19. Lily
19
LILY
“ G ot a minute to talk?” Zeke places a cup of coffee on the workbench behind me, then squats next to me to check out the progress I’ve made with the vintage Harley frame I’m restoring in my free time. Once he’s done inspecting my work, he runs his finger along one of the welds. “Did you use the number seven Lincoln rods like I said?”
“Yeah. Even quenched the weld in warm water.”
“Can tell,” he muses. “This’s definitely your best work.”
The same awkwardness that came between us at the hospital and again during the tense journey back to the compound last night takes over the workshop. He’s avoided me since we returned, so I know he hasn’t tracked me down out here to discuss my father.
It’s time for the talk.
About us. Our relationship. His lies. My reaction to them.
Despite falling asleep easily after talking to Slash on the phone let night, my slumber didn’t last. I woke an hour or so later, tossed and turned for hours as I struggled to shut off my whirling mind. If Zeke had come to bed, I would’ve demanded to discuss everything. Now, faced with the opportunity, I think I prefer to live in ignorance. The past two days have been bad enough without delving into the problems in our relationship that we’ve spent over five years avoiding.
I run my finger over the first weld I made using his technique. “Thanks.”
When Zeke doesn’t say anything further, I lift myself from the concrete floor. Sensing his gaze running over the back of my head as I grab my coffee is enough to put me on edge. Sander’s suggestion that I hear Zeke out seemed like the right path to take back at the hospital. Now, I would give anything to avoid his excuses and the fury I’ll feel when he tries to treat me like a mushroom again.
Kept in the dark and fed bullshit.
In all honesty, as much as I’m caught between the desire for ignorance and the urge to fight for our love, some space and time would be nice to get my head right. Unfortunately, both are in short supply when the MC is in lockdown.
Grateful for the hot mug of coffee he brought me, I take a long sip then use it to hide the lower half of my face from Zeke’s probing eyes. When the quiet stretches into a heavy blanket filled with our unspoken problems, I break it with small talk. “What’s everyone up to inside?”
Zeke comically screws up his nose. “Toker’s made a bucket bong, and he’s tryna work out how to inhale the smoke while being held upside down like he’s doing a keg stand. The boys are taking bets on how long it’ll take before he passes out. Sander and Cub have locked themselves in Cub’s room with Nads.” Pausing, he scans my face, then adds. “Brutus is holed up in the chapel with Bear, Joker, and a bunch of old-timers. My dad has hijacked the den with Cass, Angelis, Duke, and Gabriel. Pretty sure both sides are plotting against the other while Hunter schemes against the lot of them.”
Happy to have read his reason for coming out here wrong, I encourage him to expand on his worries. It’s rare that Zeke comes to me with Shamrocks business, so I want to make the most of it. “So, everyone’s upset because Dad pulled a bait and switch with the meeting —” I make air quotes around the last word. “and compounded it with his disappearing act with Joseph at the hospital?”
“Not just that.” Zeke uses his head to gesture toward the tattered sofa that sits in the corner. I follow him, sinking down into the soft cushions next to him. While I finish my coffee, he fills me in on my father’s weird behaviour. “Everyone’s on edge because Brutus’ been off for ages. More combative than ever. Either forgettin’ or deliberately changin’ traditions that have stood for fifty-plus years without discussion. Dismissive of the club’s direction. Secretive as fuck. His version of leadership is makin’ decisions without a vote. It’s like he’s checked out of this life, but rather than leave it to those of us who still want it, he prefers to destroy the Shamrocks on his way out… Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it does.” I curl the ends of my hair around the fingers of the hand not clutching my mug while I think through what Zeke just said. “Since we moved in together and I started working for Gabriel, I haven’t spent much one-on-one time with him. Haven’t really wanted to—not after the whole arranged marriage thing.” Grimacing at the memory of my dad’s betrayal, I continue. “When I am around him, we usually argue… sometimes about the way he treats Charlie. Other times it’s about Fret being against him. Once, we even got into it over Sander’s basketball career—which is ridiculous since he’s pushed Sander down that path since he realised he could dribble.” The noisy sigh I make is filled with every ounce of frustration I’m feeling. “I mean, he’s always been a hard arse. He’s always had strong opinions about how we should live our lives, especially since Mum died, and he’s rude as hell whenever he believes we’re not living up to his expectations. I know he loves us, but it’s kinda clear that we…”
When I trail off, Zeke finishes my sentence while making it sound like a question. “Haven’t turned out the way he wanted?”
