Juice was sitting at the bar. Placing his elbows on the counter, he leaned on the shiny wood staring into a glass of scotch. Now and then the amber drink seemed to take on a deep red color as if drops of blood had fallen in. But as soon as he blinked, it was gone.
He felt like shit.
That morning he had regained his freedom after fourteen long months inside and that same night he had killed someone, for the first time in his life.
Of course, he had been involved in a number of shootings before and he had even seen people die. But he'd never been the one to fire that deadly bullet. And now all he could think of, was that Russian; an hour ago he had looked into the guy, hoping to ease his mind, but it only resulted in the opposite. The man he shot left behind a wife and two kids, sixteen and twenty-three years old.
He took another sip of the sharp drink. His heart pounded heavily in his chest, and his thoughts followed the burning whiskey as it glided down his esophagus. It was quiet in the clubhouse, most of his brothers had found a girl to enjoy themselves with for the night. Maybe he should have gotten one too, but his brain was restless and he was having a hard time focusing on anything.
From the corner of his eyes, he noticed a movement. At first, he thought it was one of the Croweaters who wanted to cheer him up – even though most of them knew by now that he wanted to be left alone – but to his surprise, he recognized the new prospect coming towards him.
"Are you okay?" the boy asked.
Juice tried to remember his name. Shane, right? Even the most simple question felt like an unsolvable puzzle.
Juice wanted to blow him off with a simple "fine", but the genuine look in Shane's eyes kept him from doing so. He was weird, the new prospect, with his emo hair and lip piercing. Juice didn't know what to make of him. More than once that guy had surprised him today. His clumsiness reminded him of his own prospect period and even though he was quiet, he'd stood up for himself during dinner, when Miles was clearly annoying him.
Juice shrugged his shoulders eventually. "Rough night."
"Retaliation?"
Juice looked at him before nodding. "Yeah."
Shane asked the Croweater behind the bar for a glass of scotch as well and sat down on a barstool next to him. Juice didn't know if he was happy about it or not. Usually, his brothers just patted his shoulder and left him alone when he distanced himself from them.
"I'm a good listener," Shane said after a while. "If you need one. Dunno if that's what you guys normally do, though."
If something was really bothering him, Juice could always go to Chibs. It had been that way since the man had been his sponsor, and it had never changed. Since his time as a prospect, Chibs had felt like some sort of father to him, more than a friend. And even though he considered all his brothers as close friends, he'd sometimes wished that he had a friend that was closer to him than anyone else. Just like Jax and Opie, whose friendship seemed unbreakable.
He shook his head to get rid of the thought. That was bullshit. As if Shane would suddenly become his best friend, just because he offered a listening ear. It was a pathetic thought, and he was glad no one could hear it.
Juice took another swig and studied Shane's face. He had a somewhat pale skin that didn't show the slightest hint of facial hair and intelligent greenish-brown eyes. It was the friendly and patient look on his face that convinced him to take his offer. What harm could it do? He'd seen Shane cry during the wedding, so he couldn't call him a pussy.
"It was a mess." Juice took a deep breath and admitted: "I've never killed someone before."
"And now that's all you see? You can't stop thinking about those who've lost their father or their husband?"
Juice stared at the boy, stunned that he summarized his thoughts so easily. "Sounds familiar?"
Shane looked away, suddenly looking nervous and sipping his scotch. Juice got the impression he wasn't much of a drinker. As if he needed another moment to gather his courage, he lit a cigarette and offered Juice one too.
"I killed a cop when I was fourteen."
"Holy shit." Juice lowered his hand in disbelief, the cigarette that had been on its way to his mouth forgotten. "You really did?"
Shane nodded, taking a hit of his cigarette. "Yeah. My mom was drunk and called the cops, told them there was an intruder in the house. Then she forgot about it and passed out in her bed. The police however thought she was serious and entered the house. It was in the middle of the night and I heard someone on the stairs, thought it was a burglar, and when I saw the man going into my little brother's room, I shot him in the back."
"Shit man..." Juice wondered why there had been a gun in his room in the first place, but before he could ask a question, Shane continued.
"Yeah. I blamed my mom – I still do. But that man... he had a family. A wife, kids..." He sighed. "But, it was a hazard of his profession." He looked at Juice again. "And that goes for the Russians too. They deserved it, Juice. They've chosen this path to earn their money." He twisted his glass between his hands and stared at the contents. "Just like us. Somebody had to pull that trigger. That's the way it is, in war. Smaller scale, maybe, but that's what this is."
Juice nodded slowly, taking in the words. Of course Shane was right. His brothers probably thought about it the same way, but still, he was glad the prospect made an effort to say it out loud to him. "Thanks," he said genuinely.
Shane smiled at him and held his glance for a moment. Then he suddenly turned away his face and stared at his glass again.
Juice let the Croweater refill his glass and put out his cigarette. Suddenly he felt a little uncomfortable. Should he say something? Ask something? Walk away? Usually, he never would have thought about such things, but it had been a nice talk with much more depth than whatever conversations he usually had in the middle of the night.
"You were crying at the wedding," he said after a while. "And it didn't look like it was because you felt so happy for Opie and Lyla."
Shane didn't look up immediately. His thumb stroked across a tattoo on his arm, a set of dog tags; one with the date 04/09/11 on it and one with no date.
"My little brother died two years ago." He looked up. Juice read the pain in his eyes and felt a lump in his throat. "I could only think of the fact he would never get the chance to stand there."
"Shit man."
Juice wished he knew comforting words. Shane had brought some peace to his mind and he wanted to return the favor, but what the hell was he supposed to say?
"What happened?"
"Wrong time, wrong place," Shane muttered. The boy pressed his lips together and Juice felt like shit for bringing up the subject. "Bullet in his head. Killed him instantly." He took a few deep breaths and turned his gaze away. "Sorry. I need some air."
"Yeah. Sure man."
After Shane walked away, Juice kept sitting at the bar for a few seconds. Something encouraged him however to go after his new brother, and he sat down next to him at the picnic table. Hesitating, he put an arm around his shoulders. He felt nothing but respect for Shane, he dared to be vulnerable around one of his brothers, especially after Miles' nasty comments earlier on.
The gesture seemed to help Shane a little to compose himself. He briefly wiped his eyes and straightened his shoulders. "Sorry," he muttered.
"Are you kiddin'?" Juice answered. "This is heavy shit, bro. You two were close?"
Shane nodded, staring at his boots. "Yeah. He was my best friend."