35. Chapter 35
Chapter 35
Maci
W hen I show up to the clubhouse this time, Hawk lets me through the gates right away. He takes a long puff of his cigarette, chatting with another member.
The same parking spot from before is open, and I leave everything in my Jeep aside from my phone, which I shove into my back pocket. Something tells me I don’t need any of it inside, nor do I think anyone is going to be rummaging through my stuff. Judging based on James’ behavior at the funeral, heads may roll if something like that were to occur.
I still haven’t figured out the purpose of the club. They’re organized enough, and there’s an apparent level of respect, but is that normal in a social club? They don’t really come across as hardened criminals.
Then again, I fucked my stepbrother without knowing, and my stepfather apparently has had a secret life for as long as I’ve known him, so what do I know?
“He’s upstairs. You good?” Hawk steps away from his conversation to meet me at the main door as I enter.
“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” I smile at the man next to him. I hope they don’t expect me to learn all their names quickly.
“Maci!” Pete jumps up from a table and makes his way across the room as the door closes behind me. “How are you?”
Pete is such a nice guy. Maybe he let Leah get a little too drunk once, but I can’t really fault him since she’s grown, too. Still, I don’t know why he’s so attentive. If it’s only because he wants me to put in a good word with her, I need to let him know it’s not going to happen.
“Hey Pete, how are you?” I ask as an easy smile forms on my face. He’s like sunshine.
“Good. You?”
My tolerance for small talk is limited these days. Everything tends to set me on edge. I miss the Maci of before. “Getting by.”
He nods like he understands. He doesn’t. Whether or not this group is criminal in nature, I can look into Pete’s eyes and see that he’s never taken a life. I couldn’t say that before, but now I just know.
My jaw slackens. I hadn’t considered this about anyone until now.
Movement in my peripheral catches my attention, and my eyes shoot over to the bar where Ginger stares at me in annoyance. McCoy sits at the bar again, nursing a beer, his back to us.
“Prez is upstairs.” Pete’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
“Thanks.” I touch his wrist as I pass, heading directly for the stairs. I bypass the second floor as instructed and head straight for the third. James approaches the top of the steps as I reach them, likely hearing my huffing and heavy footsteps on the solid planks.
“Gracie.” His eyes sparkle and he opens his arms again, but today I see something new. Something I didn’t pay attention to before. I hug him briefly and take in the space, in an effort to organize my thoughts.
It’s a rustic industrial studio, much like the rest of the building. Leather couches, more charred wood tables and chairs, dark pendulum lights, and an open floor plan. Two barn doors rest on a rolling rack on the far side of the room. How unexpected.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
My eyes return to his. It’s there. That hint of something darker. “Have you killed someone before?” I already know the answer, seeing that same thing reflected in my own eyes now. It’s like peeking behind the curtain, or visualizing a new color you can’t name. It’s just a something else that’s there.
His eyebrows soften, but it’s the only hint that I’ve surprised him. Instead of redirecting the question, or offering for me to sit, he dips his chin once. “Aye. I have.”
He gives no additional explanation.
Do I want to know?
I wet my lips and nod.
He arches an eyebrow in question.
I only shake my head. I’m not ready for the details. Maybe he was a soldier at some point. Unlikely, because I suspect Stephanie would’ve said as much, but once again I’m confronted with the knowledge that she’s kept so much from me and knows even less. However, I’m not prepared to shatter what we’re building if he’s truly a criminal.
And yet, it doesn’t seem that simple. I can be labeled a criminal for my choices.
“You staying?” It’s as if he wants to confirm that his honesty hasn’t altered my opinion of him.
I scan the space again. “Yeah.”
He gestures to the couch, and I perch on it stiffly while he sits in a leather wingback chair. These are some of the nicest pieces of furniture in the building, and I see why he has them here.
He draws an ankle up on the opposite knee and rests his hands casually. Aside from the afternoon at the funeral, he’s always been so calm and collected. Peaceful even. I’m beginning to dissect these events. Is his calm nature a show?
He wears a couple thick silver rings on each hand. Tattoos peek from under his white dress shirt. My mind is beginning to spiral.
“So, tell me about the club. The Falcons,” I finally inquire. He pins me with a pointed look. I hold his gaze, determining how far I want to push. Finally, I add, “It’s a social group, right?”
He stares a moment longer before dipping his chin. “Aye. A social club.” His head cocks to one side. “We participate in many volunteer events. Funerals for fallen soldiers and veterans, charity events, things of that nature.”
I study his face. The set of his bearded jaw, the ease of his gaze. It all seems casual, but the longer I look, the more I see. His secrets are exposed by the way his features resemble my own. We approach the same conclusion together, a silent conversation between us. We’re dancing around something here. “Very community-oriented,” I summarize.
My chest aches. I don’t expect him to be an open book, but I don’t know if I can handle another parent who isn’t genuine with me.
For now, I’ll accept the half-truth he’s offering. One day, that may change. “How did Colt play into all of this? Everyone is volunteer basis?”
