Chapter 2
SILVER
My eyes ache from staring at the numbers for so long.
I drop the pen and use my fingers to massage my temple. It’s been two hours that I’ve been trying to make these damn numbers work, and I’ve hit my limit. We’ve wound up short again this month.
Unsurprising but still disappointing.
Still a sign we’ve got our work cut out for us.
The club has had its high and low points over the years. After being a member for damn near thirty years—and living in this town for a lot longer than that—it’s nothing new. We’ve gone through cycles of great prosperity and others where things were tight.
But in the past, there was usually a reason. A current conflict going on with the Hellrazors or some kind of complication with the law. The transition period from old leadership to new, where they needed some time to gain their footing.
That was the case after Tom was sent away for fifteen years.
The club was rudderless. I was in the thick of my divorce with Rachel, figuring out how to navigate things when our lives had been so deeply intertwined for almost two decades.
Mace was still grieving the perceived loss of his brother and adjusting to his role as Road Captain, absolutely not ready to take over the whole club for his father.
It was a rough time for everyone.
But this latest period seems to be lasting longer than usual. We need to bring in more money, which means we might need to return to some of our old ways. Back when we had no rules and even fewer scruples and nothing was off the table if it meant we could profit from it.
I sigh and decide it’s time to take a step back from crunching numbers.
Elsewhere in the saloon, everybody’s loud and wild. Bush has put together a watch party for the latest NFL game. The Superbowl’s coming up, and this game will decide the other team that gets to play.
I don’t even need to step outside of the office to know that Big Eddie’s yelling at the Falcons. Others like Tito and Ozzie are rooting for the 49ers.
Normally, I’d be out there too, having a beer and enjoying the game. But being prez comes with certain responsibilities. It’s not all perks and glory.
It’s a lot of hard work. A lot of pressure making sure everything runs like a well-oiled machine. People look to you for things. They expect leadership. Answers to questions they ask and problems they have.
You have to maintain a certain level of strength and confidence, otherwise you lose people. Your club loses its influence and dominance.
I grew up admiring the culture. I didn’t have a father in the club like some guys—I didn’t have a father at all growing up—but I was best friends with the kids who did have Steel Kings for dads. From the time I could ride a bicycle, I was imagining it was a motorcycle and I was a Steel King myself.
When I was finally old enough, it became my whole world. The thing I devoted my life to.
Everything else came second. That included my marriage and family…
There’s a knock on the office door. I’ve gotten up from the desk to give my eyes a break, peering out the window at the street outside. The lot’s full of bikes. Even the curb is lined with them, telling me we really do got a full house tonight.
Almost everybody’s here for the watch party.
“Come in.”
The door cracks open, and Cash slips inside.
“How’s the game?” I ask.
“Falcons are getting murdered. Ed’s about to break into tears.”
I cut him a sideways grin. “He’ll survive. It’s been decades since they’ve even made it this far.”
He laughs. “Tell him that. But I’m here to tell you something. You’ve got a visitor.”
“This better not be some prank to get me onto the floor to watch the game.”
“Pretty sure you’ll want to talk with this person in the office. Privately.”
It’s all Cash says before he draws the door open wider, and I recognize the ginger in a long, woolly cardigan.
Rachel mutters a thank you to Cash and then crosses the threshold into the room, clutching her large sack of a purse like she hasn’t been here a thousand times before.
She was once an old lady. Once helped put together events for the club.
There’s a moment of tense, uncertain silence between us once Cash closes the door and we’re left alone.
In the aftermath of our divorce, it’s what we’ve become. Strangers who no longer know how to act around each other.
The girl I fell in love with when I was twenty-one, who smelled like vanilla and tasted like cherry ChapStick, vanished a long time ago.
A part of me will always love Rachel. She was my wife for over twenty years. She’ll always be the mother of my children. There’s a certain level of care and protection that I’ll always afford her.
But there’s no going back. I can’t look at her without thinking about the afternoon I fell out of love with her. It was a single moment there’s no turning back from.
We’ve come too far, hurt each other too many times, made some mistakes that are irrevocable.
She’s cognizant of it too. I can see the subtle twist of bitterness pulling at her lips as she glances around the clubhouse, her normally bright green eyes dimmer than usual.
