Epilogue
Thrill of the Wind
Jagger
One month later…
When Jagger walked into his mom and Hound’s
kitchen, Dutch was already sprawled at the table.
There was no Georgie.
Which made Jag feel better since he’d been ordered to come
to breakfast and Archie was not invited.
But only a little bit better because this was weird.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Well, hello to you too,” his mother said by way of answer,
turning from a counter that had some food prep stuff on it.
Jag didn’t let up.
“Where’s Hound and Wilder?”
“They’re out to breakfast,” she told him.
Say what?
“I thought we were here for breakfast,” Jag noted.
“Why are they somewhere else?”
“Okay, getting you caught up,” Dutch put in. “It’s official
that this is weird on top of weird because I asked this too, as well as why
Georgie was expressly left out of this get-together. Ma didn’t have a lot of
answers. And like I’m sensing the same from you, I’m not a fan of the mystery.”
“I heard there was a drama at Ride yesterday,” Keely cut in
to remark.
Well.
Shit.
“It wasn’t a drama…as such,” Jagger lied.
Keely stared at him.
Dutch didn’t sound annoyed or impatient anymore when he
said, “It was totally a drama, brother.”
Jagger sighed before he explained.
“Okay, so Archie decided she wanted to buy the Bronco Joker
and I restored. She came around to work things out with Tyra. Someone told me
she was on Chaos, I went in and Tyra was trying to hold the fort considering
she knew what was going down, since she took my check for the Bronco, and
Archie was making it clear she didn’t understand what was going down. So I was
forced to tell Arch I’d already bought it for her, and was waiting for the
perfect time to give it to her. She was a little miffed that I did that.”
“Miffed and loud,” Dutch added.
Now the asshole was grinning.
“As you both know, she tends to be chill,” Jag reminded
them. “It’s just on certain occasions when she’s just…not. And like
she doesn’t hesitate to communicate anything, she doesn’t hesitate to
communicate when she’s not.”
“You do know that women are capable of purchasing their own
modes of transport,” his mother pointed out.
“If you think you have anything to say that Archie hasn’t
already shared, you’d be wrong,” Jag told Keely.
“I further heard she drove away in that Bronco,” Keely
drawled.
That was when Jagger smiled.
His ma shook her head, came to him and took his left hand in
hers.
She brought it to her and opened it, palm up.
Jag didn’t pull away or make any attempt to hide what he
knew someone else had shared with her.
He’d grown up with this. His family was huge, and his
friends were his family. Therefore, it was practically impossible to have
anything to yourself.
Not that he’d hide what was in his palm.
A new-ish tat.
The infinity symbol.
One continuous stroke that said The girl across the way
as well as The guy across the way.
He had another new tattoo, it was even smaller, and it was
in a place that she couldn’t right then see.
A small A. had been added at the beginning of the
tat on his chest.
His mom pressed the pad of her thumb to the side of the
still-healing mark.
She then lifted her gaze to him and said softly, “I’m so
glad I raised a son who would buy his girl a kickass truck.”
“Ma,” he whispered, reading her vibe.
She glanced over her shoulder at Dutch then back to Jag.
“And I’m even more glad I raised two sons with exceptionally good taste.”
He already knew his mom dug Arch.
But this…
Jagger swallowed.
Keely let him go abruptly and turned back to where she’d
been standing at the counter.
Jag looked to Dutch whose long body was still sprawled at
the table, but the feel of him was no longer “Hanging at Ma’s.”
It was “Keeping an Eye on Ma.”
Feeling Jag’s attention, Dutch shifted his to his brother.
They shared a look they’d shared often over the years, and
this look happened anytime they felt they needed to keep their eye on their ma.
“When we moved, I found this,” their mother told the
counter, and both men’s focus returned to her. “I honestly didn’t remember it
existed until we moved. He’d made them so often, he didn’t need it anymore. It
was in a cookbook I hadn’t opened in ages.”
She turned and was holding a piece of yellow-ruled paper.
“I’ve been holding on to it for the right time. Now is the
right time. I made a copy, you get that,” she said that last part to Dutch.
Then to Jag, “You get the original.”
“What is it?” Jagger asked.
“Your father’s recipe for peanut butter and chocolate chip
pancakes.”
Jagger reached out a hand because suddenly, he was reeling.
“Jag?”
On his tongue, he tasted butter and syrup and peanuts and
chocolate.
And in his mind’s eye, misty and unclear, sitting at the
table he was sitting at, a dark-haired man was smiling at him.
What was not misty and unclear was what was in that smile.
And what was in it was everything.
“Jag!”
He came back into his mother’s kitchen and saw Keely close,
Dutch too, and Dutch had his fingers wrapped tight around the back of Jagger’s
neck.
