Wild Like the Wind (Chaos #5)(6)
Jagger pulled his hand from his mom’s and caught Hound’s.
Then he tugged on it, grunting and demanding, “Let’s go! Candy!”
Hound allowed himself to be tugged.
Keely walked next to Dutch.
Hound stood at the end of the walk as they all went up to the next house (Jagger racing to the door, Dutch playing it cool).
He did the same at the next house.
And the next.
And the next.
One year and two months later …
Hound moved back up the walk, into the kitchen and saw Keely where he left her, at the kitchen table, practically buried under Christmas paper, bows and ribbons.
“Trash is out,” he grunted.
She looked to him and nodded.
He looked to the doorway that led to the rest of the house then back to her. “Where’s Bev?”
“She has to get ready for her own Christmas,” she told him.
He nodded.
He got that seeing as it was Christmas Eve.
“What more you got to do?” he asked.
She was distracted with wrap and boxes and similar shit, and her eyes came to him.
“Jag’s mini-Flintstone-use-your-feet motorcycle came unassembled.”
“Right,” he grunted again. “Where is it?”
“The box is in the basement.”
He nodded once, turned on his boot and headed to the door in the basement.
He put the little-kid motorcycle together and hauled it up the steps.
She slapped a bow on it and he put it under the tree.
“You rock, Hound, thanks,” she whispered. “Now go home. And Merry Christmas.”
He nodded again.
“Later.”
Her eyes stayed dead but her gorgeous face got soft. “Later, honey.”
Hound walked out her back door.
Four years later …
Hound did not hurry through the halls of the hospital.
But he didn’t take his time.
He hit the nurse’s station and grunted, “Black.”
The nurse behind the station stared up at him with big eyes and such was her bullshit judgment about bikers, she didn’t have it in her to speak. She just lifted a hand and pointed down a short corridor at the end of which was a number of curtained bays.
Hound walked that way.
When he hit the bays, he looked left and right.
They were three in to the left.
He barely moved into the space when Dutch hit him, wrapping his little kid arms around his hips.
He put a hand to the boy’s back.
The doctor or nurse or whoever was working on Jag in the bed looked up at him.
“Can I help you?”
Dutch turned in his hold so Hound’s hand was at his chest.
“He’s with us,” he said.
Hound wasn’t and never would be.
And he absolutely was and always would be.
Hound forced his eyes from a pale Jag with his pinched face and his yellow tee stained with blood to Keely sitting next to him looking even paler and totally freaked.
Her eyes were glued to Hound.
“What happened?” he asked.
“It’s my fault,” Dutch spoke up, and he looked down at the kid.
Then Hound turned his gaze to his brother and saw the gaping wound tearing up the inside of his thin, kid forearm that the nurse or doctor or whoever he was, was stitching.
He returned his attention to Dutch.
“How’d you do that?” he asked quietly.
“We were fightin’,” Jag put in, his voice usually loud and excited, was weak. “I did wrong.”
“It’s okay, baby,” Keely whispered. “Get you stitched up, it’ll all be okay.”
“We were just messing around,” Dutch muttered.
Hound looked down at him again and his tone was still quiet when he asked, “Tell me how messin’ around got your brother that gash, son.”
“We were just messin’ around then I got mad then Jag got mad then Mom told us to cool it, and she sent me out to the yard and Jag up to his room, but Jag was so mad he went to the back door and slammed his fist on the glass and it went through and he got cut,” Dutch answered, looking beaten. He cast his eyes to his feet. “But I shoulda cooled it before it got to that place. So it’s me did wrong and I know it.”
“What’d you learn from this?” Hound asked.
“Hunh?” Dutch asked back, lifting his head.
“What’d you learn from this?” Hound repeated.
“Uh … I … dunno,” Dutch answered.
Hound looked to Jagger. “What’d you learn from this, Jag?”
“Well, uh … not to hit a window with your fist?” Jagger asked back, uncertain his answer was the right one.
Hound beat back his smile and gave them the knowledge.
“What you learned is that life is gonna pull its own punches so you gotta stand strong to fight those. You don’t waste your energy fightin’ your brother. You never fight your brother. Your brother is gonna be in your corner from now until forever. You might get pissed at him. You might have words. But you don’t fight. Are you hearing me?”
“Yes, sir,” Jag muttered.
Hound shifted his gaze to Dutch.
“Yes, sir,” Dutch mumbled.