2. Player
Chapter two
Player
Twenty minutes later, we all head out to the driveway, Molly behind me.
“She comin’?” Cruz asks, his body language telling me he doesn’t like the idea.
“Her car’s at the clubhouse. I’ve got to drop her off,” I reply.
“We don’t have time for that shit,” he replies. “Can’t you drop her at the gas station or something?”
“Shut it, Cruz. If you’re in such a fucking hurry, then she can ride with us.
” I glance at Molly. “You good with that?” She’s wearing an old leather jacket of mine I just lent her to keep her warm on the ride.
My eyes stray over it, remembering the girl from high school who used to wear it with pride.
“Sure. I don’t work until late.” Molly’s eyes shift to Cruz, but he doesn’t say more.
I pass her a helmet and swing my leg over my bike, lifting it off the kickstand.
Molly scrambles on behind me, and the four of us roar out of my drive.
The sun is high, and the ride is energizing. Pony wasn’t lying about the cold. It cuts right through me. It’s just what I needed to clear my head and prepare for the day. I already know today is going to suck. I dread this date on the calendar every year.
Cruz leads us to the address, and we roll up a street lined with houses that runs along the beach. He turns into one of the last driveways, and I immediately spot the for-sale sign in the front yard. There’s a red sold sticker across it.
Shutting off my engine, I take the place in as I pull off my helmet and climb from the bike. The salty tang of the ocean hits my nose.
“Where are we?” Molly asks.
“Don’t know. Let’s find out.” I take her hand and follow the guys inside the front door and through the empty rooms. We find my father and Drae in the living room overlooking the front deck and the beach beyond with its rolling surf. I glance at the view, then take in my father.
He stands with his arms folded and his booted feet apart. He’s an intimidating man on a good day, and I’ve yet to find out which this is. He’s had a lot of bad days since my mother was killed.
“Pops,” I say by way of greeting the man. “What is this place?” My eyes shift between him and Drae, the club’s Sargeant at Arms.
“I just bought it,” my father replies.
Everything in me stills, and I arch a brow. “You bought it? Why?”
“To live in, dipshit.”
I try to put the puzzle pieces together.
He’s owned the house our family grew up in since before I was born.
Now with his three sons grown, and my baby sister about to graduate high school next month, he’ll soon have an empty house.
I get that, but the thought of him selling our family home is jarring.
“As a weekend place?” Beck asks. He’s just over my shoulder, and I glance at him. The look on his face tells me he’s just as blindsided as I am.
“Nope. Sellin’ the house,” my father replies.
“Selling the house? For real?” Pony asks from my other side, his expression stunned, and a tinge of anger laces his voice.
“It’s a four-bedroom house, and it’s just me and Cici now. I don’t need all that space.”
“Does Cici know?” Pony asks.
“No. Wanted you boys to be the first to know.”
“How long you been plannin’ this?” I ask.
His gaze narrows on me and drops to where Molly’s hand is in mine. “A while. Let’s talk out on the deck, VP.”
And with that designation, he puts me in my place. I’m the club’s VP first, his son second.
I release Molly’s hand with a murmured, “Wait here.” Then follow him out.
The wind whips over me the moment I step onto the deck.
While Slaughter Beach is technically on the Delaware Bay, the Atlantic Ocean is just beyond with Cape May on the left and the Harbor Lighthouse on the right. The temperature is in the mid-sixties, but the gusty winds make it brisk in April.
A set of stairs leads down to a sandy path heading over the dune to the beach beyond. Gulls soar overhead.
“You still with that bitch?” my father asks, folding his arms and leaning against the railing.
“She’ll do for now. One’s as good as another these days,” I say, wondering why he gives a damn.
“Son, that’s no way to be.”
Oh, now it’s son, is it? I huff a breath. “Why not? You think I want to put another woman in danger, get her killed like I got Debbie killed?” I lay a hand on the rail, staring out over the rolling surf.
He drags in a slow breath. “That bitch is just after a patch. You get that, right?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He drops it and stares at the water.
The corner of my mouth lifts, but it’s not a real smile.
“So, your buddy ‘Jimmy the realtor’ finally pawned a house off on you?” My father has been friends with Jimmy since high school.
Jimmy’s got billboards up all over the area, his big, smiling face and the bold lettering. Need a house? Call Jimmy Jack!
“Yes, Jimmy sold it to me, but I contacted him.”
“Whatever.” I really don’t want to talk about it.
“You know what today is?”
Of course, I know what the fuck today is. It’s probably why the nightmares picked up this week. “Figured that was why you called.”
“Let’s put flowers on your mother’s grave. Debbie’s, too.”
It’s the last thing I want to do, but I nod. I live with their deaths every damn day. Staring at their names carved into headstones just makes it worse. But maybe it’s the penance I deserve. He and I—and the whole damn club—are responsible for their deaths.
I know I’m not the only one who’s had a hard time with this. My father has been in a dark hole for years. My brothers have each dealt with the grief in their own ways, Beck with booze, Pony with anger.
My baby sister deals by acting out.
I’ve built a wall; one I won’t let anyone get past.
Never again.
I’ll never bury another woman I love.
My father stares at me, waiting for an answer.
I give him one curt nod. There’s no avoiding it, so we might as well get it over with.
He pushes off the rail and heads to the door, and we don’t speak further about the fact he’s bought this house and put our family home on the market.
Apparently, it’s a done deal, and I don’t have it in me to argue. As the oldest, I suppose my brothers will expect me to take him on, but they’ve got a rude awakening coming. If they want to give him grief over it, that’s on them.
I suppose a part of me gets it. I know the pain of walking through rooms that hold memories of a lost love. The sadness is overwhelming. It’s why I left the place Debbie and I shared. I couldn’t take it, so how the hell can I blame my father for the same damn thing?
The room quiets when we reenter.
My father stalks toward the front door, Drae follows him out.
Our Sargeant at Arms is my father’s shadow.
The two of them are tight and always have been.
Perhaps it’s because they came up through the club together.
Drae would die for his president, but he’s never had any ambition to be his VP, so after we lost Dozer, it fell naturally to me.
The rest of the club accepted it, and it’s been my spot for the last four years.
My brothers look at me expecting some explanation, but I don’t have one.
“Why is he selling the house?” Pony demands in a hissed voice.
“Probably for the same reason I got rid of the place I shared with Deb. Too many memories that do nothing but drive a man to drink.”
My answer has him pulling back.
I head for the door.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“Where do you think?” I snap. That shuts him up, and his eyes shift to Beck for help, but he gets none.
“Let’s go,” Beck replies.