She looks at the Steel Saloon and sees the place her husband devoted himself to for years; she can’t help thinking about how she’d always been second place.
I drag my gaze away from hers, returning it to the window, then ask what she’s doing here.
“Really, Jack?” she says. “You have to ask? You don’t remember what this afternoon was?”
I think a second, then tilt my head back as it hits me. “Shit, Junior’s game. Why didn’t you call me?”
“Why do I need to? Why is it up to me to make sure you show up for your son?”
“Because he’s in your custody this time of year!
I don’t get them ’til summer. You know his—and your—schedule better than anyone.
Remember what happened last time I tried showing up unannounced?
” I growl, immediately frustrated by her attitude.
“I was trying to take him out for burgers and you had a fit it wasn’t part of the custody agreement. ”
“I have a life, Jack. A whole life without you. That might surprise you, but you can’t drop by whenever you want. You don’t get to take them when you want either. You know Jack’s season is going on. Why couldn’t you reach out to me to find out the time?”
I grit my teeth, biting back what I really want to say.
I could do what I’ve done in the past and keep the argument going.
Point out how she never answered the last time I’d asked and how she seems to relish these tit-for-tat games we play, where she finds a fault of mine, then needles away ’til we’re locked into an exchange like this.
But it would be a waste of time.
It wouldn’t accomplish anything. It’d only draw out my temper, make me angrier, make me raise my voice. I’m done being the bad guy… or giving her the opportunity to make it seem like I am.
“Did he win?” I ask instead. “What was the final score?”
“They lost,” she says, folding her arms. “Jack is very upset. And you weren’t there.”
“Then why didn’t you bring him by? I could talk to him. Mick’s grilled some hamburgers and hotdogs—”
“He won’t be eating anything from here,” she snaps. “You know I don’t want him in here. You know I don’t want him around this.”
I breathe through the clench of my ribcage, trying my best to stay calm. “Then what do you want, Rach? Tell me how you want me to fix this, and I will. Am I allowed to take my own son out for some pizza?”
“No,” she answers. “It’s not part of the agreement, Jack. But we had agreed you’d attend his games!”
“Then I’ll be at the next one! I’ll get the schedule somewhere else since you won’t give it to me… and I’ll fucking make sure to be front row for all the rest. Happy, Rach?”
She shakes her head, rolling her eyes, muttering under her breath. “Jesus Christ, Jack… don’t sound too thrilled by the thought you’ll have to actually show up for your son. I guess it really is a good thing I didn’t bring him in here. He’d have to listen to this.”
“I’m proud to attend his games. You know I am.
But I’m not happy that things’ve got to be like this,” I say firmly, turning away from the window.
I take a few steps toward her, tension clenching through me.
It beats at the pulse point of my neck, my vein throbbing.
“I’m not perfect, Rach. I’ve never said I was.
But neither are you. You play a role in this too.
All while acting like I’m some deadbeat dad. ”
A flicker of guilt passes over her face, then she sighs. “Okay, how about this? You can come over tonight for dinner. Maybe you can bring some pizza and watch some movies. The kids would like that. It would probably cheer Jack up, and Tabby misses you.”
The frustration fades, the tension receding inside me. My expression lightens up, my head inclining in a nod. “I would like that too. I’ll be there.”
Rachel turns toward the door to go, then pauses slightly. “And Jack?”
My brows raise in answer, our gazes connecting again.
“Don’t mention the divorce. Don’t mention Fred.”
Almost two hours later, I approach the front door of where I once called home, carrying two large pizza boxes.
I’ve got Junior’s favorite and Tabby’s. Pepperoni and extra, extra cheese on the first pizza.
Veggie lovers on the second. I’ve brought a six pack of root beer and picked up some cinnamon twists too. All things the kids love.
I draw in a deep breath in the second before I ring the doorbell. Once upon a time, I used to walk right in. I was a man coming home to his wife and kids and his domain.
Now it’s like some alternate universe as the doorbell trills throughout the house and I wait to be invited in.
It takes a second for me to pinpoint the sounds from inside, like Tabby’s excited squeal and the pounding of footsteps.
The door flies open the next second, and I find myself opposite my little girl.