Page 69 of Fury
For the next several minutes, Mason outlined his hopes and plans for the Rebels, and as he spoke, Fury grasped the edges of the vision, seeing where a change in strategy would strengthen an idea, and where there hadn’t been enough consideration given to local political climates for another. Their back and forth was lively, a meeting of equals in a way Fury hadn’t experienced with Mason before. It was heady and exciting, and at the end of the conversation, he had a glimpse of the depth and intellectual scope of the man seated across from him.
They were on their next beers when the talk turned somber again. Mason led the way with a quiet statement that sent a chill down Fury’s spine. “You put on that patch, it stops being about you.”
“I know that.”
“I know, you know. But I want to make sure you understand. A member puts on a patch and every decision he makes while wearing that patch reflects on him and his local chapter. Reflects on the club. For each member, it’s about the brotherhood and holding the trust passed to him with the awarding of his center. Brotherhood is all. The bones behind the phrase that rolls so easily off every member’s lips, Rebels forever,”—Fury finished with him, their voices overlapping on the final two words—“forever Rebels.”
“Accountability is a good thing, and every member knows they’re held to the wall by their choices.” Fury nodded.
“You put on that national president’s patch, it stops being about your choices. It stops being about you. From that point onwards, you are the office. The office doesn’t take a vacation, it doesn’t sleep, doesn’t rest, and never goes away. It stops being about the individual, and becomes about the collective membership. Every word that falls from your mouth is measured and weighed, prodded for hidden agendas and favoritism. Every decision is life and death, because you’re a general behind the lines calling for an advance or retreat.” Mason pinned him with a stare. “It is a burden that doesn't shift from your shoulders, ever.”
“Not painting a picture that makes me want to say yes.”
“But, you will.”
Fury heard the rattle of Bethy’s keys in the front door and climbed to his feet. Without a word he walked out, met her in the middle of the living room and wrapped his arms around her, forcing her to lift her bag-laden hands to the sides. “Well, hello to you, too,” she chirped, and he smiled against her neck to hear that sassy tone.
“Missed you, baby.” He pulled back and stared down into her face, smiling.
“Aww.” She pursed her lips and made a clucking noise. “Kiss me already, then take these bags. There are more in the car.”
He leaned in, kissing her deeply as he ran his hands down her arms, unburdening her at the same time. “Go sit with your brother. I’ll get the rest.” He walked her in and pushed her towards his empty seat, knowing from the tilt of her head she was mentally counting the number of empties and that he’d be answering questions later. “Be right back, boss.” Fury walked out, hearing her laugh and already arguing with Mason over who the “boss” was in that scenario.
