5. Player #3
“I find peace there. Did you know your mother and I always talked about finding a little place on the beach someday? I wish I could have given that to her. Maybe she’s with me. Sometimes I still feel her presence. You feel that with Debbie?”
“Nope.”
“Well, you weren’t together for as long as your mother and I were. She and I? That was true fucking love, son.”
I nod. It was. Our home life was always my rock. No matter how crazy things with the MC got, I knew my parents were solid, and they would never leave each other.
Dad cocks his head. “I thought you had that with Taylor. I never could figure out why it didn’t last with her.”
It wouldn’t do any good to tell him now. “That’s in the past, and the last thing I need to do is drag her into this life. I’ll never put another woman in danger again.”
He folds his arms. “You don’t need to remind me. It’s a guilt I live with every day. Their deaths are on me, not you, son.”
“We did that. I’m every bit as much to blame.”
“Bullshit. The buck stops with me.”
I slump against my seat. Just when I think we’re communicating, he does shit like this. It’s like he throws up a wall, and I can’t talk to him once he does.
“What? You think I’m being a stubborn ass?”
“You said it, not me,” I spit.
“Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, kid.”
“I’m a lot of things, but stubborn isn’t one of them.”
He laughs. “If I’m the king of stubborn, you are the prince.”
“Disagree.”
Our food comes, and we drop it and eat.
“So, when are you going to drop the bomb on Sissy about selling the house?”
“Hell, I think I’ve had enough for one day.”
“You better tell her before Beck or Pony do it for you. Unless that’s what you’re hoping for—let them do the dirty work.”
“Maybe I will. Maybe then she’ll fucking text me back.”
We eat for a few more minutes.
“So, what’s the deal with you and Taylor?” he finally breaks the silence to ask.
“What do you mean? There’s no deal between us.”
“Don’t try that shit with me. That flame is still burning, from what I saw.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“That bullshit might work with your brothers, but it won’t work with me.”
“Just drop it.”
“I know you waylaid her at the bar. And from the bloody knuckles you came back with, I’d say you punched a wall.”
I grind my teeth because he is so fucking observant.
“See, I know you like the back of my hand, because you are me, kid. So tell me the truth. You plan to take up with her again?” He sips his coffee. “Because I can tell you she’s not going to stand for Molly being around.”
“Molly is not an issue.”
“Oh, really? Tell that to Molly.” He points his finger at me. “Don’t underestimate that girl. She’s got her sights on you, and I saw the look she gave Taylor today. She’s not going to just give up.”
“I’ll handle her.”
“Famous last words.” He scoops the check up and stands, digging a clip of bills from his hip pocket, peeling off a twenty, and tossing it on the table. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s hit the road.”
We don’t realize until we get to the casino that it's opening day for live harness racing, and there’s a lot of activity out at the paddock area.
We park and head inside. We find the boys near the slots.
My father is not interested in the one-armed bandits, and we head straight to the bar.
He orders us both a beer, and Drae joins us, gesturing toward a craps table. “The rest of the guys are here.”
We turn and spot Money, our treasurer, Slaughter, our enforcer, Deacon, Conman, Lynch, Python, and Thief. The only ones not here are the prospects, Sleaze, Billy-Jack, and Booze.
With every patched member of our chapter in house, we’re attracting all kinds of attention from security. If Gage didn’t personally know the manager, I’d figure we’d be kicked out soon.
“Thirteen is unlucky,” my father mutters. “I really need to patch in one of the prospects.”
Drae and I both chuckle. My father really is one superstitious sonofabitch.
Dad downs his beer and grabs another, then turns. “Let’s get this over with.”
It’s become more of a torturous duty rather than an homage to my mother. But now that he’s started this tradition, he can’t break it. Bad luck and such, I suppose. I feel for him. I know the pain.
Still, we proceed with this show of public tribute.
Dad bets a hundred dollars on number sixteen.
In all these years, it’s never been a winner.
Today it hits.
He stares at the number, unmoving.
Drae hits him on the shoulder, then pulls him in for a bear hug. It’s not about the money. Everyone gathered around to watch knows that.
“That’s a good sign, Prez,” Drae whispers. “I think she approves of the house you bought.”
My father doesn’t speak. His jaw is clenched, but I see the glitter of tears in his eyes as he pulls back and nods.
“You ready to go?” Drae whispers.
“Yeah,” he rasps.
We collect his winnings, down our drinks, and troop outside.
Another year down.
Strapping on my helmet, I pull the locket from around my neck—the Saint Christophers medal Mom gave me for luck when I joined the club at eighteen.
“Love you, Ma,” I whisper.