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  Fuck it.

  I grabbed the glass and downed it in one big gulp. The wine tasted especially strong on my tongue, in part because I’d been sober for sixty days.

  But it also had a certain thrill to it from not having had any recently. It was like getting to be a kid on Christmas day all over again, even if I knew having Christmas every day would soon become a detriment to my life. I poured myself another glass.

  I had plenty of justifications. Like I said, it was Friday night, so I had plenty of time to recover. I just wouldn’t drink on school nights. That still gave me two nights a week to get all of my drinking out when I needed. I wouldn’t drink if I had to drive anywhere that night or before noon the next day.

  This was what I needed. I needed boundaries. I’d tried so long just to control it in the moment, but that had failed me miserably. Now, because I had rules and guidelines in place, I could enjoy alcohol without the consequences!

  You’re so full of shit. It’s almost cute.

  That may have been true, but in a world like this, one had to say a few lies to themselves in order to make it through.

  Chapter 1: Sensei

  I could think of no bigger sign that things were going well at the club than the fact that Trace had swapped out his cigarettes for some Cuban cigars.

  In fact, over the last six months, almost everyone in the club who smoked had switched over to cigars, and even those who didn’t smoke had allowed themselves to enjoy a few puffs. Trace, at the front, set the tone—when he was smoking cigarettes, the club was on edge, almost certainly having something to do with the DMs.

  BK, to my left and Trace’s right, was the quiet one. He didn’t smoke much, and he didn’t drink much, but recently, thanks to a budding relationship with marketing expert Megan, he had gone from quiet to… kind of quiet. He was still quiet, and he still had a weird habit of speaking very curtly, as if he was on a word limit, but he was more open about what he talked about and being around Megan would suddenly make him very talkative.

  To my right was Sword, our treasurer, a man not quite as old as me but mature all the same. To his right, bringing the circle back around, were Mafia and Krispy, two men who truly lived the stereotype of a motorcycle club member as hard men who would do hard tasks. They were the ones who, if they had been president of the club, would have driven everything with violence, retaliation, and preemptive strikes. It was for the best that they were not leaders in the club.

  Then, between Krispy and Trace was Splitter, the sometimes emotional VP. People thought of him as volatile—I just saw a young man who was very emotional in all things he did. I didn’t have a problem with it; if anything, I appreciated someone so honest about their emotions.

  “Well, gentlemen,” Trace began, taking a puff of his cigar. “Let’s take a look at all of the insanity that has happened recently, shall we?”

  A few men chuckled, knowing that what was to follow was… not exactly insane.

  “Number of incidents from the Mercs in the last six months. Zero. Number of outstanding Mercs who haven’t fled the area or been arrested. About five. Club financials. Perfectly healthy. Number of members getting laid in the Saints. Everyone.”

  The officers, including myself, shared a laugh at that. Krispy and Mafia even broke out in applause, much to the joyous laughter of Splitter and Sword. BK and I were content to give a few short laughs at what was said and then sit back, letting the chaos unfold before us.

  BK did so just because that was his personality. He wasn’t going to be the type to get loud and rowdy. The loudest he got was when he was using his weapons to put down someone as the sergeant-in-arms.

  As for me, though, while I definitely appreciated what was transpiring, it mostly just left me a little bit sad. The club had just presumably finished one of the most turbulent periods in its history. The Mercs had become so bloodthirsty with the rise and death of Diablo that even I had wondered if the Saints might get dragged down.

  But no. Instead, the Saints would finally get to live out their lives as Paul had always envisioned—with complete freedom and very few responsibilities. If the United States government promised life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, the Saint had promised sex, alcohol, and the pursuit of open roads.

  It should have all been a wonderful moment, and it was for the other six officers and all of the club members and prospects.

  But for me, it was perhaps the most relevant sign yet that it was time to take a step back from the club and fulfill my role as a father.

  Few people left the club in full, and I would never actually leave it. I wasn’t hanging up my cut—that wouldn’t happen until the day I died, and even then, I would want to be buried with it. I also wasn’t getting rid of my bike, either; if there were a way to embed bikes in a casket, I would have done that to. I would’ve ridden to God or whatever afterlife there was representing the Savage Saints in the most Savage Saints manner possible.

  This lifestyle of attending weekly meetings, though? This lifestyle of coming in six, sometimes even seven days a week, of participating in dangerous runs where people got shot and killed?

  That was losing its luster. The thought that I would retire as an officer to something as an emeritus member definitely crossed my mind. Though, if I did, I probably wouldn’t use the term “emeritus” with the club; I suspect I would have gotten a lot of puzzled looks and questions on if emeritus was some sort of new strand of weed the club hadn’t done.

  “Seems to me like these meetings are getting shorter and shorter by the day!” Krispy said. “Don’t we have anyone to burn?”

  “Such a Krispy statement.”

  Of all people to crack a joke, I never would have guessed it would have been BK. That made the laughter even louder and more boisterous than before; you’d think we’d turned into a damn comedy club from how much laughter was going around.

