Page 13 of The Fates We Tame

I don’t like the way he changes the topic, so I shake my head. “Same shit as…last time we talked.” Although, in fairness, I don’t one hundred percent remember that conversation. Just a vague memory of King’s presence. My medical team assures me this isall quite normal for a traumatic brain injury. Allegedly, I should be thrilled that I am ascompos mentisas I am.

Instead, I feel disassociated from my life, who I am, what’s important to me. My memories and aspirations and goals in life are a decade old. I look in the mirror and the person I am bears no resemblance to the person I last remember seeing there.

Lost my shit with my psychologist when I mentioned that my image catches me off guard every time I see myself, and then he insisted on digging in to it with me, which I really didn’t want to do.

I have more ink, more muscle, and more lines around my eyes now. I hope to fuck it’s because I laughed a lot in the last decade.

“Anything coming back to you?” Halo asks.

I fucking hate that question. Well-meaning as my brothers are, it’s usually their first question. I shake my head. “That’s why I didn’t recognize you when I”—I search for the words—“woke up. The hair. The…beard.” Because in my head, the last time I saw Halo, he was on leave from the Navy SEALs. He had a buzz cut, was clean-shaven. The long-haired, bearded man was so unfamiliar.

And King was still a mischievous teen, hanging out with Clutch and me in the garage and the clubhouse yard before Vex had even joined. They hadn’t even gotten their road names back then, and it’s taking me a minute to remember them. Every now and then I need to double-check their cuts to remind me.

“How’s Rae and…?” I seek Halo’s old lady’s name, but it floats away from me.

“Ari,” Halo reminds me.

“Yeah, Ari.”

Halo grins. “Too fucking good for me. Here, she sent you these, just like last week.” He hands me a container that has a bunch of cookies and protein balls and oat bars.

More food. I’m gonna gain fifty pounds while I’m in here.

“You aren’t allowed to bring food in,” says a woman seated nearby. She’s clearly waiting for someone, as she has a handful of expensive-looking gift bags in front of her.

“At twenty-five grand a week, we’ll bring in whatever the fuck we want,” King says.

He’s changed from my last memory of him. He has the confidence of his father, Camelot. Sure and steady. Unyielding. We used to watch our fathers when they were the patched-in members, and we were simply teens who couldn’t fucking wait to live the life. I remember how King used to shadow his dad. Listening. Watching. Learning.

It looks like it paid off.

I wonder if I’ve become the kind of man I aspired to be back then.

“Where’d the club get the money to…?” I swirl my hand in the air. “You know. This.”

Vex leans forward, moving a little closer. “We got it when I was able to?—”

“We have the funds. That’s all you need to worry about,” King says.

“Sorry,” Vex says, as if he’d forgotten something important King had told him. Then he gives me a knowing look, like it’s paining him to not tell me the truth.

I glance at Halo, then King. Neither of them looks straight at me.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask.

King rubs a hand over his jaw. “Just a precaution.”

“A precaution for what?” I ask.

“It’s probably best we don’t share club business with you…for now. While your head’s…fucked. It gives you options.”

“What do you mean it gives…what you said?” My vision begins to waver. A sharp ache begins at my temple. It happens multiple times a day.

I need painkillers. I need an ice pack. I need a dark room and quiet.

King turns squarely to face me. “You could leave the Outlaws. Get your ink lasered, and you are free to go. You don’t remember shit about this club and what we have or haven’t done. You could go down to Florida with your folks. I’d sign off on it.”

Leave the Outlaws?