Filed to story: Cora and Gunner MC Story Book PDF Free
A quick shower to try and clear my head and wake me up, trying to put in some sort of order what I was to do today.
I started the day packing. There wasn’t much. I had been keeping things minimal, hoping to move soon. Well, I am moving, but not where I had thought I would be going. I chuckled at what sounded like a dead sound at my stupidity and blindness. Of all the time, I found them together. Not once did I suspect anything. I feel so naive.
Three suitcases of clothes and personal items, a briefcase of documents that I need, some money, a phone charger, and a laptop computer. I used the shredder and shredded every photo I had of the two of us, as well as those that included my ex-best friend and stepbrother. I kept the family photo, as tempting as it was to cut my stepbrother out, but changed my mind, and I left him in it. For now. Crying as I did it.
I threw everything of his that he had left here over time into the bin, and a few items from my ex-best friend. I think that she was the one who had hurt me the most. I trusted her. Been there for her when her relationship fell apart, and she was stabbing me in the back, this whole time, with my man.
Walked through the apartment, not that there was much to walk through, ensuring there was nothing left behind. I gave the young single mother all my food and let her take whatever she wanted or needed. The poor girl needed all the help she could get, even took some of the clothes I had here to Sally-Anne, before throwing the rest away. Bedding, towels, kitchen stuff, all of it, what she didn’t want, furniture-wise, I left in the apartment.
The bond wasn’t that much, and it wouldn’t hurt me not to get it back. I had plenty of money, thanks to my mother’s will. Which annoyed my dad that I was left so much, and pissed off my new stepmother, because she thought Dad had more money than he did. When he kicked me out of the home, I made sure he paid me half of the home’s market value, and I had three appraisals before we settled. Mother’s life insurance went to me, along with all her jewellery, the balance in her personal bank account, half of the balance in a shared bank account, shares in something, and shares in Dad’s business, which I still have; he didn’t buy me out, and I receive a nice dividend for doing nothing. Only the house got settled between us. What I received from Mum didn’t bother him too much until he remarried, and she wanted to spend it; his new wife was pissed off because she couldn’t get her hands on it, a little gold digger that dug the wrong hole. Haha ha, it only made me laugh all the more inside when I saw her seething over her miscalculation of his wealth.
This was part of why Dad hated me, maybe did not hate me, dismissed me, and gave his all to his new stepson, me being the only child from his first marriage, and Dad wanting a boy. Yeah, you can guess the rest; he didn’t get much from Mum’s death. A second life insurance policy, a boat, a country cottage, and a coin collection. He wanted it all, but the will was airtight, and it cost him a lot before he quit trying to get more. His new wife started everything up again, but in a different way, to try to get money out of me. Everything was locked up tight, and they couldn’t get a cent out of me. I had a different lawyer and accountant from Dad’s; it was the one Mum used for her personal stuff, not the one Dad used for business or personal stuff. That accountant was too chummy and close with Dad. Mum used to warn me not to let anyone get their hands on what’s mine, keep everything separate, even in marriage, because not all marriages last forever.
“Hello Jim, here are the keys. I won’t be renewing the lease.” I handed over the keys to Jim, my landlord. The nice man never gave me any problems and fixed things fast when something broke.
“Thought you might be leaving, moving in with that boyfriend of yours?” He wiggled his eyebrows; the sight almost had me chuckling. He was bad at it.
“Nope, he has another girlfriend. I am heading to a new town. Thanks again.” Not wanting to give him too much information. He looked shocked, and it took a moment to gather his thoughts, which gave me enough time for me to wave goodbye and duck out the door.
At the local service station, I topped up the tank, checked the air pressure, grabbed drinks and snacks, and checked my phone. A message from Jake, telling me to have a good night’s sleep, and that he missed me. Yeah, right, as if I would ever believe that line ever again.
I hit the road, a three-day drive, and I was more than ready to start it. Radio on full, to drown out my thoughts, that I don’t want to address right now. The first song was one I knew, and I sang out loud, as I tried to push my body to come awake and not be too lethargic. Lack of sleep can do that, and the long drive might not be a good idea, being a mess like this, but I couldn’t stay, not near them.
But my mind has its own ideas, and soon a song came on, one that reminded me of good times. I sang and tried to think of the good times, but as I said, the mind had other thoughts. Soon, I was analysing everything, even touch, every word, every laugh, when the four of us were together, and slowly, as the vehicle ate up the miles on the road, I picked a moment about six months ago, when things started to change.
Not a lot at first.
My ex-girlfriend was around more, even when I wasn’t home. I never thought anything bad about it at the time.
They’d sat together, the three of them, with Sally-Anne in the middle, their legs touching. She would giggle at things that were said, and I had no clue what they were talking about. They went out together while I was working, and still, I was stupid enough not to pick up that there was more to it. I thought she was chasing my brother, and I was okay with that. Never did, I guess, she wanted them both.
