Chapter Twenty-One
Derek
The clubhouse was a flurry of activity. The old ladies had been cooking for two days, and now the place smelled like turkey and stuffing and all the shit that was supposed to make you feel like you belonged somewhere.
Only, I didn’t feel like I belonged here.
Jack insisted I was welcome. He always insisted. But the club didn’t get the memo, and I didn’t blame them.
The old ladies tried. They’d taken Sam’s words to heart and were willing to give me a second chance because she asked them to.
The men didn’t give Jack the same respect, so I tried to pick up where they left off. I stayed out of their way as much as I could. Didn’t hang out at the clubhouse. Stopped at the bar in town after work to have a beer or two, then went home to Jack’s house and kept my head down.
But this was Thanksgiving.
A family holiday.
One I’d missed last year because things were still new between Jack and me, and I was too much of a fucking coward to face them. I’d lied to Jack; told him I had projects to finish before I could start on his house. It wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t the truth either.
The truth was, I didn’t feel worthy of their family. Their forgiveness. I wanted it—fuck, I wanted it so badly it hurt—but I didn’t deserve it.
Haizley was helping me work through that shit. I’d come a long way. But what happened with Richard proved I still had a longer fucking way to go.
I just didn’t have much faith that I would get there.
“Hey, Derek, can you give me a hand?”
I blinked and realized Gunner was standing in front of me, waiting.
“Yeah. Sure.”
I followed him outside to a shed in the back of the property. My skin prickled with anxiety. Gunner opened the shed door and waited for me to go first. I stepped inside and looked around. The shed held folding tables stacked along the left wall and chairs along the right.
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since we got back from Pennsylvania,” Gunner said, propping the door open.
“I’m okay.”
He cocked his head. “You sure? Haizley won’t tell me shit.”
It reassured me that Haizley kept our sessions private, but I didn’t know where this was going.
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Haizley,” I said. “I’m not sorry I beat the shit out of him. The only regret I have is you and Jack showing up before I could kill him.”
“I’m not talking about him,” Gunner said. He leaned against the stack of tables and studied me. “Fucker deserved what he got and more. I’m talking about Frankie.”
My stomach dropped.
I closed my eyes. I’d assumed Jack hadn’t heard my confession that night. He hadn’t said anything about it. But it was clear Gunner had.
“Does she know who you are?” he asked.
“I’m not anybody.”
“That’s bullshit. You’re her father,” Gunner insisted.
“I signed my rights away,” I confessed.
“That doesn’t change biology.”
I huffed out a bitter laugh and leaned against the wall, my arms crossed over my chest. “You sure Haizley hasn’t said anything? She said the same fucking thing to me.”
Gunner smirked. “My old lady is fucking smart. You should listen to her. She’s very adamant about not telling me shit. It actually works in my favor because she doesn’t ask about club shit either. We have an understanding.”
That must have made things easier for both of them.
“Haizley recently found out something about her family,” Gunner said.
“She told me.”
“About her father?” He seemed surprised.
I nodded. “She was trying to make a point. She didn’t tell me who he was, only that he’d done things far worse than what I did.”
Gunner snorted. “Yeah, she does that shit to me,” he muttered. “Gives me just enough rope to fucking hang myself with.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Haizley was a master at manipulating my thought process. She didn’t do it maliciously—her goal was to teach me how to get the hell out of my own way. But I wondered if she fully understood the power she wielded.
“I’ll talk to Zero,” Gunner said, standing up and reaching for a table. “Tell him to back off.”
“Gunner—”
He held up a hand. “She’s your kid. When the truth comes out, and it always fucking does, if Kat wants to pursue something with him, that will be her choice. But the club doesn’t need any more fucking old lady drama.”
“You once told me it would take Jesus Christ himself walking this earth again to forgive me.”
He smirked, lifted the table, and walked toward the door, then paused.
“Got a lot of respect for what you did for that girl, Derek. I know you’re working with my old lady to let shit go, and I know it ain’t easy.
” He blew out a breath. “I know the club hasn’t made it easy.
That shit stops now.” He jutted his chin at the stack of tables. “Grab a table.”
Then he walked out, leaving me alone in the shed, wondering what the hell had just happened.
By the time we finished setting up, dinner was ready.
Prospects carried trays and platters to the tables set up buffet-style along the side of the room.
Guests from town started arriving—Ryder’s parents, Mark and Abby.
Ace’s pseudo-parents, James and Evelyn, along with their daughter Lily and her boyfriend Bryce.
I’d heard Sam talking about Lily’s boyfriend with the other old ladies. He was on the outside, just like I was. Ace didn’t like the man dating the girl he saw as a little sister, so the club didn’t like him either. That was how it went here.
Loyalty and brotherhood above all else.
A few more people from town arrived, and then... Kat walked in.
My chest seized.
She was wearing jeans and a soft sweater, her hair pulled back. Frankie was beside her, talking to Cami. Behind them came a woman I didn’t recognize—tall, red hair, with another woman trailing after her.
