Page 50 of Abel

Boy I really fucked that up I think as I drift off to sleep.

Chapter Nineteen

Abel

Hitting the makeshift gym at The Sandlot never felt better. Pounding my fists into the punching bag is intoxicating, and I need more.

With each jab and punch to the bag, I picture Goon Eye’s face there. Right hook, then a left, alternating between the two, I picture his head rolling from side to side. Eyes open but not looking, his mouth parts, and I know he’s about to say something. But I don’t give him the satisfaction.

With a roundhouse kick to his stomach, well the bag, it goes flying just like Goon Eye’s body did when I delivered the final blow that killed him.

Fuck, that felt amazing. As the bag maneuvers back in my direction, I grab and steady it, moving to the treadmill. Setting the control when I find the perfect rhythm, I think about how summer is slowly sneaking up on us like the secretive little minx she is. I’ve always been a fan of winter, hibernating under my warm covers while the fan and heater run at the same time, keeping me at the perfectly balanced temperature that feels just right.

Summer vacation is all about the kids and getting them outside to enjoy the great outdoors. The first week in June will be their real first week off, and we plan to go all out.

It’s never too early to start organizing how the summer activities will go down. The Sandlot isn’t big enough to host anything there, my neighbors are older and I don’t want to bring all the noise to their doorstep, and I haven’t had much luck with most of the parks in the area.

A lot of the parents were against a motorcycle club throwing parties near their neighborhood.

I’ll need to find somewhere they can just be kids and have fun without having folks calling the cops on us for being too loud.

Every park we tried to rent didn't want a motorcycle ‘gang’ on their premises. I know I said I wouldn’t kill the recreational directors just because they said no, but I’m starting to rethink my decision, because this is bullshit.

Nobody tells me fucking no.

So, instead of going that route, I stumbled across some land for sale miles past The Sandlot. Okay, so I didn’t stumble across it. One of my patients is a realtor, and when I mentioned how nobody would rent out one of the parks to me and my friends, she was more than happy to help out since it was for a good cause.

I may have left out the fact that we were a motorcycle club because she didn’t need to worry about all that.

It would take a few weeks, maybe even months to turn it into one of those fancy parks we see downtown. Amazon to the rescue. I’ll purchase waterslides, jumpy houses, a swingset, and more. Kids love ponies, so I was thinking about buying seven of them, along with a couple of horses for the teenagers and grown-ups. I’m even looking into getting a couple of clowns to perform magic shows. Who didn’t love magic? And last but not least, I wanted to install fancy rides and games like you see at carnivals.

One phone call, well several phone calls, and I’ll make it happen.

Enchanted Meadows will be a place for our motorcycle family to have fun.

I almost forgot camping.

Some of us love sleeping under the stars. So, I’ll have a campground built to honor our overnight stays as we reset our mental focus..

Resetting is something that should be done as often as it needs to be.

I’m guilty of being one of those people that often forgets and never finds the time to reconnect with myself and take much needed breaks. In my line of work, I have to make sure I keep a level head, because my patients and their lives depend on me to give it one hundred and ten percent.

Now that I’ve gotten activities out of the way, it’s time to work out the menu.

This place will be our own camp, and they’re gonna have some good eatin’ on my watch.

Shit, that reminds me, today is the cookout, and I completely forgot.

I’m in charge of side dishes.

Homemade mac-n-cheese, rice dressing, potato salad, and more is what I have planned. Who knows, maybe I might even make my famous cabbage and okra. When I’m not working, handling Anarchy Saints business or riding, I’m in the kitchen.

Wrapping up my workout, showering in record time, and making it home, I head inside to make sure I have all that I need for the dishes.

Kicking off my shoes at the door, I push my slides out of the way, opting to walk barefoot. This is something I rarely do, but old habits sometimes die hard.

I remember growing up, my mother would always tell us to make sure we didn’t walk anywhere barefoot while my dad always said ‘real men don’t need shoes.’ Mom would get so mad at him, but knew he meant well. I was only twelve when he was killed. Mom died seven years later from a broken heart.

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