I must shut down those thoughts and fast, or I would be pulling over to throw up the little toast I managed to eat for breakfast. I know as a nurse I have to keep eating and drinking. As much as I want to stay positive, the thoughts of them drag me down.
The next town’s signpost arrived, it was a little after one, and I decided to grab something to eat after I topped up the tank.
I pulled into a quaint little roadside truck stop, and there was soft music playing, and the smell of good food. As much as the food smelled good, I ordered the soup of the day and a bread roll, still not trusting my stomach to hold anything down. After the tasty beef broth, I visited the bathroom, which was clean and smelled like lavender. This stop was a nice place. I can see why the car park was full of trucks. They had good food, a happy server, and clean toilets. What more could you ask for?
The soup stayed down, and I changed from listening to the radio to my own play choice, one that didn’t have bad memories, and that was how my next two days went. Eat, drive till I am exhausted, stay in the first hotel I come to, shower, change, eat a small, light breakfast, and drive on again. Sleep was better on the second night, and today, late in the afternoon, I should have reached my new home.
I was more optimistic today. I had my phone set to vibrate the whole trip and refused to check it until I was ready. No doubt, by now, they would know I was no longer living in the apartment.
A group of bikers rode by, or should I say low-flying by. They zoomed by at speeds I had never been game to go; I was more conservative, call me a scaredy-cat, but that was me. I have been in a car that went fast when I wasn’t driving, but I’ve never had the nerve to go at breakneck speed. I guess I have dealt with so many road victims and seen the results of speed.
Cora POV
So far, the day had been going great, as more and more bikers rode by, and I loved to watch them, moving like a long snake, flowing fluidly down the road. A few more bikes rode by about ten minutes later, then a few more, another twenty minutes. That was a lot of bikes. I wonder if they are on a charity ride or one of those chase-the-Ace bits of fun. I had a friend who loved going to bike rallies.
I loved the sound the engines made, and it made my chest vibrate. I had the window down, and the sound filled my jeep, louder than the music that was still on. Seeing these bikes perked me up; feeling a lot better than when I got up this morning, I was starting to feel hungry. This was a good sign.
At the next stop, I pulled over, topped up, and sat in the cafe to eat some lunch. I tried a burger and fries with a pot of tea. My whole outlook was better today. I still hadn’t checked my phone, afraid to see what lies they might have concocted. But that can wait until I am settled in my new home and can relax, rather than get upset while still on the road.
Several bikes pulled up, fueled up, and grabbed some food. They were polite, and one actually held the door open for a woman with a child on her hip. She thanked him. It was nice to see that not all the stories I heard were bad. They paint the bikers as bad people, but from what I have witnessed so far, they are just as human as the rest of us. They live by their code, whatever that is, and not all clubs are bad; a few bad ones give the whole bunch a bad name.
Back on the road, I turned on the radio, sick of my playlist repeating, and, wanting something different, chose a rock-and-roll station. My mood was improving with each mile closer to my new home. The songs were ones I knew, and when ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine came on, I sang my heart out. I loved that song, straight after was ‘Patience’, and I was almost in tears. As I listened to the words, all I needed was a little patience, and to me, that meant I didn’t need to run from what had happened, but embrace it, and let time heal me. I need a little patience. I got it; the song might not have meant that, but my mind twisted it into something I needed and gave me peace.
Just as I reached this thought, a single bike flew by, not as fast as the others, the rider looking around as he rode. I wondered what he was looking for.
Suddenly, his bike went all over the road, like he was having trouble keeping it under control. I slowed down and waited to find out how he fared. His bike flipped him off, and he went one way, and the bike went down into a ditch. I pulled up close to him and grabbed my medical kit, which I carried everywhere. As a nurse, my kit contained a bit more than a standard first-aid kit.
He was sitting up, complaining about his broken bike. The man looked like he was talking or yelling at no one and telling them to come and fast. He was yelling about the tyre being shot out, and where he was. To get here fast, and be careful, the shooter was still around.
I waited till he was no longer yelling. Wondering what I got myself into.
“You, okay? I am a nurse, let me help you.” He stared at me, as if he didn’t believe what he was looking at, his eyes taking me in from head to toe and lingering on my chest. I looked down at my chest and jeans, then back to him. No buttons were undone. What’s his problem?
“My shoulder, I think it’s dislocated,” he finally said. I moved forward with instinct and helped him remove his helmet, which he had been fighting with the strap under his chin, using one hand; the other was limp, resting on his lap. He threw his lid to one side, and he let me unzip his jacket. He was wearing a cut that said ‘Gunner, enforcer.’ I know a little about bike clubs, so I think it was like a bouncer at a nightclub, or something like that; it meant he could give as good as he got and not get on the wrong side of him.
I looked at his shoulder. It was all out of shape; I’ve seen this shoulder shape many times in footballers. It was dislocated. That’s got to be hurting.