“Yeah. Nothing we do is right… even when we do what he says. Sander went down the basketball path instead of joining the club—even though Dad encouraged him to do that. Fret isn’t a mindless drone who backs his decisions without questions. I’m a lawyer like he wanted, but I’m also your old lady… which is something he was definitely against in the beginning. Then Wyatt finished school and headed off to university without a backward glance and not a word about prospecting now he’s eighteen. Nate’s his only hope, but he’s still two years away from prospecting, and even then, there’s no guarantee he’ll want to join the Shamrocks.”
Catching my wrist as I twirl my hair tighter and tighter, Zeke unwinds the locks from my grip and links our fingers. I slump against him as he asks, “So you think he’s pissed off because he hasn’t built his legacy yet?”
“ Nah. I think Dad’s just being Dad. An arsehole. Like...” I trail off with a sigh. “I asked Sander if he thinks he’s got dementia or something, and he said no. Fret’s not really in any state to talk to about this, but I spent half the night thinking about it, and I don’t think Fret would agree with me either. Part of me thinks I’m trying to find an excuse for his cruelty—” I shake my head. Zeke’s fingers flex around mine, a silent offer of support. “It’s just hard. He’s my dad. I don’t want him to be the villain.”
“I get where you’re comin from, ’cause none’a this is easy.” I balance my empty mug on my knee as I tilt my head to meet his gaze. His expression is apologetic but resolute. “Also want you to know that what I’m about to tell you is somethin’ I’d usually lie to you about, ’cept I’m not gonna this time. Out of everyone, you needa be aware of what’s to come.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means you’re not allowed to react to what I have to say like Brutus’ daughter… I need you to see this situation from your position as my old lady.”
“Not sure how that’s possible… I’m one and the same.”
“And you wonder why I lie to you,” Zeke retorts with a low growl.
It’s the kind of sound that makes me realise how close he is to snapping. There’s a wild, feral kind of light hiding behind the apology in his tired eyes. Seeing it causes my stomach to churn. I sit upright, twisting on the cushion, as I scan his face for clues to his abrupt attitude change.
What I see makes my own temper flare.
“I don’t wonder why. I know why you lie. You think I’m weak.”
“Nope,” he declares in a flat tone. “I don’t think you’re weak. I think you’re reckless as fuck. You take everyone’s problems on as your own, and because of that, you take risks you shouldn’t to save ’em from themselves. Your sense of self-preservation is non-existent. So, I figured that if I told you straight out what’s goin’ on here from the start, I might stand a chance of keepin’ you safe from yourself.”
“Then tell me,” I prompt when he stops speaking. My gut tightens as all the thoughts I’ve had about my father’s behaviour pop into my head. “Tell me why I need to look at things as your old lady and not as the president’s daughter.”
He hesitates, an anxious look flickers in his expression before he replaces it with resolution. “I’ve spoken to most of the old-timers, and they reckon it’s more than stress or Brutus being Brutus. Duke says he’s watched this shit brewin’ for more than five years. My dad keeps warnin’ me not to trust Brutus, only he refuses to tell me why.”
“Duke and Hades are hardly impartial,” I interject. “They’ve known Dad their entire lives.”
“’Cept it’s not only them, is it? The entire MC is off kilter because of Brutus. For me, your dad’s strange behaviour started after I was nommed as VP. For Hunter, he noticed it a few months earlier than that… right around the time Alex was denied parole the first time. Brutus’ isolatin’ himself from all but a select few in the club. He seems intent on splittin’ us right down the fuckin’ middle for reasons we’re still tryin’ to uncover.”
The empty coffee cup hits the concrete floor and breaks when I rush to my feet. “Are you calling my father a traitor?”
