But they didn’t need payback. If you’re a good person, you do good things. Simple as that.
But they knew, like Joker now knew, that good built good. So what they gave Joker meant that he’d not lost hold. Didn’t give up and become a junkie, a felon, a jackhole banging women on his couch, drinking himself sloppy, or making babies only to fill their lives full of black.
Instead, he was in the position to give back. To his brothers. To Carissa. To Travis.
The good he got from the people who cared about him set him up to return it, maybe not to them, but to people who deserved it.
And that was what it was all about. The meaning of life. Why every person on the planet was there.
They got what they gave and then they gave what they got, and it was the measure of you if you could endure the shit that came with life and still find it in you to focus on the good and put that out there.
He was that man.
And he was glad to be that man.
So he kept working, giving goodness to his brothers until it was time to call it quits and go home to his woman and her boy, where they’d also give him goodness they didn’t know they gave just by breathing.
And he would take it.
And give it back.
* * * * *
Carissa
It was late when I got home. I’d had an unusual afternoon shift that Sharon tried not to give me when I had Travis, but she couldn’t play favorites, so it happened.
I heard the TV on but saw no Joker in the kitchen so I plopped my purse on the counter, walked through the kitchen, and into the living room.
I stopped dead when I saw Big Petey, Roscoe, and Boz lounged all over my couch, along with Joker.
“Yo, girl,” Big Petey said to the TV but lifted the beer bottle in his hand as a greeting to me.
“Carrie,” Roscoe also said to the TV with no beer bottle lift.
“Babe, lookin’ good,” Boz stated, his head turned my way, his grin devilish.
I grinned back at Boz then gave my attention to Joker as his eyes came over the back of the couch.
“Boys are over,” he told me unnecessarily. “Travis is down.”
“Okay, sweetie,” I said, knowing it was past his bedtime, glad he was getting his sleep, but disappointed all the same that I didn’t get a cuddle in before he got that way.
Boz turned his head to Joker.
“Sweetie,” he muttered.
“Fuck off,” Joker replied.
I ignored that since I had a priority task at hand and went about doing it. This meant I walked to Travis’s room. The door was closed against the sound of the TV. I was okay with this considering I’d also noted the baby monitor was sitting on the coffee table by Joker’s feet.
I checked my son, putting my hand to his chest, feeling his warmth, his steady breathing. Then I lifted my hand to my mouth, touched the tips of my fingers to my lips, then put them to his soft, chubby cheek.
He didn’t move. He was out.
Quietly, I left the room and carefully closed the door behind me.
When I got out to the living room/dining area, Joker’s eyes were again to me.
“He okay?” he asked.
Gosh, he was so amazing.
“Yeah,” I answered. “Can I…um, talk to you?”
His brows drew together, then he looked to the men before he pushed up to his feet.
I took in the guys lounged on my couch, unmoving, eyes glued to the screen, bottles of beers in their hands and scattered over surfaces. There was a burly guy with a pointy beard and a bald head wearing strange glasses on the TV talking while sparks flew in a cement room behind him.
I had no idea what that program was, just that it probably wouldn’t interest me. I wasn’t into sparks flying.
Then again, who knew? I thought I wasn’t into bikers and I was really wrong about that.
I also had a feeling I liked, seeing my big couch covered in men drinking beer. I’d picked it hoping one day it would get crawled all over by babies and then lounged all over by babies grown big.
But I’d take bikers.
For now.
I felt Joker get close and I looked to him right before I turned away and walked down the hall.
I went right to my room and Joker followed me.
I took four steps in and turned to see Joker closing the door behind