“I kept to myself,” Angel continued.
“Only giving him advice when he asked for it, but still drinkin’ to cope. I thought I was doin’ better because I was only takin’ the edge off. Wasn’t until he showed up at my house late one afternoon that things got put in perspective. He’d fallen in love… wanted me to talk him out of it. Here I thought it was obvious how much pain I was in, but he didn’t see it that way. Thought I’d forgotten about her…”
The man in the suit tapped the face of his watch with a regretful smile, and I wanted to tell him to shove the timepiece right up his ass.
Angel simply nodded. “I’ll wrap it up by sayin’ that his visit changed everything for me, made me see that I wasn’t living a life Mary would’ve been proud of. I never told him, but the kid saved my life that day. I’m Charlie, and I’ve been sober since February 1990.”
Twenty-seven years.
The room erupted into clapping and congratulations. I just stayed where I was, still gripping Angel’s hand in mine while staring up at him in wonder.
He’d done what I’d never in a million years be able to. Sure, I’d give it up for a while, but when shit got heavy, it was always going to be hovering in the background of my mind. And, just like every time before, I’d let it lure me in with its siren song until it dragged me down into the depths of full-blown addiction again.
“C’mon, Mike,” Angel said briskly. “We got places to be.”
“Where are we going?” I asked as he maneuvered through the crowded room and out into the parking lot. The evening air was mild, a sure sign that winter was giving way to spring.
He stopped suddenly in front of his pickup before turning back to face me. “You like breakfast?”
I scratched at my beard. “Yeah, who doesn’t? But you do realize it’s nine o’clock at night, right?”
“Breakfast can be eaten anytime, shithead. Everybody knows that. Hop in; I know a place.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely, old man,” I muttered before climbing into the passenger seat.
“How’d you like your first meeting?” he asked before pulling out of the parking lot. The old truck seemed to vibrate against the rough patches of road but was still a hell of a lot smoother than I’d imagined it’d be.
“How old is this truck?”
Angel grinned widely like I’d just asked to see pictures of his kids. “1967 Chevrolet C-10. You like it?”
I nodded. “Suspension seems to be in good shape. Usually, these older vehicles shake enough to rattle your fillings out.”
He looked back toward the windshield and made a left, merging onto the interstate. “Never imagined I’d be happy to ride in a cage, but Wolverine ran across this gem in a salvage yard about thirty years ago. I’ve always liked workin’ with my hands, so I put in the work and fixed her up. It was a bitch trackin’ down parts to restore her, but worth every second.”
I nodded again and went back to staring out the passenger window, wondering if there was anything in life I’d ever been good at doing besides fucking things up.
“What about you?” the old man asked. “What do you like doin’?”
“That’s what I was just thinking about. I don’t think there’s a damn thing. I was a mediocre detective, and I only ever got that job because of Grey. I don’t know, Angel. Maybe some of us are just good for nothing.”
He jerked his chin. “That’s a load of horse shit, and you know it, son. What’d you want to be as a kid? What were your dreams?”
When I grow up, I’m gonna be one of the good guys…
My laugh was hollow. “I wanted to be a hero like Brisco County, Jr. or Scandal Jackson, Jr. from Cobra. Seeing as to how I was a junior too, thought it was a sign from the universe or something. I wanted to be the one to save the world. Wasn’t until I got a little older that I realized the world didn’t want to be saved.”
“So, why ain’t you done it yet?”
I turned toward him with a frown. “Turn up your hearing aid, old man. I said the world doesn’t want to be saved, and the good guys are all gone.”
“Sound like your daddy now.” He put the truck in park in front of a late-night barbershop before looking over at me. “C’mon, let’s make this quick.”
I studied the red, white, and blue striped awning. “This doesn’t look like much of a breakfast joint to me, Angel.”
“We’ll get to breakfast in a minute, but first, we gotta do somethin’ about your hair. And that shit on your face you’re callin’ a beard? You look like a goddamn hobo.”
I ran my fingers over my beard, wondering if I’d missed getting the food out of it again. Maybe it had become more of a catchall lately, but I’d made it out of the house with clean clothes on, so I was calling it a win.
The bell over the door jingled as Angel led me inside and two men who had to be as old as God stood up and greeted him by name.
“This one here’s lookin’ a little ragged. Thought he could do with a straight shave and a little somethin’ to clean up the mop on his head he’s callin’ hair.”
I opened my mouth to argue, only to catch sight of my reflection in the mirror above the counter as I was led back to a chair by the shorter of the two barbers. Angel was right. I might’ve sobered up, but I still looked like a junkie in need of a fix.
“Name’s George,” the old man said gruffly by way of introduction. “Been doing Charlie’s hair for years. You’re by far the worst he’s brought in, though.”
“Thanks?” I cocked my head to the side until Angel came into view. “The worst you’ve brought in? Is this a thing for you?”
He shrugged. “Helped a few people out over the years when I could. Got ‘em back on their feet.”
“Mostly vagrants,” George added while running the straight razor up and down the strop hanging on the wall. “Acts of atonement, isn’t that right, Joseph?”
