Page 22 of Chelsea’s Knight

Canyon

Chelsea is in her element, that’s for sure.

She may feel as though she’s bustling behind the scenes, but her skillset and abilities are shining brightly as she orchestrates getting food and drinks delivered to the hospital with Roane and Hayley.

In the meantime, Mary rounds up several of her adult kids to come to the clubhouse and help her babysit. Her theory is that while she and Shamus are ‘peripherally’ part of the club, all of the actual members and their old ladies should be here to support the two couples who are adding to their families.

This brotherhood is something else, something I was yearning for when I left the military.

After the shitastic family and background I came from, becoming part of something where teamwork, camaraderie, loyalty, and respect, was important and something I strove for. While I had no desire to make the Marines a career, I craved the same bond I found during my tenure once I had completed my contractual obligation.

A happenstance meeting with Loki, while I was at a tattoo convention down in Florida, is what slightly drew me north toward Georgia, and after a few months of hanging around the club, I let it be known I wanted to join their ranks by prospecting for the PWMC.

Loki put my name up for vote, and the rest, as they say, is history.

I can’t imagine being anywhere else, unless it’s at the side of these men who may have served in a different branch of the military than what I did, but whose sense of commitment and honor is as deeply threaded in their veins and runs as deeply through their marrow as my own does.

I wasn’t kidding when I told Chelsea we had a lot to talk about; she needs to understand just how much of an impact she’s made on me for me to even consider adding an old lady to my life.

Growing up, my upbringing was utter hell.

The household was beyond toxic, with two parents who probably should’ve never gotten together in the first place given the fact that they both brought their own brand of family trauma into their marriage. Fights were a regular occurrence, especially after a fifth or two of alcohol, regardless of the brand, was ingested and I still have a few physical scars on my body that I’ve since covered with tattoos due to the flying items. Because when my mom got angry, she tossed whatever was in her hands at the time toward the person who caused her to go into a molten rage.

Most of the time, it was me or my old man who angered her. As the oldest of three kids, I did what I could to shield and protect my two little sisters, who didn’t deserve half of the shit they were dealt.

Neither did I, of course, but I knew, despite the shitty lack of male role models in my life, it was my job to make sure they were safe and protected at all costs. My dad wasn’t a bad man, per se, but he would react violently whenever my mom would start nagging at him, especially when he would choose to stop off at the local bar for a few beers ‘with the guys’ before coming home.

And she did nag, it wasn’t a conversation or discussion. No, it was “Joe, you forgot to take the trash out.Again.Joe, the grass needs to be cut and Canyon can’t get the mower to start. Joe, Joe, Joe.”

Not for nothing, but the man worked twelve-hour shifts at the sawmill, hard, backbreaking labor with no room to climb the ranks, while she sat on her ass at home and literally did nothing. So, even though it might have been a bit archaic to think this way, I kind of felt like he shouldn’t have to worry about some of the household stuff she bitched about sinceshewas at home watching television with the tip of a bottle glued to her mouth. It wasn’t like she lavished love, attention, or affection on me or my sisters. Nope, we were her free labor to get stuff done. Our only crime?

We were born.

That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.

The irony isn’t lost on me that there are so many families who crave children, who long to raise boys and girls to become upstanding members of society. My mother wasnotone of those altruistic individuals.

Nope.

She didn’t have a motherly bone in her body.

The maternal gene skipped right the fuck over her and kept on moving, never looking back, the same way I did when I came of age and signed on the dotted line and joined the service.

From a ridiculously early age, my sisters and I cleaned. I cooked since they were too little to reach or use the stove. We all three did our fair share of laundry.

Our mother sat around lamenting the fact she didn’t ‘have a life because of her three brats’and she could have‘lived the good life’ if not for us.

The constant push and pull was too much for my sisters and they sadly turned to drugs while I was overseas on my first deployment. I nearly lost my shit and would’ve gone AWOL except for the brothers I was serving with who held me down when I got the tragic news. Both of them died due to overdosing on some laced heroin. I sent money to have the two of them buried and completely cut off all contact with my parents.

But the guilt remains, even all these years later. I had to get out of there in order to save myself, but I should’ve done better at protecting them so they could have had lives too.

The good news, however, is the years I spent in the Marines, combined with being part of the club, has shown me whathealthyrelationships look like. So, while I wasn’t completely sure I’d ever want to subject anyone to my broken disaster of a life, Chelsea managed to sneak underneath my radar and now, she’s firmly ensconced in my life.

“Let me do that, sweetness,” I insist, reaching for a tray of food she’s rearranging in order to fit the platters, baskets, and drinks on the table better.

The ladies sent up so much food to the hospital, Chelsea asked one of the nursing staff if we could set up some extra tables and chairs so other families, who are waiting on news of their loved ones, could enjoy a meal, complimentary from us, as well.

We had to make it a well-known fact that the hospital itself was not responsible for this free offering. They couldn’t be held responsible if anyone had any adverse reactions to any of the prepped food. Liability and all the added legalities that go along with it sometimes makes doing something just because it’s the nice thing to do quite difficult in this litigious day and age.

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