Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
All I can do is swallow down his statement with both bitterness and loss. I always knew eventually I’d take over my dad’s place in the MC. Years and years and years from now when my pops was gray haired and didn’t want to do it anymore.
Life’s a bitch.
For the second time today, I miss my father. If I closed my eyes right now, I could see him sitting there in place of my best friend. He sat in that seat nearly all my life.
My throat is so tight, I can’t even offer an opinion. I haven’t been back long enough to know which path is the right way forward. I haven’t been out long enough to know what I want to do with myself, let alone make a decision that would affect the club.
“You’ll vote with me on Sunday?” Reed questions nervously and I don’t hesitate to nod in agreement.
“Yeah,” I answer, my tone reflecting my apprehension given everything that’s changed.
“Sorry, man … it’s mostly good.” Reed shakes off the tension and relaxes his shoulders as he changes the subject. “You looking forward to seeing everyone?”
The coffee hasn’t cured my hangover yet and I don’t want to answer questions about prison. Many of the guys in the MC have been in jail for one thing or another, but I’m the most recent, the youngest … and I took the fall when any of them could have done it instead.
The more I think about it, the angrier I get.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and tell him, “It’s good to be home, I just … need a moment to get reacquainted I guess.”
I took the fall for the raid, and they’ve been careful since then. It makes me bitter to think about it. If Kat’s dad hadn’t fucked around the way he did four years ago, I wouldn’t have lost her, I wouldn’t have gone away and I would have been here when my pops’s health started going south.
Leaning back, I settle on something that brings a smile to both of us. “I’m looking forward to working on my bike,” I say.
“Working on her?” He grins and tells me, “I fixed her up so she’s practically brand new.”
I chuckle, nodding my gratitude.
My mind wanders to Kat. Thinking she’s all sorts of new to me too.
New and apparently off-limits. Or so she thinks.
Even if I can’t touch her, I want to be in that house. Wanting that soft bed with her scent on it. In prison I had to sit with all these feelings. There was literally nothing else to do. I could try to jog them out in the exercise yard, but I was in my cell most of the day. You learn to deal with the waves of rage. Some guys do, anyway. Other guys go crazy in there. Who knows? Maybe I was one of them.
Reed eventually does some work on the computer. He makes a few calls. My uncle comes in and the three of us have a conversation that feels like it goes on forever, but only lasts about fifteen minutes. I’m getting back to life in the club. This is life in the club.
The garage is where I lose most of my time, remembering what could have been.
Working with metal and surrounded by the nostalgic smell of oil, the feel of labor bringing a burn to my muscles forces the time to tick by. For the first time since I’ve been out, there’s a moment of peace and ease. And naturally … my mind wanders back to her.
It always comes back to her.
It’s not until I climb into Reed’s truck, and he gets in behind the wheel that he brings her up. “You two …? What’s going on there?”
“I haven’t spoken to her in a year,” I tell him. He’s busy nodding his head while I admit, “But I want her back. I want us back.”
I keep my last thought unspoken as he turns over the engine: I need her back. If I have her, everything else will be right again. I fucking know it will.
I’ll make it right. I’ll make her love me again.
Kat
Lydia leans against my kitchen counter and looks out the window into the yard. Her takeout container is open on the countertop next to her and she pokes her fork into it, then scoops out another minuscule bite. “I’m going to miss this.”
“This restaurant is only good about half the time,” I joke, downplaying her somber mood.
“I’m going to miss you, Kat.”
She rolls her eyes at me and laughs, but I know the emotion behind her words is real. Realer than most things in my life, anyway. Some things turned out to be cruel jokes and I didn’t know until after the fact. C’est la vie, I suppose.
“I’m happy for you. I truly am.” I snag a wonton and add, “But I’m going to miss you like crazy.” I can’t even look her in the eye as I say it. Just in case some part of me decides to get weepy.