The other barber nodded solemnly from the front counter.
“Atonement for what?” I asked.
Angel sank down into one of the empty chairs across from mine. “Ain’t done a lot right in this life, kid. I like to think I’m makin’ up for it now so that one day—”
“You end up with Mary again,” I finished, and he nodded. It made sense, and as much as I wanted Lauren to take me back, we both knew she deserved better.
Living without her was my punishment for Patrick and all the ways I’d managed to fuck up my life since birth. Maybe if I spent the rest of my life atoning for my sins, I’d get a second chance with her in the next life.
“Earlier, you told me I sounded like my dad,” I started as George leaned my chair back. “Were you referring to Grey or… Comedian?”
Saying Comedian’s name aloud no longer made my skin crawl. I’d been convinced that he was behind Grey’s disappearance, and now… now, I wasn’t sure what to think. I still didn’t have any answers, but Comedian was the one who’d shown up and helped me put my house back together when the club had turned their backs on me.
He’d known how important it was for me to have a safe place for Lauren if she ever decided to come back.
In the beginning, I’d called her almost every day.
Calls that she’d wisely ignored.
It wasn’t until I detoxed that I realized I was little more than a ticking time bomb. I could’ve convinced her to come back home, both of us knowing that my sobriety would last only until the next crisis.
I knew then that if I truly loved her, I’d either find a way to stay clean for her and our unborn children, or I’d let her go for good.
George had just laid a hot towel over my face when Angel replied. “I meant Jamie. His old man was a piece of shit, and he was always convinced that he was going to turn out the exact same way. Said it was in his blood… course, he only seemed to get like that when he was usin’ or lost in the bottle.”
Alcoholism and addiction run in your family.
Had I known then that he was talking about himself?
“He was… he was like me?” I mumbled from beneath the towel.
“Yeah, kid. You two are cut from the same cloth—hell, even your drugs of choice are identical.”
George applied oil to my face and began lathering soap against my jawline. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d shaved or done anything with as much care as the barber above me was.
Angel’s boots squeaked against the linoleum floor as he moved closer. “I know you wanna believe that it won’t get better, but you’re wrong. If your stubborn ass daddy got clean, so can you.”
“How’d he do it?” I asked, doing my best not to move my mouth, ruining George’s hard work.
“He hit rock bottom,” Angel admitted. “You’d gotten into some trouble down in Galveston, and Celia had gotten hurt. It just seemed like everything was stacked against him.”
Angel made it sound as if I’d had a failing grade on my report card, but I knew the ‘trouble’ was Grey finding out his son was a murderer. The thing with Celia wasn’t as easy to figure out. The day we tracked down Hawk, she’d known how to identify him based on a tattoo. That, along with Comedian’s cryptic message to Kate about asking Celia for the truth only added to the mystery.
“And?” I pushed when he stayed silent.
“Don’t feel right, you hearin’ it from me instead of him, but as he ain’t here, it’s gotta fall to me. He was gonna end it all… even called me up on the phone, sayin’ he was sorry he’d let me down. I called Slim, and by the grace of the good Lord above, he was able to get to him in time—”
The straight razor passed over my skin, taking with it, not only the overgrown coarse hairs of my beard but the little boy I’d been only moments before. I’d always seen Grey as this invincible force, some superhero who never let anything get him down.
Angel’s revelation was the equivalent of pulling back the curtain, destroying what remained of my childhood ideals. Worse than discovering that Santa wasn’t real was the discovery that my hero was human.
“He was going to kill himself? Who’s Slim? Was he another biker?” I asked through clenched teeth, praying George’s hand stayed steady in spite of my yapping.
“He was,” Angel replied. “And Slim had been by Jamie’s side since they were kids. Well, hell, you knew him.”
I did?
I ran through the list of bikers in Silent Phoenix twice as George worked diligently on my face but couldn’t recall ever having met someone by the name of Slim.
“You might be confusing me with someone else, Angel,” I finally said as the straight razor began moving against the grain under my chin.
“Hold still,” the old man directed. “These hands ain’t what they used to be. You wanna get cut?”
I held my breath and tried communicating with my eyes so he didn’t slice my throat open.
“Let’s see, I guess you wouldn’t have known him as Slim, but John.”
“David’s dad was a biker?” I asked, completely forgetting my plan to remain still.
George muttered a curse, and stepped back with his arms crossed over his chest. “You two can gab all you want in a goddamn minute. Just let me finish.”
John had stepped in after Grey moved us down south. No matter how hard he worked, he was never too busy to spend time with his son and the fatherless kid who always seemed to be at his house.
Maybe Grey had always known he couldn’t be the father he wanted to be and had recruited John to fill in.
Maybe I was still full of shit after all these years, imagining that Grey had given a damn.
Angel sighed. “Yeah, Slim was a biker until the day he died. Seemed like some days, he was the only one who could get through to Jamie, ya know?”
I thought of David and how, even with his own problems, he’d managed to be the voice of reason on more than one occasion.
Did he know who his dad was?
Did any of us truly know who our parents were?
“Why are you telling me all this now, old man?” I asked as George wiped at my face with a cool damp cloth, signaling the end of my shave.
