Page 7 of Trip (Sons of Hell MC #11)

Trip

Sons of Hell clubhouse, Christmas day...

I sat at the bar watching all my brothers and their families enjoy the holiday merriment and for the life of me, I just couldn’t bring myself to celebrate.

The thought of getting on a plane tomorrow and flying to New Orleans to step back into a life I walked away from bothered me greatly.

What I really wanted to do was tell Ansel to fuck off, but I couldn’t let that son of a bitch ruin another driver’s career.

Growing up, all I ever wanted was to be a NASCAR driver.

That’s probably because my dad grew up working the circuit.

From a young age, I remembered running around a garage with a wrench in my hand.

The smell of oil, rubber, the adrenaline rush, the excitement of it all sank its hook into me before I started elementary school.

I nursed my whiskey, letting the burn settle deep in my chest, a welcome distraction from the gnawing unease.

Being there, amidst the laughter and joy of the Sons of Hell clubhouse, only made me feel more like an outsider.

These people were my family in name, brothers by oath, but I had buried too much of myself elsewhere to feel truly at home here.

The Christmas lights strung across the room cast a warm glow, mocking the chill that wrapped around my heart. My biker brothers hollered as Cameron unwrapped a tiny leather jacket with the Sons’ emblem stitched on the back. The boy’s eyes sparkled like the lights on the tree.

That same patch used to fill me with pride once.

Now, it just felt like a weight.

“You’re missing the merriment.”

I nodded as Aleksandr, Banks’ older brother and a member of the Russian Bratva, sat down next to me.

Yeah, apparently I missed out on a lot of shit while in my coma. Like discovering that Banks grew up in the witness protection program and had a teenage son. Sugar had killed her ex-husband, and Priest had been married to Scribe’s sister, Phoebe, for damn near ten years now.

Hell, all the brothers were married now, with kids.

I was the odd one out. Looking around the clubhouse I’d called home for years, I almost felt like an outsider.

Even Hawk was gone. It shocked me when Banks told me he’d handed in his cut and returned to Chicago.

Turning to Alek, I nodded and forced a smile. “Yeah, just got a lot on my mind.”

“The past has a way of holding on even after you’ve moved on.”

I smirked. “Seems you know a little bit about that yourself.”

Instead of answering me, he asked, “Why are you not with your sister?”

“She doesn’t like Christmas.”

Alek frowned. “Everyone likes Christmas.”

“Not Lacey.”

“Why not?” Alek asked.

“Long story.”

“I hear you are leaving for New Orleans tomorrow.”

And just like that, my mind drifted back to tomorrow’s flight, to New Orleans, to Ansel.

Damn Ansel.

The man had always been able to twist truths into gilded promises. He had a knack for promising the world while laying snares at your feet. I had learned that the hard way. And now, here I was, about to walk straight into his web again.

But this time, I swore, it wouldn’t be me caught in it.

I finished my drink and stood, the scrape of my chair on the floor causing a few heads to turn.

“I can’t do this,” I muttered, but no one followed.

I made my way out of the clubhouse, the laughter and music fading as I stepped into the cold air, got on my bike and rode out.

Thirty minutes later, I pulled up in front of a cute cookie-cutter home and cut the engine. Getting off my bike, I walked to the door just as it opened.

“Calvin?”

“Hey, Sis.”

“Why are you here?”

I didn’t have to explain myself. My sister knew and stepped aside as I walked into her home.

Unlike the clubhouse, there were no decorations, no Christmas tree.

Hell, there wasn’t even the smell of turkey or ham cooking in the kitchen.

Instead, there was a pizza, a plate of wings, and a six-pack of beer sitting on her coffee table as the television displayed some home improvement show.

Taking a seat on her couch, I snagged a slice of pizza and made myself comfortable.

“Mitch called me yesterday,” she said, closing the door.

I scoffed. “He has a big mouth.”

“You really going back there?”

“Leave tomorrow on a morning flight.”

My sister sighed, settling into the armchair opposite me. “You’re chasing ghosts again, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t a question, more an observation—a truth she knew too well. I bit into the slice of pizza, savoring the greasy comfort as I mulled over her words.

Nothing had been the same for either of us since our parents died.

I left the circuit, while Lacey closed herself off and shut everyone out.

When my accident happened and I walked away from the only thing I had left, I thought by coming home to Rosewood that Lacey and I could reconnect, maybe form a new family of sorts, but that never really happened.

Then I joined the Sons of Hell and, well, we just grew further apart.

“You know why I have to,” I finally replied, my voice steady, though my hands itched for the grip of a wheel. “This isn’t just about me.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms. “It never is with you. But don’t pretend you’re not dragging your own baggage along for the ride.”

I could only shrug.

She wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t staying to unpack it either. The silence stretched, broken only by the television’s chatter about renovations.

After a while, I stood, unable to handle the silence anymore. Her gaze softened, a rare moment of vulnerability breaking through her tough exterior.

“Calvin,” she called as I walked to the door.

I turned back, meeting her eyes.

“Don’t lose yourself on the track. It won’t bring them back.”

“I’ve been lost for years, Sis,” I said, stepping into the numbing cold once more and wondering if I would ever find my way home again.