  “No, Krispy, we do not have anyone to burn,” Trace said, although he wore a grin on his face. “We do, however, actually have work to do besides the car shop. One, we have our summer Memorial Day club BBQ coming up. You all know the drill with it being open to the public, but the prospects don’t, so we have to think about that. Two, this one’s something I’ve been thinking about and would be curious to hear all of your thoughts on. I’d like to open a bar here.”

  “What?” Splitter said, surprised.

  “Hear me out,” Trace said. “Now that things are more peaceful, there’s not as much need for gun runs or anything illegal. We’ve unloaded most of the shit we stole from the Mercs way back when, anyway. Given that, we need to find revenues from the club, and I don’t think the repair shop is going to be that, especially as engineers make their cars better.”

  “Fucking Detroit,” Mafia said, drawing a few chuckles.

  Noticeably, though, I felt very removed from this whole thing. I almost felt like I was going to resign anyway, like I’d already made up my mind. I swore I hadn’t, but the feeling going through me was one of disconnect and dispassion.

  “However, as I think everyone’s livers can attest to here, a bar would draw people in. There’s not really a central bar here in Green Hills anyway, and it could give us the chance to become more connected in the community.”

  “What about right here?” Sword said, motioning toward the bar in the clubhouse. “No extra expenses.”

  But that was a non-starter. Club space was very sacred to the club. The looks on the rest of the club members’ faces said as much, and Sword withdrew the motion. I understood why he said it, as he knew the club’s financial status better than even Trace did, but he could sometimes be too committed to the cause.

  “I was thinking we could take over the barbershop space,” he explained. “It would be small, yes, but the idea would be that we could tear down the space in the back, put a couple of pool tables in, and voila, we can market it as some niche bar that’s special because of its limited spacing.”

  “Interesting,” Splitter said.

 
; A few people bounced around ideas, but I still found myself removed. There was certainly a feeling that I wouldn’t be as involved when the bar finally did become a reality, so—

  “Sensei?”

  I shook my head as I was surprised to hear Trace speak to me.

  “Sorry, yeah?”

  “Thoughts?”

  “I, uh,” I said, realizing I’d been caught not really paying attention. “I’m not necessarily sure that a private, exclusive bar like what you’re saying would endear us to the community. I think a club like us needs to be open and, uh, available for all. We should make sure whatever space we have could be maybe a restaurant by day, or at least some place where kids can go.”

  None of those words had been in my head in the moments before I had actually said them. Nevertheless, Trace and the rest of the officers seemed impressed by what I said. I think that was more a function of my reputation than what I had said, though.

  “We certainly have a lot to think about,” Trace said. “Keep in mind, too, that this wasn’t necessarily something I felt we had to do. Just something for you all to ponder before our next meeting in a week. Then again, those brain cells will be dead by then anyway.”

  More laughter came. It was a remarkable change than from before.

  “Alright, unless someone wants to ruin my day with bad news, I think we’re done. Anyone?”

  No one raised their hand. No one said a word.

  “Alright, you fuckers go have some fun,” Trace said, hitting his gavel on the table.

  But even as everyone else stood, making conversation amongst themselves, I found myself almost glued to the table, like I couldn’t pull myself away. I felt a certain tie to the seat.

  It took me until everyone except Trace had left for me to realize that it was because I needed to tell him what was in my head, even if it was something I hadn’t consciously thought before.

  “Everything all good?” Trace asked.

  For once, Sensei, don’t be above it. Don’t lie and say things are fine so you look wise and above it when you’re actually feeling ambiguous.

  “Well,” I said, hesitating for just a few seconds. “I think right now, the club is doing as well as it ever has, maybe even more so than under Paul’s leadership. And I think that’s a testament to the kind of leadership you’ve given it, Trace.”

  Trace smiled, but he and I both knew that wasn’t the full answer. He puffed on his cigar as he waited for me to say something else.

  “Just not sure there’s room for an old man like me here anymore.”

  That got his attention. He’d gotten midway through another puff when he suddenly stopped, staring at me in complete surprise.

  “The fuck you talking about, Sensei?”

  I felt like I’d given myself the push I needed for gravity to take over. I could now put the rest out there.

  Well, almost the rest.

  “Like I said, Trace, the club is in the best position it’s been in arguably ever. The club needs people like you and Splitter, the young and the vibrant, who can take it to the next level. Your idea of a bar is something I never would have thought of. Me? I’m a relic from Paul’s era. I’m a man whose usefulness is mostly just archives at this point. I don’t think there’s any new energy I can add, and it would do some good for some new blood to come in.”

  Trace took a puff of his cigar, but it looked like the kind of puff that he would have made on a cigarette. I hadn’t meant to cause him this kind of stress, but frankly, it was something that happened to be said.

  “You know, I’m the president here, but you’re my goddamn mentor,” Trace said. “So I may be the one who makes the official decisions, but you know that you’re the one who makes all the action happen.”

  “Oh, stop,” I said with a laugh. “I just make sure you consider everything that needs to be considered.”

  “And you don’t think that’s worth having around?”

  I shook my head.