For a split second, his jaw tightens, but it relaxes as his measured voice pours out. “There’s a voting system in the club. Colt’s behavior when he was voted in for Prospect was different than at the end.” He clasps his fingers together. “Everyone has their role to fulfill.”
“And Ginger? What’s her role?” I don’t actually want to know if he is screwing her, but I do need to know what to expect moving forward.
He smirks. “I saw that spat when you were here last. Seems to me you told her to shut her bake alright.”
My eyebrows squeeze together. “Sorry? Shut her…did you say beak?”
He laughs loudly, a huge belly laugh that brings an immediate smile to my face. “Bake. Her mouth.”
His clarification only makes me laugh. “That’s a new one.”
Regaining composure, he adds, “Ginger was the old lady of a former member. He’s gone now and she needed work, so the club agreed to let her stick around.” He looks me over. “I tend not to interfere with disagreements in the club unless things get too heated. You handled yourself well, but if you don’t want to argue, best stay far from her.”
“Because she’s got a stick up her ass?”
He grins. “Something like that. She’s friendly enough with the members, and she doesn’t cause a lot of drama in the women, which is good because I’ve little patience for it. “
I cross my arms. “I make no promises. I won’t go out of my way to provoke her, but I’m not backing down if she antagonizes me again.”
“And I wouldn’t ask you to.” He rubs his hand over his leg, contemplating something. “While we’re discussing club members, Pete seems keen on you.”
I shake my head with a breathy laugh. “No. Pete likes my friend Leah.”
“That the wild one that was with you at the bar?”
I scrunch my face. I’m not sure what to think of him noticing her.
He chuckles. “Simmer down. I kept an eye is all.”
After a discerning pause, I answer, “Yes, that’s Leah. Pete wants me to put in a ‘good word’ for him.” I try to imitate his voice.
James smiles. “And will you?”
It’s not that I have a problem with him. She makes her own decisions in that department, and truthfully, I think she’ll chew him up and spit him out. He’s just too soft. But more than that, I just don’t know him well enough to push them together.
“No, I won’t.”
His eyebrows jump, genuine surprise masking his features.
“She’s no good for him. He’s too sweet.”
He laughs again. “He is a little soft.”
“But he’s still a nice person.”
“A friend?”
I shrug. “Could be.”
The topic softens the tension between us and I settle into the couch, asking about Ireland and listening to my father tell me about his home and family growing up. I still get the impression he’s withholding things, but I focus on the sweet familial things he shares and imagine the landscape he describes.
At least an hour flies by before I stand to leave.
“You dropped something,” James says, following past the couch.
I pat my back pocket, thinking it’s my phone, as I turn. Instead, it’s my pocketknife which I’ve started carrying again. Sutton’s gun is shelved back in the office case.
“Oh. Thanks.” I show him the closed knife in hand before pocketing it. “Pocketknife.”
His eyebrows pull together. “Where did you get that?”
“It was in Nana’s garage when I was a teenager. I’ve had it ever since.”
He opens his hand, palm up. “May I?”
“Sure.” I pull it back out and set it in his hand.
Recognition dawns on his face. “Well, that’s interesting,” he says, twisting the knife over and then handing it back.
“Is it?”
“I gave that to your mam when we were dating.” His eyes crinkle the tiniest bit, the purest joy I’ve seen from him, as he speaks almost reverently.
I open my mouth on an inhale and look back down to the knife. “This was yours?”
He dips his chin. “Yes. For a time.”
What a strange turn of events.
James walks me to the stairs. “Is Stephanie still in town?”
“Yes. I saw her a few days ago.”
“Does she have a plan yet?”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t seem like she’s got anything solid. Sutton and I are moving the rest of my things from my apartment soon, so I think we’ll just keep them at the ranch until she’s gone.”
“Mhm. Ok.” He gestures to the stairs. “Drive safe, Gracie.”
On my way out, I stop by the bar. Ginger eyes me speculatively as I approach.
I extend my hand over the bar. “I’m Maci.”
She sets down the glass she’s over-drying. It takes a moment longer, but she accepts my hand and shakes it briefly.
“I was out of line.” Her words are mumbled, and I get the impression she’s not one to apologize.
I nod. “Yeah. You were. But we all have bad moments, and I didn’t exactly react calmly.” I smile. “I also plan to be around more. Maybe. Probably. Anyway, clean slate.”
One side of her mouth lifts.
“But I also wasn’t kidding about the claws. So no more mouse bullshit.”
She grins. “You got it.”
“See ya, Ginger.” I turn to go with a flicked wave.
Just as I reach the door, she speaks. “You really kill Colt?”
I turn to take in her face. We’ve caught the attention of the few members scattered at the nearest table, one of which is McCoy, who was at the bar before. My eyes catch on his. They don’t hold the same question as most of the others. Because he knows my truth, and I know his, too. That tiny thing reflected in his eyes.
I nod and turn back to her. “Yeah. I did. He came for me, and it was me or him.”
She nods with a contemplative face. “Glad you made it.”
My lungs cease and my head bobs slightly in thanks. I wave and slip out the door.