My fiancé looks up at me as I stand over him with my hands on my hips. He raises his eyebrows when he asks, “Tell me why that’s the first place your head went, sweet thing?”
Blinking fast, I exhale loudly. My eyes burn as the truth of what I just said sinks in. My suspicions that he was being devious felt like an over-reaction, yet deep down I think I instinctively knew what I was seeing.
Still, I can’t bring myself to admit it.
“I- I don’t know.”
Zeke pushes back to his feet. He scoops the broken pieces of my mug from the floor and tosses them on the workbench. When he returns his attention to me, my mouth runs dry.
“Don’t lie,” he commands in a clipped tone. “You know why you said it.”
“I don’t.”
Zeke advances into my space with even steps, coming close enough for me to feel his breath on my face before my brain urges my feet into action. As I back away from him, certain that if he touches me, I’ll break down and confess my thoughts, he continues to follow. I retreat. Determined to avoid giving him what he wants. Because saying it out loud feels like the final death knell of my relationship with my sole living parent.
“Come on, Lily. Tell the truth. You say you don’t want lies... then woman the fuck up and tell me why you immediately jumped to Brutus being a traitor instead of, say, a burnt-out president with some fucked-up ideas about loyalty.”
“I don’t know. I just said it.” Another step. Two more. My man keeps pace with me, although he’s careful not to crowd me too much as I protest in a reedy voice, “My dad would never turn on the Shamrocks. The MC is his life.”
“Anyone with eyes can see he’s pushin’ Charlie away, and he’s pretty damn close to turnin’ on his own kids. You can’t possibly think his reaction at the hospital was normal, metukà shelì ?” Zeke questions me softly. “He didn’t even blink when he heard that Fret has lost the use of his hands… so, tell me, why would the MC be the exception to his indifference?”
“There’s no way. It’s not possible.” I shake my head when my mind’s eye fills with the memory of Dad’s uncaring expression as the doctor told us my brother is permanently disabled. “You’re wrong.”
“I don’t think I am,” he remarks. My back hits the steel wall of the workshop. Zeke places a hand on either side of my head, effectively trapping me. “And neither do you… not if you’re truly being honest with yourself.”
“He’s my dad.” Another head shake that doesn’t clear my vision. “He’s your president.”
“Yeah, he is.”
We both fall still as the impact of what we’re dancing around truly hits. The shed seems to pulse with the stark reality of our situation. As the cool walls of my hideaway glint in the overhead lights and I stare at my man, the air turns stale, and I find it hard to breathe. There’s a sympathetic glimmer in my fiancé’s gaze as he ducks his head to press his lips to mine.
Our kiss is short. Nothing more than a quick peck. Even so, it’s enough to break me.
I grip the lapels of his cut and pull him to me. Face hidden in his neck, desperate to block out the betrayal that’s got a vise grip on my heart, I whimper, “Why would he do this? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t,” Zeke agrees. “Just know what my gut is tellin’ me and that it matches with what others are seein’.”
“Who else sees what you’re seeing?”
Zeke drops his hands to my shoulders. His fingers bite as he holds me tight. “You already know the answer to that question. It’s plain to anyone who’s been payin’ attention.”
I screw my eyes shut. I’m not sure if it’s to evade the knowledge that Zeke is right that it’s clear which Shamrock sits on each side of this situation or to hide my devastation from him. All I know is that the damage Alex did to me two days ago has nothing on the pain that’s blasting through my veins as I come to terms with the reality that my father is up to no good once again.
With Alex’s father.
With the Maddisons again.
With the Bishops of Bloodshed.
With other members of the Shamrocks?
“What am I supposed to do with this knowledge?” My question is barely more than a whisper.
“Me and Hunter are buildin’ a plan, but we need your help before we can bring anyone else in with us.”
Forcing my eyelids to lift, I jut my chin with obstinance, even as my heart pumps too fast and my legs turn to jelly. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it. He might be my dad… but the Shamrocks are my family. My loyalty will always be to the club that my mother loved—the same club that loved me without restraint when she passed.”
“All right, then,” Zeke says with a sigh. “We need to break up.”