I hadn’t realized anyone had invited Kat and Frankie today; Sam hadn’t said a word. My eyes searched the room until they landed on my sister-in-law. I gave her a look that said I knew what she was doing, but she shrugged and shook her head.
“Kat, I’m so glad you came!” Haizley rushed toward them, her face lighting up.
Kat smiled and said something I couldn’t hear. Haizley turned and barked orders at the prospects, who followed the group outside. They returned moments later, each carrying two white boxes, one in each hand.
The old ladies started unboxing them and squealed when they saw the labels. “Are these from the Winslow Orchard?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” Kat answered, pulling the red-headed woman forward. “This is Maggie Winslow. She runs the orchard.”
“It’s so great to meet you!” Sam cooed. “We’ve been wanting to bring the girls out there, but...” Sam smiled. “Maybe next year we can make it during picking season.” If Maggie noticed the hesitation in Sam’s voice, she didn’t show it.
But I heard it.
“That would be great,” Maggie said. “This is my sister Rhoda, my sister Cami, and...” She looked around, her expression shifting to frustration. “Where did he go already?”
The door slammed open.
Tank walked in, his hand clamped around the scruff of a kid’s neck.
The kid looked maybe thirteen, fourteen—scrawny but wiry, with dark hair and a face twisted in rage. He was struggling against Tank’s hold, swinging wild punches that didn’t land, kicking at Tank’s shins, swearing like a fucking sailor.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” the kid snarled. “I’ll kill you, you piece of shit!”
Tank’s jaw was tight, his eyes hard. He looked pissed in a way I’d never seen before.
Tank was the guy with patience. The guy who could handle anything.
The one Charlie, Chrissy, and Tabby clung to and watched cartoons with on Sundays.
But right now, he looked like he was two seconds from losing his shit.
“Whose fucking kid is this?” Tank boomed.
The room fell silent.
“Mine!” Maggie snapped, stepping forward and yanking the kid out of Tank’s grip. She pulled him into her arms, glaring up at Tank with fire in her eyes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Tank’s eyes locked on hers. He didn’t back down. Didn’t soften. He looked her over slowly, too slowly, his gaze trailing from her face down to her boots and back up again.
“You don’t look old enough to be his mother,” he said, his voice low and rough.
Maggie’s spine straightened. Her chin lifted. “I’m his sister.”
“Where the hell is his mother?” Tank demanded. “And why didn’t she ever teach him not to touch other people’s shit? I caught the kid on my bike outside. Scratched the hell out of the gas tank with the heel of his boots.”
The kid twisted in Maggie’s arms, his face red with fury. “Fuck you!” he spat at Tank. “You don’t know shit about my mother!”
“Nox,” Maggie said sharply, her hand tightening on his shoulder.
But Nox wasn’t done. “She’s dead, asshole! She’s been dead for six years, so maybe you should shut the fuck up about her!”
The room was dead silent now. Every eye was on them.
Tank’s expression shifted, just for a second. Something flickered in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Or recognition. But then it was gone, replaced by that hard, unreadable mask he always wore.
Maggie’s eyes were blazing. “His mother passed away when he was four, you big goon,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “And I’ve been raising him ever since. So maybe next time you’ll think before you open your mouth.”
Four? That meant this kid was ten. He was a big kid for ten years old. He’d be as big as Tank when he grew up if he kept growing the way he was.
Tank stared at her. She stared back. Neither of them moved.
The air between them crackled with something I couldn’t name. Tension. Anger. Something else underneath it all.
Haizley stepped in, breaking the moment. “Maggie, I’m so sorry. Tank is usually great with kids.” She shot Tank a glare that could’ve melted steel. “Tank, go cool off.”
Tank’s jaw worked. He looked at Maggie one more time, long and hard, then turned and walked out without a word.
Nox was still shaking with rage, his fists clenched at his sides. “Asshole,” he muttered. “I fucking hate him.”
“Nox,” Maggie snapped, her hand on his shoulder. She bent down to look him in the eye. “Breathe.”
He jerked away from her. “Don’t tell me to breathe. He had no right—”
“I know,” Maggie said. “I know. But you can’t go around touching people’s bikes. You know better.”
“I wasn’t gonna steal it,” Nox snapped. “I was just sitting on it.”
“And that gets you dragged in here by your neck,” Maggie said. “So maybe just look next time.”
Nox glared at her, but he didn’t argue. He just stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes wet with unshed tears.
Kat’s eyes followed Tank out of the room, and that was when she spotted me.
Her gaze locked on mine, and everything else fell away.
Frankie followed her mother’s gaze, and her face lit up. “Derek!” She waved and started toward me.
But Kat’s hand shot out, catching her daughter’s arm.
Keeping her from coming near me.
She leaned down and whispered something in Frankie’s ear. I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw Frankie’s smile falter. Saw the confusion in her eyes as she looked back at me.
My chest cracked open.
Kat straightened, her eyes still on mine. There was something in her expression—fear, maybe. Or doubt. Or both.
She knew something had happened.
But does she know what?
And if she does, will she ever let me near Frankie again?
I stood there, frozen, as Kat turned away and guided Frankie toward the food tables.
Away from me.
Always away from me.