close to her.
But no. Pip might think I fucked up by getting caught, decide I was less resourceful than he had thought. I certainly hadn’t demonstrated common sense or intelligence. As a result, he may rescind his invitation to join the Utah chapter, and I’ll be returning to Tucson. Or if Drummer discovers the truth about Utah and knew I withheld that information from him, he could send me out bad from the club as I lied by omission. I groan inaudibly as I remember that last conversation with my prez, wishing he hadn’t called right then. I was hurting, still fired up and unprepared.
If Drummer discovers Pip doesn’t ride, it’s unlikely he could retain control of the Utah club. If by some chance, he wasn’t removed, if I was out in bad standing, he’d lose the Satan’s Devils charter were he to give me a place in it. I’m no fool. I’m a grunt with nothing particular to offer. I wouldn’t be the reason Pip blew his operation apart. So, even if I wanted to stay every night with her, and she permitted that liberty, I might not be able to fulfil that promise to her.
There must be an answer.
I don’t have to hear it from her lips, I already know she’ll never trust any system again.
At least she can stay at the clubhouse. There’ll always be someone around who can watch out for her. But who’ll comfort her when she has flashbacks and nightmares? Or when she’s trembling when the PTSD takes hold?
Gears is driving competently and safely, so I lean my head against the headrest and close my eyes. It might be because I’m letting my mind drift, but an idea suddenly appears. I start to get excited, wondering if my thought has legs, or if Swift would ever go for it. It wouldn’t hurt for me to check it out.
I doze. It’s only when Gears cuts the engine that I awake, wipe my eyes, and roll my shoulders. I hear the door behind me open and know Swift’s already getting out. I do the same and breathe in deeply as soon as I’m outside the truck and immediately regret doing so as a sudden pain shoots through my bruised chest.
It might only have taken ninety minutes or so to get back, but I’ve stiffened up. Maybe because I’m back at my temporary home, and I’m no longer on high alert, but I realise I hurt. My arm stings like fuck, and my leg from having twisted when I was pushed down the stairs, I suspect I’ll find my hip is bruised when I get out of my pants. My neck too feels like I’ve got whiplash, and now it’s stiffened up.
I’m no stranger to pain. My last crash was the worst, but I’ve come off my trials bike too many times to count, so am used to bruises and sprains, or pulled muscles and the occasional, but luckily rare, broken bone. Now I realise my body’s been pushed to its limits and I’d like nothing more than to collapse into a bed.
I glance at Swift in time to see her mouth wide open in a yawn. Sheepishly, she covers it with her hand when she sees I’m looking. “Best get this over with. When Prez says the doc’s waiting, well, he’ll be here now.”
“Where?” I eye the clubhouse wondering where we’ll be heading. While I’d prefer to just sit somewhere and rest, I doubt there’s any point in arguing.
“Medical room,” she replies.
They’ve got a medical room? In Tucson, we use one of the crash rooms if necessary. Of course, cleanliness can’t be guaranteed, but hey, if your arm’s falling off, you’ll take anything in an emergency. Anyway, nowadays it’s normally one of the kids has fallen off their bikes, and they just get a Band-Aid and kisses from Mom which seem to make it better.
“Lead the way,” I request, stepping forward and holding the door open for her.
Brute’s on reception duty. He raises his chin and wordlessly presses the button to open the inner door. Swift walks down the hallway leading to the gym, but peels off before getting there, entering a smallish room with stocked shelves along one wall, and the type of bed you find in your doctor's office in the middle of the room.
There’s a man propped against a table, an open magazine in his hands. He closes it and puts it down as we enter.
“Who’s the patient and what am I dealing