I want to move from my position, watching the chaos about to break out, but I can’t bring myself to. I’m frozen in place.
“What was that, Ma? I fucking heard you, so answer me.” Ryan says from across the room. His shoulders are heaving and he’s glaring at Ruby, who is valiantly ignoring him. Her eyes are still fixed on Jim’s back, but he’s still facing the bar—facing me—and sipping his beer like it’s second nature. At his age and for how long he’s been in the club, he’s probably able to open a bottle of beer from a dead sleep and suck the entire thing down without even waking.
“I know damn well that you can hear me,” Ryan barks. He takes a few steps forward and places his hands on the back of a wooden chair, leaning into it. Ruby’s jaw ticks, but otherwise, she doesn’t move. “Fucking answer me!”
Ryan’s yell startles Alex, and she slams her book shut and spins around in her chair to glare at him, and what a glare she has. Jim sets his beer down slowly and gives me a tired look. I force a smile to my face that I don’t even believe myself.
Ruby still doesn’t move—even as Jim slides his stool back and turns around to face his bickering family. I guess he has to address what’s going on—both as Ruby’s husband and Ryan’s father as well as the president of the club. He takes his time standing from his seat and closing the distance between him and Ryan. It’s only when Jim lunges at Ryan that Alex and Ruby react, which sets off a chain reaction in the room. I watch in horror as Duke jumps from his seat and rushes at Ryan. He’s followed by Bear, who was sitting next to him. Fish and Diesel, who were on the other side of Jim, follow suit, but they head for Jim. Diesel pulls Ruby back from the growing mass of testosterone while Fish tries to get in between Ryan and Jim. Diesel’s efforts are rewarded with Ruby turning and cussing him out and trying to shove him aside.
I can barely tell who’s helping who and who’s on whose side. The mass moves, and Fish gets shoved aside. He falls onto a nearby table with a heavy thud and a scream and then tumbles to the floor and lays there for a moment with his hands on his lower back. Shit. He looks really hurt. Quickly, I grab a nearby rag and frantically search for the fridge, thinking that maybe there will be a freezer and some ice in there. I jump into action when I find something better—an ice maker. It’s about the size of a dorm room fridge, but it’s plenty full. I pile the ice into the rag and rush around the bar to Fish, doing my best to avoid the fight. With my arms hooked under his arm pits, I try to pull him away from the crowd. He arches his back and screams out in pain, but I don’t stop. The crowd is getting shoved in our direction, with Alex on the outside, nearly falling on her butt as she dodges a wayward elbow. When I have Fish next to the exposed brick wall and far enough away from the crowd, I give him an once-over.
“I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth. His face is red, and a line of sweat is breaking out above his brows. He doesn’t look fine, no matter what he says, so I proceed with inspecting the way he’s lying and attempting to straighten his back out, though it’s of no use.
“Can you sit up?” I ask. He narrows his dark brown eyes at me and spits out a curse. He tries to move into a sitting position but stops and grunts in what sounds like pain. Frowning at him, I move around to his side, near his back, and place the rag full of ice against his spine. “Just tell me what I can do to help.”
“I said I’m fine,” he says on a shout. “I don’t need your fucking help.”