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understood that.
    But it didn’t mean the cause could justify a stupid action. I was starting to understand just where that train of thinking had landed my old crew in the two years I’d been away.
    When I’d left the Storm’s Soldiers MC, the whole gun-running operations was in shambles. Our only client, the big Cartel operation in Atlanta, was gouging us on prices. As a result, our suppliers at the army base had dropped out. They hadn’t been in it on principle, just for a cut of the spoils.
    I’d enlisted with the aim to get back to McPherson on the inside and pick up where we left off. The odds were low. The risks were high and numerous - disability, death, torture by a foreign enemy I had little quarrel with.
    I needed an exemplary service record to get back here, so I performed. Not for the money but for the cause. The Soldiers were supposed to find more buyers.
    Instead, they turned to dealing meth. The Cartel didn’t like competition.
    Homer tried to justify it all with money. The bodies, the police attention, the vileness of dealing drugs. He’d even won over my father. But it was not the thing I’d signed up for.
    I would not help, but I would never turn them over either. I would protect the cause as I always had.
    I just didn’t know to what ends anymore.
    I tested my leg again after breakfast. The knife blade had shrunk to a stiletto. I popped a pill and turned tentatively over the edge of the bed. My legs dangled like puppets after just days of disuse. I’d have to be careful.
    I eased myself onto the floor, good leg, then bad. I shuffled through a few steps, equalizing the weight with each move. The room swayed under my pill haze, but the pain stayed dull. This would be fine as long as I stayed on desk duty.
    My clothes lay nearby. I had just finished dressing when footsteps shuffled to a stop nearby.
    “What in the hell are you doing?”
    Rosa stood at the door, dressed in a moss green gown. Her dark hair was held back in a slick ponytail. She was panting as if she’d run over from some procedure.
    Even seeing like this made it hard to leave. It was good I couldn’t remember my dreams.
    “I’m going to go,” I said.
    “You were shot just two days ago. You’re nowhere near ready to go.”
    She gripped the sides of the door, her face prickling with irritation. She looked like a sweet dark cactus, firmly rooted. I wondered whether I could lift her out of the way.
    Then I wondered if I would be able to set her back down.
    “I shot myself,” I said quickly. “It was minor. Get someone to discharge me.”
    “Mr. Black, you are not recovered.”
    “Bring the doctor,” I said. “Do I need to call a different nurse?”
    Her anger collapsed like a paper structure. She looked afraid and wounded.
    I couldn’t stand the sight. I couldn’t stand having caused the sight. I had the apology on my lips before I caught myself.
    This was why I didn’t want meds.
    “Why won’t you let me help you?” Rosa said.
    “You’re not going to fix me,” I said. “That’s my body’s job. I’d rather pass the time somewhere other than here.”
    Her mood darkened. I remembered yesterday. What was this about? It ran deeper than just the death of her father. I wanted to know.
    “Do you need more help with that doctor?” I asked. “I can talk with him.”
    “No! That’s not necessary.”
    “So you’ll be fine without me.”
    “I’ll manage. Yesterday was…fun. But it’s not a good long term plan.”
    She was smiling faintly though, lost in memory.
    “I would have done a better job if I wasn’t bedridden,” I said. “Or if I was somewhere less public.”
    “No no no.” But she let out a tiny laugh. It sounded like wind chimes on a cool day.
    I watched her mouth move mischievously. She had a sharp chin, a dainty thing that showed clear in good moods. Her eyes were just as sharp, her whole body seemed to be lit up from some unknowable energy.
    Fierce, intelligent and caring. It was a rare trio.