He shifted the chair forward before spinning it around to face the mirror. I brought my hand up to touch my bare skin. It was like I was seeing myself for the first time.
Angel’s eyes met mine in the reflection. “I told you all that because it’s time to man up, Mike. I mean it. Jamie’s gone; someone has to take his place. That someone is you—”
“Just one problem—the club already turned me away—”
“And?” He shrugged. “What’s that got to do with shit? Your daddy made it clear that you’d never patch in, swore you’d never be forced to be somethin’ you ain’t.”
I laughed. “Well, news flash, Angel. I ain’t a cop anymore either. Unless you’re about to bestow some magical powers on me, I don’t see that there’s anything for me to run.”
Instead of agreeing with me, Angel ran a hand over his mouth with a sigh. “Celia’s gonna go after the Sons, kid. With, or without the club’s help. Several others have decided to stand with her…”
“Like a team?” I asked, my eyebrows bunching together. “Jesus, Angel, you couldn’t get all of us on the same page if we were being paid.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “You may be right. Be sure and tell your wife your reasons for being a pussy next time you see her, okay?”
“My wife?”
“Face looks great as usual, George. Let’s get his hair cleaned up next. Need him lookin’ presentable.” Angel turned back to face me with a wide grin. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you… goin’ after the Sons was Lauren’s idea. Girl’s recruited herself a nice little group. Last I checked, even Goblin had joined.”
Little Ricky?
“Oh,” he added. “And that tall guy… what’s his name? Jed? No. Jack? Jimmy!”
Jesus fuckin’ Christ.
OD’ed once and suddenly my pregnant wife was running her own biker gang with the same fuckers who’d tried to steal her from me before.
“Is that right?” I snarled through clenched teeth. “Well, you let my wife know that she just got one more.”
He clapped me on the shoulder with a chuckle. “Gotta take care of your hair first, then we’ll see if she’ll let ya in.”
Chapter Nine
Kate
“Add white wine; bring to a boil, stirring to loosen browned bits from pan,” I muttered to myself while reading over the recipe on my phone screen. “Got it.”
I measured out the wine and added it to the skillet before tipping the bottle back into my waiting mouth. My head had been a mess since my visit to see Mike weeks ago.
I’d been trying to work up the courage to ask Nate about the night my father was shot but had been unsuccessful. There was no way to broach the subject without admitting that I’d been talking to my brother.
Tonight was going to be different, though.
I was going to take the same advice I gave my patients and just confront my fears head-on. I was twenty-seven years-old—a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. While my husband had a tendency to shy away from drama, this was my family, and I had a right to know.
Knowing Nate, he’d prove to me that he had nothing to do with anything that happened to my father that night and we’d both move on with our lives.
Everything was fine.
The recipe disappeared from the screen, only to be replaced with my mother’s name. I tossed the empty wine bottle into the trashcan and retrieved another from the small wine fridge under the counter.
Celia Quinn
Missed Call
My phone taunted me from three feet away, reminding me that there was still one other person I was avoiding. Proving that I would’ve made an excellent candidate for therapy, the anger and resentment I’d held toward my mother as a teen had only gotten stronger since my father’s disappearance.
Have you ever asked your mother for the truth?
Comedian’s words had woken me up from a dead sleep on more than one o
ccasion, leaving my body coated in a sheen of cold sweat.
What truth?
The woman had lied to me for most of my life, starting with the day the police told me my father had been killed. She’d known the truth while I battled intense anxiety attacks from grief but hadn’t once spoken up.
She could’ve ended my suffering but chose not to for him.
She’d always chosen him, hadn’t she?
Leaving us with Angel when being a mother interfered with her gambling…
Shipping us off to live with my grandparents so she could live like an outlaw with my father…
I didn’t know what she’d told Comedian, but the truth was that Celia Quinn was a horrible mother.
At the sound of the garage door opening, I quickly shoved the almost empty second bottle of wine behind some cookbooks and turned the heat on the stove down to low before tossing the cooked chicken breasts back in with the sauce.
Nate came around the corner, bleary-eyed from a long shift, but his mouth curving up into a sexy grin when he saw me. I returned it, before glancing down to where his scrub pants disappeared into the top of his western boots.
My redneck surgeon.
“Hey, cowboy,” I teased, tucking myself into his body as he moved closer. He let out a low growl as my lips brushed against his throat, and I belatedly realized that I was more than a little intoxicated from the wine I’d sampled while cooking.
“Katy girl,” he whispered into my hair. “You feeling alright?”
I nodded and nuzzled against him like a puppy dog. Typically, I limited myself to one glass of wine and never let myself drink more than two in a week.
Right now, though?
I needed every drop.
“May have had a teensy bit to drink,” I slurred before bunching his scrub top in my fists. I was supposed to be working up the courage to ask him about New Year’s Eve, not thinking of how good his hard body felt against mine.
I wasn’t supposed to be imagining him yanking up my skirt and tugging my panties to the side before taking me against the kitchen cabinets.
Savior: Silent Phoenix MC Series: Book Five Page 11
