Page 1 of More than Enough
One
Blade
“Monk, hey Monk.” Blade flinched at how his voice sounded, hating the neediness that coated each word out of his mouth these days.
Since the accident, it felt as if he was needy all the time, and he fucking hated it. Hated the holes in his memories that tripped him up, taking his composure as they exposed the flaws lodged in his brain.Made it through three goddamned tours and a drunk bitch in a subcompact takes me out.
Blade, known to his mom as Nathanael Murphy, waited as Monk finished talking to one of their newest scrubs, their prospects collectively called FNGs. Monk bounced a clenched fist off the top of the guy’s shoulder a couple of times, then turned to Blade.
Alex Waterman, Monk, had stood beside Blade in the months since the accident, kicking his ass when appropriate, propping him up when that was needed. Blade didn’t know what he’d have done without the man.Prolly died. If he wasn’t honest with anyone else, he needed to be honest with himself. Taking a long walk had looked like a good option for a time, back when it was touch and go with the walking or the talking. Thank God Monk had seen and stepped in, or Blade wouldn’t be here today to annoy him.
“Yo, Blade. How’s it goin’ today?”
Monk’s hand reached out and captured Blade’s, yanking him in for a one-armed clinch. Blade’s head swam with the abrupt movement, and he swallowed hard, forcing the sick back into his belly.
After a long moment, his mouth agreed to cooperate. “You know, you know.” Another pause, this one longer, but Monk waited patiently, keeping quiet. “Could be worse.” He stepped back, pleased when he kept the tottering to a minimum.Savin’ face, one step at a time. “Wondered if you, if you had a route planned for us yet.”
Monk pursed his lips then grinned, nodding. “Yeah, we’re gonna have a good run, brother. Got it all planned out.”
Three goddamned tours.
The head injury suffered in the wreck last year continued to plague him through moments like this. Instants of time when the world dipped and swayed around him, puke rolling up his throat until it threatened to suffocate him and fearful thoughts working to drag him under. When his thoughts and mouth didn’t align, words jumbled on their way off his tongue. The docs promised there were medications to help sort him out, but he fought through it, gutting it out again and again, until he hadn’t the strength anymore. Repeatedly Monk had come to his rescue, unerringly finding him and talking him through the worst of it.
Those were the good endings to the bad days.
He’d had an equal number of bad-ending days, too.
Ass propped on the edge of the sagging couch cushion, Blade stared at the options laid in front of him on the low coffee table. Using the shaking of his hands like a dowsing rod, he stretched out his fingers, holding them over the different targets for long seconds, heartbeats of time that skipped madly away, never to be seen again.
Eenie… The bottle of pills the doc gave him along with a lecture about the strength and addictive nature of that particular medicine.
Meenie… His knee bumped the table, and the clear liquid sloshed lazily. Even through the closed container, he caught the acrid odor of moonshine.
Miney… Flat black, sleek, and made to fit his hand, the pistol rested on the cold surface, silently waiting.
Mo… With a quick movement, he scooped up the motorcycle keys and pushed to his feet, swaying in place for a moment. Phone in hand, he strode outside, pausing only long enough to text an open invitation to the group chat that stayed at the top of his messages:Taco Barn 10 min.
Blade hadn’t been parked long when he heard the rumble of pipes in the distance. He looked up in time to see the trio approaching, neatly arranged in a stereotypical wedge formation as if they were still deployed and fighting. Monk in the lead, as usual, Neptune to his left, and Wolf to his right.
His brothers, determined to give Blade whatever he needed to keep an even keel.
That had been a good night.
“Where?” He pulled in a slow breath. “Where you takin’ us, Monk?” He grinned up at the bigger man, antsy to start and get in the wind. That’s where he’d been finding himself more and more, ranging far outside their normal territory at times. “Huh? Where?”
“Out and about, my brother. Out and about.” Monk studied him, and Blade felt the weight of that regard, straightening his shoulders as if on the parade ground again. Chest out, chin lifted, he met Monk’s gaze directly. “You good, Blade? How’s the head, man?”
“Head’s fine, fine. Real good these days.” He fought off the need to look away, to lick his lips, to fidget in any way, knowing the smallest movement would reveal his true state of mind to Monk. Was it right to keep this from his road captain? Probably not, but Blade was already planning on asking for sweep, which would put him behind the pack and out of range, lessening the chance of fucking his brothers over with any instant of inattention. “Sweet. Life is sweet. Got my iron.” He gestured to the side towards where his bike was parked. “My brothers.” Arms sweeping out in a wide gesture, he indicated the world around them. “And the wind.” Chin lifting even more, Blade let his eyes dip closed for an instant, blinking away the white spots cluttering his vision when he opened them again. “All, all, all a man like me needs.”
Proving he could read Blade like a book, Monk shook his head and snorted a laugh. “Bitch, you’re wanting to ride sweep, aren’t you?”
Blade grinned, letting his shoulders sag the barest amount. “Yeah, brother. Gimme.”
“Fucking hell, I’d like to actually ride with you one of these times, man.” Someone called Monk’s name from across the lot, and they both glanced that direction. A cluster of men were around a bike, and from the way one of them was gesticulating, there must be a problem with his ride. “Gotta deal with this.” Monk dug in his pocket and pulled out a folded knife. Curling his fingers around the handle, he muttered, “Bet it’s another slick. I need to make my rounds, man. I give you the high sign, can you open the shed?”
Blade nodded, rattling the keys in his pocket with a jingle. “Yeah, brother. We need to mount a tire, just let me, just let me know.”
He didn’t hold an official position within the club, but once Monk had started storing spare parts and tires in the outbuilding behind the clubhouse, Blade had quickly fallen into the role of wrench for the brothers who lacked the skills or inclination. He’d require they spend the time with him, patiently trying to pass along his knowledge earned both from growing up with a mechanic father and working on the tracks and Humvees while deployed overseas. Since Monk had become road captain, he took his duties seriously and did at least a visual inspection of every bike before rides. Wolf had friends on the racing circuit who’d been pleased to find a market for their take-offs, tires with too little tread to tackle hard turns on the track. Wolf proved to have connections with various wholesalers who’d been happy to start up a side business of motorcycle parts, cutting them a deal for a low percent markup. All of that meant Blade had what amounted to a full-time job now. Zero pay but filled to the brim with satisfaction.
