2. Gator #5
I scrub my hand across my face and take a deep breath to steady myself, so my voice doesn’t tremble when I speak.
This will be the first time I talk to my son.
I squat down, aligning the top of my head with her eye level to seem less intimidating to the kid.
I know I’m a big guy at 6’4" and over three hundred pounds.
The clubhouse is probably already a lot for the kid to take in, with everyone here.
I spread my knees and rest my ringed hands between them in a crouch.
“Do you like trucks?” I ask, trying to gauge his level of speech.
He looks at me skeptically, furrowing his brows like I do when I’m assessing a situation.
The corner of my mouth kicks up in pride as I watch him.
My heart aches at the realization that I’ve missed so much.
He lifts his head and nods yes. “Me too, kid. I’ve got a big one out in the yard.
It’s black with big wheels. Maybe I can show you in the morning. Can you tell me your name?”
He surveys me from head to toe as he's still evaluating me; the truck talk isn't enough to get him to open up to me. Smart kid. I hear Emma's voice quivering, "Go on, tell him, sweetie.”
He looks up at her, raises his eyebrow, mimicking my facial expression once more, then looks at me and accepts his mom’s answer. I hear my son speak for the first time, “Fijor.”
I clear my throat, trying to suppress my emotions.
“That’s a good name, kid.” It’s the nickname we agreed on for our son, if we ever had one, with Fijor representing Dalton the Fourth.
I take a deep breath, not quite ready to face this new reality, just in case I’ve been hit over the head and am dreaming in some underground basement.
All my dreams smacking me in the face, I feel pile-driven into an alternate reality of the best kind.
My heart starts pumping wildly, and the room feels like it’s closing in.
With everything happening, I need a moment to process this stroke of luck, no matter how torturous it feels to walk away from her after all the time we’ve missed out on.
It seems Beaver hasn’t realized it yet, or else I’d be bleeding out in some basement.
I hope his ignorance holds until I have time to wrap my head around this.
Make no mistake, by this time tomorrow, this boy and everyone else will know I’m his father.
I’m determined to make sure of it. I need to slip out the back door and formulate a game plan to talk to Beaver in the morning.
“The clubhouse is packed. You’ve already opened your house to incoming brothers.
Put her and Fijor up at my place. I’ll be at Allie’s.
Tell the guys we have church at eight sharp tomorrow morning,” I say, hurting Emma.
She has no idea who Allie is, but if I don’t get away from her, I’m liable to throw her on top of the bar and fuck her to prove to the world she’s mine, right here in front of her father and our son.
Judging by the shock on her face, she didn’t even know I was out.
I know my little pet needs a few moments to process that tidbit, considering she’s carrying the walking, talking proof of our relationship.
Before confronting her, I need to speak with her father and make sure everything is handled properly.
I turn on my heels and head for the back door, knowing Beaver will have the prospects unload her stuff at our home and help get her settled for the night.
With everything going on, a scene would only make things worse, and Beaver will be owed retribution for me touching his daughter without his permission.
I’ll give her a few hours to come to terms with the fact that I’m out of prison before heading back home.
Hopefully, when I return, she’ll be asleep with big man in our house, where they both belong.
I’ll get some rest, have church, and let the club know they’re mine.
Then I’m going to remind my woman of my place in her life.
She came back with my son in tow. I gave her up once for her own good.
I’ve survived without her before, and I’ll be damned if I let this opportunity slip through my fingers.
As the door slams shut behind me, the chaos of the packed clubhouse gives way to a more family-like atmosphere as brothers from across the nation gather on the compound, some bringing their families.
RVs are scattered across the hook-up field we have for out-of-towners.
My boots crunch over the gravel as I head for my truck, each step grounding me in this impossible yet amazing reality.
Emma is back. Her son is my son, and the whole world has shifted beneath my feet, for the second time in a matter of days.
I head out into the night air. My phone buzzes with messages, but I ignore them, needing to hear nothing but the sound of my own breath for just a moment.
She had my son, and I pushed her away. I left her at her most vulnerable.
That thought is a bitter pill to swallow.
I pushed her into the arms of that lunatic.
If she had been here this whole time, Fijor would have been born surrounded by the club, waiting for my return, and they would have been out of harm’s way.
They would have been cared for and loved here on the compound.
He might have missed the opportunity to meet my father. Fuck!
With the magnitude of so many life-changing events happening at once, I need a few minutes to myself to wrap my head around everything.
The strain the family is under is one of the worst we have ever faced.
With pops shot and currently in the Intensive Care Unit fighting for his life, while my baby sister fights the same battle, I’m stepping up and running the club through one of the biggest events in Club history.
The news reporters paint the club as a ruthless gang across all national news channels.
Not to mention the news that the Riders are planning war. I’m wound tight.
The weight of unanswered questions and the ache of lost years press down on me.
I want to storm back, hold Emma and Fijor, and never let go, but I force myself to do the smart thing and give us all space to come to terms with the fact that we will be a family, even though my actions in the clubhouse showed nothing of the sort.
I just need to get Beaver on board first so we aren't in hiding this time.
Harley will be thrilled about Emma's return. I know she misses her; she’s given me grief at least once a week since I sent Emma away.
If I woke her now, all I’d hear is “I told you so,” which would push me over the edge, given how exhausted I am.
I can’t talk to my dad about recent events, and burdening my grandfather is the last thing I want.
A glass of Pops’ expensive bourbon seems like the next best thing.
Everyone should be passed out by now at pops, so I head across the compound to my childhood home.
The house is dark, except for the stained-glass lamp on the end table next to the couch.
As I step into my father’s home, I sink onto the couch, running my hands through my hair.
Fuck, I have a son and a little sister my father might never even get to meet.
I try to steady myself, reminding myself that this is only the beginning.
I don’t feel the need to turn on any lights as I sit in my childhood living room.
The comfort of the dim house, which smells like home, wraps me in warmth as the bourbon settles in my stomach. Processing the events of today.
I rest my head against the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling.
The squeak of the wood floor alerts me to someone else in the room.
I snap my head up and lock eyes with my dad's woman, Allie.
She has been through the shit. She has no doubt proven her place as an ol lady over the past couple of days.
She walks over and takes the seat on the opposite side of the couch.
“I figured everyone would have gone home,” Allie says.
I’ve only been gone from this house for about three hours.
Just enough to clear my head after doing that tattoo for Tiny and to get the bomb that my old lady is back in toe with a son I didn’t know I had.
Mark my words: just because she hasn’t been my old lady in name doesn’t mean she isn’t mine.
I have my teeth due to be kicked down my throat first thing in the morning for that one, once Beaver finds out in church.
I clear my throat before answering. “Harley is up in her old room so she can be here for Cole in the morning. I needed to get out of the clubhouse, and I figured this would be as good a place as any. Do you need me to get you something?” I ask.
“I killed a woman.” Allie covered her mouth in shock, as if she hadn’t expected that sentence to come out of her mouth.
When Rock got the call, we all hopped on our bikes and raced down HWY-74 at one hundred and twenty miles an hour, splitting every car in sight to get to her as quickly as we could.
The normal forty-minute ride took only fifteen minutes.
I rode in a complete fog, my only thought was getting to Allie’s store as quickly as I could.
This woman did everything expected of her as an ol lady.
She defended herself and her unborn child while getting my pops' help.
When I close my eyes, I can still see her, covered in my father's blood, standing outside her boutique as an EMT performs compressions on my dad's chest while they load him into the ambulance.