  “All of you have grown up so much in the last year. Through all the hell you’ve gone through, you know what you need to do now. To be clear, Trace, I’m not leaving the club. I’m still going to remain a member through and through. But give one of the younger guys a shot. Let me blend into the background. I got a beautiful daughter at home who’s going to be in her first high school play this weekend. I don’t want to miss things like that, you know?”

  “I do know,” Trace said. “Damnit, Sensei.”

  We both shared a somber laugh at that.

  “Alyssa is quite the actress, huh?”

  I’d bragged about her more than once around the club, especially on nights when I had a few drinks.

  “She really is,” I said. “I couldn’t be prouder.”

  “Well, I can only hope to be a tenth of the father you are,” he said.

  It took me a second to realize what he meant, and I needed his smile to form for me to pick up on what he was putting down.

  “No shit! Jane?”

  Trace nodded.

  “Found out about a month ago. You’re the first to know, so don’t say anything.”

  “I won’t.”

  “But damnit, Sensei, this is why we need you! You may say I know everything, but there’s a shitload I don’t know.”

  You’re always going to have things you don’t know, Trace. You’ll get to my age and you’ll realize even as a mentor, there are things you don’t know.

  Like whether to confess if there are things you do or don’t know. Right now, seems like the answer is unfortunately straightforward for me.

  “You’ll figure it out,” I said.

  Trace sighed as he put his cigar down, running his hands over his face.

  “You promise you’re not leaving the club, right?” he said. “You know—”

  “No.”

  Leaving the club required the removal of the Savage Saints tattoo we all got on our backs when we joined the club, and aside from how painful and how much that would suck, I couldn’t leave the club for many other reasons.

  “I’m just taking a step back,” I said. “Think of it as promoting someone else and demoting me if that makes you feel better.”

  “It doesn’t!” Trace said with a laugh, followed by a sigh as he got serious. “Look, Sensei. In all seriousness, you’re my mentor in so many ways, so I am never going to force you to do anything. If you want to take a step back, you can take a step back. But promise me two things.”

  “Hmm,” I said.

  “One, don’t make a final decision until tomorrow at least. I want you to sleep on this one more night so you can smack yourself and stay in your role.”

  I politely smiled but smacking myself would probably only make me more aware that I needed to take a step back.

  “Two, if you do decide to remain insane and resign as an officer, would you stay on in some sort of honorary role? That way, you’d be above just a club member, and you’d get the recognition you deserve.”

  I had a feeling that “honorary member” just meant “someone else who has to come to club meetings and can vote.” That was exactly what I was trying to get away from—the constant club commitments, the things that pulled me away from the club.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. “I’m honored you would give me such a thing, even though I don’t deserve—”

  “Oh, shut the hell up,” Trace said with a laugh. “Get out of here and think about it. I’ll accept whatever decision you make. You’ve given so much to this club; you’ve earned the right to take a little vacation if you want.”

  I nodded, stood, shook his hand, and then headed out. Trace didn’t look happy with the decision at all, but that wasn’t something I could concern myself with.

  Tonight, I had my daughter’s first showing of “Our Town” to go to.

  * * *

  I showed up at the school play on my bike but without my cut. I didn’t want to draw any attention away from my daughter, and a father showing up in the cut of the Savage Saints wa
s a guarantee to draw eyes away from the stage and toward me. Even the bike was probably a stretch, but that choice was more practical than anything else; the school was the closest one to our home but even closer to the club and it wouldn’t have made much sense to drive back to the house, grab the car, and then go back to Green Hills High.

  I sat near the front, next to a couple that looked much more put together than I did. I made small talk conversation, referring to myself as a “car shop owner,” my go-to whenever people asked me what I did for a living. The curtain went up, the lights went down, and I was never more grateful for something to focus on other than myself.

  I had never seen “Our Town” before, but I was profoundly touched not just by my daughter’s acting skills but the heavy themes of the play. For a freshman to perform as she did for the audience was nothing short of magical, and I found myself getting emotional watching her. Olivia would be so proud of you. I’m sure she’s got a seat up above, watching right now.

  As soon as the play ended and the students came forward to take their bows, the entire auditorium erupted in cheers. I had never seen a school production get a standing ovation as they had, and it was the kind of thing that made me especially proud to be Alyssa’s father.

  It was just another piece of proof to me that I needed to take a step back from the club.

  Here, in this auditorium, I wasn’t Sensei. I wasn’t a Savage Saint.

  I was just Vance Newhouse, father of Alyssa Newhouse. I kind of liked the name more, anyway. It was time that I started hearing Vance or Mr. Newhouse a little more and Sensei a little less. I wasn’t a master in anything, anyway; I needed to detach from that notion that I was somehow some wise sage who could help anyone.

  The lights came up in the auditorium as I moved to the stage, my hands in my pockets as I waited for my little girl to appear. I saw her talking to some of her friends and took care not to interfere or be that overbearing father. Eventually, she said goodbye to her friends and came over to me.

  “I’m so proud of you,” I said, surprised at how emotional I felt as I leaned in to hug her.