t a question but rather a statement. I grab her hand, needing her to not only hear me but also feel me. “I’ve done bad things. Some may even say horrible things, but I’d never hurt you.”

“Too bad you can’t protect me from my future,” she says with a long sigh. I can feel the sadness radiating from her.

“Maybe I can.” I have no right to make that promise, but I will. Anything to get that dejected look off her face.

She shakes her head, resigned.

“I won tonight, by the way. I expect my tattoo sometime next week.”

“Barely. I’d hardly call that a win.”

“It don’t matter if you win by an inch or a mile. Winning’s winning.”

I look at her adorably serious face. “Did you just quote Fast and Furious?”

“Possibly,” she says with a giggle that gets me straight in my gut.

It’s so satisfying to hear her laugh so freely in what you’d think is just an ordinary conversation, an ordinary moment. However, she is anything but ordinary. It’s special, and it makes me unsteady in the best and worst way.

I laugh with her. “I love that movie.”

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