Bad News

Zak POV: Watching from my room as Flames stands beside my bike, scribbling a note before tucking it in my seat, confusion tickles my mind. She was fiercly independent, clearly struggling to accept help yet understandably so. From what i knew she had had a tough life, experiencing the losses that she had such as her mother must have had a profound impact in her trust of others. “What was she writing?” Logan asks with interest as we watch her follow Cleo through the main door into the clubhouse. Shrugging I stay silent before he lets out a small chuckle, “if thats her number dude you need to teach me your ways.” “It wont be her number” I tell him. “probably just a thank you for returning her keys.” Thinking back to the short interaction id had with her in the diner, i remember the way her features softened when she learnt of my mothers illness. Her friend Cleo has always admired me from a distance, she thinks i havent noticed her lingering looks or little comments, but i have. Growing up I'd never acted upon anything, out of politeness for Leo but also my own decision to never go near girls from the glub. A decision I’d stuck to until my own drunken mistake with Tanya the other night, one I had a feeling I would regret for a long time. “Ah when she did a runner” Logan says as he wanders over to the chair at my desk, flopping his large body down, the chair protesting with a creak as he does. “Yup” I mutter, moving to my bed and flopping down. My mood sour after my mother’s appointment. “Not good?” Logan asks knowingly, his voice heavy with concern. Shaking my head I let out a deep sigh, the image of my mums tear filled eyes coming to the forefront of my mind. “Nah, 2 months...max” I manage to get out, my voice gruff as my heart feels heavy. “s**t” Logan sighs, his head falling back in disbelief. We sit there in silence for a few more moments, Logan being like a brother to me growing up, another son that my mother spoilt and cared for, the news hits him just as hard. “f*****g cancer.” he growls as he slams his fist on my desk, his anger as palpable as mine had been when I’d stormed from the clinic. “She’s fought as hard as she could” I tell him quietly. “I know man, I know” he whispers in understanding. “The world can be a cruel place.” Nodding as memories of a broken Logan filters through my grief-stricken mind, I remember the tear-stained face of his when i first met him. Losing both his parents in a biker shoot out meant he had needed support, and the club had been there. My mother took him in, but the bikers were who strengthened him, made him into the strong man he was today, one i was proud to call brother. Yet Logan kept his head straight, he knew not to step over the line in anything our club became entangled in, he worked hard and partied hard, and everyone knew he was someone that could be relied upon. “If I can get through it, so can you” Logan offers as if knowing where my mind had wandered to. Sighing, I swing my muscular body to an upright position, the glinting of my bike catching my eye, intrigue at what Nadia had written making my leg jiggle. “You going to find out?” Logan asks, his eyes following mine. Chuckling, I roll my shoulders trying to loosen the built up tension that was lying in them before smoothly standing. Not wanting any weakness to show. “Best had” I smirk heading to the door, Logans large frame quickly moving to follow me. As Logan and I make our way downstairs, the air in the clubhouse feels thick with tension. The usual hum of bikers and music fades into the background as the sound of raised voices draws us in. We step into the main room, and there she is—Flames, her face flushed with anger, standing toe-to-toe with her father. The argument is heated, words flying between them like sparks from a fire. Her father, a formidable presence, gestures wildly, his voice echoing off the walls, resonating with authority. "You know nothing about me” Flames suddenly whispers, her suddenly chilled voice making her seem more dangerous than the shouting seconds ago, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and hurt. "I have my own life, my own choices to make, and you are no family of mine.” Her father remains unmoved, his jaw set tight with frustration. Flames’ eyes blaze with defiance, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "You should have known better when I first came to you years ago!" Her words hang heavy in the air, a reminder of past grievances and unheeded warnings. Seeing other club members eyes narrow in confusion, I quietly wonder what exactly did happen. “You don’t know anything about my life and you don’t deserve to.” The room goes silent, every eye fixed on the confrontation. The usual camaraderie of the place feels overshadowed by this personal conflict, the air charged with emotions unspoken for too long. Logan and I exchange a glance, the weight of the scene pressing down on us. I feel a mix of admiration for Flames' spirit and sympathy for the turmoil she's clearly facing. The bikers, who usually carry an air of indifference or camaraderie, are now silent spectators, their expressions a mix of curiosity and unease, aware that this is not just another clubhouse spat. Flames’ eyes catch mine for a brief moment, and I see a flicker of something—maybe defiance, maybe vulnerability. It’s enough to make me pause, to wonder how much more there is to her story, how deep the scars run. I sense we touched only the tip of the ice berg the other night. Logan nudges me, his expression a mix of amusement and caution. "What does she mean?” he murmurs. I shrug, feeling the tension in my shoulders still strong. "I think we will find out.” With a final glare at her father, Flames turns sharply and storms off towards Leo’s office, leaving a trail of tension in her wake. The clubhouse, usually a haven of noise and laughter, feels different now—electric with emotion, charged with the intensity of a daughter fighting for her autonomy and respect. I decide to head outside, curiosity about the note getting the better of me. As I reach my bike, I find the slip of paper tucked under the seat. I unfold it, eager to see what Flames has written, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and intrigue, wondering how this small piece of paper might connect us in ways unforeseen. “It is her number” I tell Logan in wonder. “Seriously?” He laughs, his eyes moving back to the club house. “Well good luck man, I think you might need it.”