But he gave his attention to his ma.
“Dad made those for us,” he said.
“Every Sunday,” she replied quietly.
Every Sunday.
Dutch took his hand from his brother.
“And now, you can make them for your women, and when they
arrive, for your babies,” she went on. “And I can promise you, your father
would love that.”
They heard a crinkle noise and both men looked down to the
paper Keely was still holding.
There were stains and some of the ink had run.
But in bold blue strokes, Graham Black had listed
ingredients and measurements and minimal instructions to guide his way in
making the Sunday morning pancakes he made his family.
And at the bottom there were some squiggly marks that looked
like big blobs with some points.
“You were trying to draw hearts,” Keely said. “To tell your
dad how much you loved his pancakes. That’s probably why he kept it when he
didn’t need it anymore. Those hearts.”
Both men looked up, but her gaze was on Jagger.
“Me?” he asked, feeling his heart pound.
“Yeah,” she said then she turned to Dutch. “That’s why he
gets it, honey. It’s him and his dad on that piece of paper. Do you
understand?”
“Yeah, Ma,” Dutch replied. “Totally.”
Jag was staring down at the paper with his father’s writing
and Jag’s “hearts.”
No one said anything for long beats.
Their mom moved them along.
“So, do you boys wanna make
pancakes?” she asked.
“Yeah, Ma.”
Both Black Brothers said it in unison that time.
“Yeah,” Keely whispered.
Her eyes were bright.
Her hands came up and she cupped both their jaws.
Her smile was wobbly.
Then she let them go and ordered, “Dutch, honey, get the
griddle. Jagger, baby, grab a bowl. Let’s get cracking.”
She shifted away.
The Black Brothers looked at each other.
Then, as they’d done time and again over the years, they
moved to do as their mother told them.
And not long after, the three remaining Black OGs sat at the
kitchen table and ate pancakes.
But the one who was missing still was there.
Like he always was.
And he always would be.
Some time
later…
Jag walked into S.I.L. through the back door
of the store and was immediately confronted by four people.
The only reason this was okay was because Archie was one of
them.
“We need to talk to you,” Joany proclaimed.
“How did you even know I was here?” Jag asked.
“Dude, you wanna be stealthy, you gotta lose the bike,” Joany shared.
Oh yeah.
Right.
“We’re at a stalemate and we’ve agreed you’re the deciding
vote,” Archie told him.
He wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
He didn’t start with that.
“First, do I show anywhere, and you don’t say ‘hey’ with a
kiss?” he asked her.
Archie grinned the grin he liked so much, came to him and
pressed close with her body and then her lips.
“Okay, La-La, we’re screwed,” Joany declared while Archie
did this. “And also, if I don’t find a man who claims my mouth like that upon
sight, I’m gonna search for a convent.”
“You’d last two hours in a convent,” Lafayette replied.
“Why? I love God and Jesus is my jam,” Joany retorted.
“I’m not sure nuns are allowed to wear makeup and fake
nails,” Fabe shared.
“Okay, I’m out,” Joany decided.
He really liked Archie’s friends.
But he had plans with his woman, his brother, and his
brother’s woman, and this wasn’t part of them.
So Jag tucked Archie to his side and told the crew, “We got
shit to do and places to go so what’s going on?”
“Who wants to start?” Joany asked.
Lafayette did and Jag knew that because he waded in.
“Well, we’ve learned lots has been going down at Casa de la
Harris Family,” he announced.
Fantastic.
Jag looked down at Archie.
“Things to know,” she started. “Both of Aaron and Allan’s
parents have recently been incarcerated. Not county lockup. The big house. And
neither of them are coming back anytime soon. Apparently, they’ve been in
trouble with the law a lot. The mom’s folks gave up on them ages ago. The dad’s
mom has been posting bail and paying for counsel and such, but she’s recently
gotten fed up and washed her hands of them. So now they’re in the pokey.”
Jag’s lips twitched when his woman used the word “pokey.”
But his mind was on the Harris brothers.
Mal had had no issues with them for some time, for two
reasons.
One, his posse finally posse’d up
and took his back, and Jag had been right. Bullies shied away from bad odds.
Two, having bikers ride to your aid and then give your
gramma an honor guard escort at her funeral carried some weight in the
middle-school world. Mal and the S.I.L. crew had earned reputations as badasses, or at least were known to be badass-adjacent,
which worked.
And on these thoughts, Jag wasn’t sure if he cared what was
up with the Harrises.
Therefore, he shared the honesty.
“This is only mildly interesting to me.”
Archie’s smile got more smug.
She enjoyed being badass-adjacent too.
“Well, Momma Harris took in the boys and she isn’t feeling