The Life of a Biker's Daughter

Reunited And It's Not So Good

I groan, rolling over to see what time it is.  A loud noise had woken me up minutes prior, and I am finding it hard to believe I have slept more than an hour.  

My stomach surges in pain; the hydros I took last night, before the drive here, have completely worn off.  Sitting up, I lift the SAMCRO shirt up to see my bandages are still in place and there are no blood stains.  That's a good sign; my stitches held.

Six in the morning already?  Already, how?  Throwing the warm covers off of me,  I force myself out of bed.  Four hours of sleep will have to do.  I quickly throw my long, ash-brown hair in a messy bun, put a pair of tiny blacks sliders on, and walk out of the back apartment.  The smell of coffee hovers in the air as I make my way towards the bar.  There, fiddling with the coffee machine is a woman I have missed dearly.

"Wanna make me a cup while you're at it, Gem?" I ask, the corners of my lips turning into a smile.

Gemma jumps at the sound of my voice, dropping the coffee mug she has in her hand.  "Son of a bitch,"  she shouts, the glass mug breaking against the floor.

I bit my bottom lip, to keep from laughing at her.  She turns around and looks at me like she has seen a ghost.  

"Don't tell me you have forgotten me?  It has only been four years," I tease.  I walk over to her, with my arms open.  I expect a hug from the woman I am closer to than my mother.

"With all the stunts you have pulled over the years, I don't think it would be possible to forget you.  Get over here baby girl." Gemma commands, with her hands on her hips.  

She steps over the glass and walks toward me.  There's the Gemma I know.  The woman who comes to work in a leather jacket, nice jeans, and black boots every day; despite the fact she works behind the desk at an auto repair shop.  She doesn't take anyone's shit, and all the men here respect her.  Gemma is the ideal image of an old lady.

I wrap my arms around her tightly, ignoring the stabbing pain in my abdomen.  "How long are you here for?" Gemma pulls away and bends down to start picking up the shards of glass.

"I am thinking forever," I tell her, helping to scoop up the last few pieces of glass.  At this point, searing pain is cutting through me.  Considering I had just gotten stitched up hours before driving here, bending down wasn't something I should probably be doing.

"Forever huh? I am sure my boys were happy to hear that." Gemma stands up throwing the glass pieces in the trash behind the bar.  She turns back to me and sticks out her hands for the glass I am holding.

"Yeah.... they don't know yet.  No one knows I am here, well except you."  I mumble, taking a seat on one of the bar stools.  Gemma laughs under her breath while pouring coffee into two mugs she took out from a cabinet behind the bar.

"You, sweetheart, have not changed one bit.  Coming and going without saying a word to anyone, doing whatever that pretty little head of yours wants to do."  She slides a steaming hot cup of coffee my way, with a smile on her face. 

I can't say I have changed, that would be a big fat lie.  To me, life is all about living right then and thinking it over later.  Sure that motto has gotten me in trouble more times than I can count, but no one can ever say Casey Winston led a boring life. 

"You know me, Gemma, living for the now and not regretting it later," I wink, "I am going to grab some creamer from the fridge in the back, want any?" 

I jump to the floor and start heading to the kitchen.  "Honey, you need to learn to drink it black.  That is how coffee is supposed to be."

I turn to face her, cocking one eyebrow. "Just because that's-"