Sunday Morning (Damaged #7.5)

 

 

Being a dick went out the window, and I decided to be honest. “I want to do right by you.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I figure someone should.”

 

Jodi nodded and lit a cigarette she wasn’t old enough to buy legally. I was constantly reminding myself of her age to avoid taking what I wanted.

 

“Why do you stay in Chesterfield?” she asked. “Is it club loyalty?”

 

“I should say yes, but most of the guys I run with aren’t worth my loyalty. They think being in the club is about pussy and fun. They don’t care about each other. None even asked why I wasn’t hanging around at night anymore. They should be curious or, at least, paranoid. When I notice a guy’s pattern change, I wonder what he’s up to. They don’t.”

 

Jodi watched me with a devious expression, and I knew she thought I ought to be in charge. For years, I was relieved not to call the shots. Now I thought Jodi’s way of thinking might be right.

 

If I called the shots, things would be different. I’d pick better men to run with and then expand our territory. Brotherhood would matter more than getting laid. The Chesterfield Vandals had money coming in, but we pissed it away on whores and drugs.

 

If I was the president, some of the club’s money would be invested into the town. I’d buy businesses for more than laundering money. The club would get involved in the local infrastructure, making us too important for the locals to purge. If I were in charge, the club would be run more like the mob and less like common thugs.

 

Tapping the table, I took a hit off her cigarette. “You’re putting seeds in my head that’ll only grow into trouble.”

 

“That’s a pretty image you created there.”

 

“I’m serious.”

 

Jodi rolled her eyes. “You’re smart, but you run with a dumb outfit. I don’t know shit about clubs, but I do know chaos, and your club feels that way. I wouldn’t even be able to tell who’s in charge.”

 

She paused while our food arrived. I watched her and wondered if she could handle knowing more about my life.

 

“You don’t create fear in people by being scary,” she said, chewing on a fry. “You need to seem bigger. Endless. Unbreakable. Make it seem like if some asshole came crashing into the club, they’d hit a wall of men. Right now, it feels like a flimsy fence. That’s not your fault. If you were in charge, things would be different because you’re different.”

 

I didn’t speak for a while. Eating, I considered what she said. I knew she was right, but I also knew taking over could be messy.

 

“What if you’re right, and I could change things up, but I decide to sit on my ass and do nothing? Are you gonna give me grief like one of those nagging wives who want their husbands to work harder to get a promotion?”

 

“No, I’d be one of those wives relieved you came home every day.”

 

I’d taken the conversation in an uncomfortable direction. Jodi didn’t mind. She was already seeing us as long term, but I doubted she could really imagine her life when she was twenty, let alone thirty.

 

When I was young, I had dreams too. I wanted to be a big shot and run the world. I didn’t want a single fucker ever to tell me what the fuck to do. I was going to kill anyone who looked at me wrong. I planned to burn down the world if it stood in my way.

 

Older and wiser, I picked my battles these days. I didn’t run into stupid situations. I killed who needed killing. Fought for what needed fighting for, but I wasn’t looking for anything more than to live comfortably.

 

That was before Jodi.

 

She had me wanting more. I had fantasies in my head about keeping her and taking over the club and living my life in the way that only worked in dreams.

 

Jodi would likely outgrow me, or I’d disappoint her. The club didn’t want new management, and I wasn’t really willing to spill my brothers’ blood to take what I wanted.

 

Life wasn’t about unicorns and rainbows. It was cold and unflinching. I survived by being smart. I didn’t see any reason to embrace stupidity at the ripe old age of forty-two.

 

 

 

 

 

9 - Jodi

 

 

Kirk was my man long before we ever kissed. He drove me to and from school. We ate most of our meals together. I woke up to find him waiting for me and fell asleep with him watching me. The man loved me before his lips ever met mine.

 

In the evening, we watched TV. Sometimes, we talked. Sometimes, we didn’t. At first, Kirk sat in a chair, keeping his distance. One night, he plopped down on the couch while I made popcorn. I wanted so badly to say something about the change. Was he finally admitting he wanted me? Could we stop pretending to be friends or that he was only a nice man letting me live at his place?