It’s a simple phrase, I’ve heard a thousand times but this time when I hear it, it packs a punch.
One that lands right in the center of my heart.
Chapter Seven
I’m starting to think my bastard of a brother is haunting me from the depths of hell. It’s the only logical explanation for the shit I’ve endured since I answered that fucking phone, and something tells me I haven’t even experienced the worst of it yet. On top of that, I seem to be having a delayed reaction to seeing Mac. Coming face to face with the only woman I’ve ever loved, provoked a sea of emotions I wasn’t prepared to feel. Still, by some fucking miracle, I kept my cool and concealed everything I was feeling with a permanent scowl fixed on my face.
It wasn’t until I made my way back to the clubhouse that I let myself acknowledge what seeing Mac did to me. The plan was to get a couple of hours of shuteye before hitting the road but the minute my body hit the mattress, visions of Mac flooded my mind. Standing in the middle of her Nana’s living room, with those daisy duke shorts of hers and those long toned legs on display, brought back memories of having them wrapped around my waist. It was obvious her body had evolved in the years since I had seen her last and I’m not just talking about the rack I couldn’t peel my eyes from, I am talking about the total package.
When we were younger and spent our nights laying in the bed of my truck, mapping out our future, I would try to picture her older, you know after kids, when we were settled into our lives. I knew she would always be a knockout. She was a timeless beauty but even knowing that, couldn’t have prepared me for what I saw today.
My brother was a lucky son of a bitch.
That motherfucker got to lay next to her every night and got to wake up to her pretty face every day. Any other man would’ve felt like he won the lotto, but Junior was a selfish fuck and having Mac wasn’t enough for him. Blinded by the mighty dollar, he sacrificed his woman and his child for blow. Left them in the middle of a fucking war, with a price tag on their heads.
At that thought, I decided sleep wasn’t in the cards and I wandered into the hallway. That’s when I spotted Mooney exiting another bedroom, carrying a box. He told me he was grabbing the last of the things Mac requested before he disappeared, leaving me alone in the hallway. I found it odd that Mac and Ryder kept their shit at the clubhouse but decided they were probably staying there as a precaution that Junior had put them up in a room anticipating the fall from his dealings with the cartel.
Waiting for Mooney to return, I stood outside the room. Every minute that ticked by, my curiosity grew. After it was clear, the old man wasn’t coming back, I pushed the door open and was immediately engulfed by the familiar scent of Mac’s perfume. Out of habit, I closed the door behind me and took in the tiny room. Aside from the floral comforter draped over the full-size bed, there wasn’t much that indicated the room belonged to a woman. However, there was no denying that Ryder slept in the same room as his mother. From the twin bed perched against the wall to the toys piled high in bins around the room. I also noticed there wasn’t any sign of Junior to be found.
Stepping further into the room, an uneasy feeling settled deep in my gut as I realized Mac and Ryder’s living conditions were familiar to me. It wasn’t that long ago that I was in Albany where a young woman lived confined to a room the same as the one I was standing in. Of course, the circumstances were different. Still, I couldn’t shake the disturbing thoughts that crept into my head and began comparing Mac to Ally, a young woman Rush kept like a prisoner in the clubhouse. At the time, I thought he was a jealous prick with control issues that kept his woman under lock and key. I had no idea she was abducted at the age of fourteen and basically sold to my club president. That information didn’t come until the fucking animal went off the rails and the Brooklyn charter came charging into Albany, guns blazing.
Like I said, the circumstances were different. Mac was not abducted as a child, but I couldn’t help but wonder why she and Ryder were confined to a single room. Whenever I let myself wonder about her and Junior’s life, I always assumed they were living some American dream, complete with a white picket fence and a dog Ryder could chase around the front yard. I was confusing the life she lived with my brother, with the life she was meant to have with me.
Standing in that room, I started to believe Mac wasn’t livin’ any kind of dream and what was even more startling was that I was bothered by the idea. Bothered and curious as fuck—a dangerous combination for a man who had already been obliterated by this woman. Reminding myself she chose Junior over me, I got the fuck out of her room.
Instead of trying to sleep, I made my way back to her grandmother’s house and prepared for the ride to hell. Together, Mooney and I loaded Ryder and Mac’s belongings into the bed of the truck and attached the trailer to the hitch, so I could transport my bike back home. Once we were done with all that shit, we changed the oil in the truck, added air to the tires and gassed it up. I still wasn’t sure we’d make it to New York in this thing but we sure as fuck were going to try.
Checking the time, I round the truck and glance at the front of Nana’s house. Any minute now, Mac and her kid are going to step out of that door and life as I know it will change once again.
“Give me a cigarette,” I say to Mooney. “And go get Mac,” I add, pulling a lighter from my back pocket. “It’s time to get this show on the road.”
Taking the cigarette from him, I meet his narrowed gaze.
“You ready for this?”
“Does it really fucking matter?” I growl, lighting the cigarette.
“Junior wasn’t good, Bas. Not for the club and never for Mac,” he replies. “A lot of shit went down while you were in the can. I tried to warn you back then, but you weren’t hearing me. All you cared about was getting back to your girl. Mac hasn’t had it easy since they slapped those cuffs on your wrists—”
His words are cut off by the sound of rumbling pipes. Turning my attention to the flashing headlights of an SUV that’s flocked by a fleet of bikes, I watch them slowly pull in front of Nana’s house and kill their engines. A moment later my mother and Crank climb out of the fancy truck. The men in leather remain perched on their bikes as Milly stares back at the house and Crank makes his way toward me.
Muttering a curse, I toss the cigarette to the ground and meet his gaze. Crank and I never saw eye to eye. He saw me as a roadblock standing between him and the gavel and I saw him as the motherfucker who rejoiced the day my father died. He was a master manipulator and I, a loyal soldier—a son who only wanted to carry on his father’s legacy. With the help of my mother, Crank took advantage of that. She fed him my weaknesses and together, they set me up to take the fall for the club. Back then, five years in prison didn’t seem like much of a sacrifice if it meant preserving a piece of my father’s memory.
I guess the joke was on me then, just as it is now.
“Son,” Crank greets, extending his hand.
Ignoring his attempt at peace, I slice my eyes to Mooney.
“Mac,” I remind him before leaving Crank standing there with his outstretched hand and make my way around the back of the truck. My steps falter at the sound of my mother’s voice.
“Sebastian,” she calls. “A word.”
“What is it?”
“Crank is going to have the club follow you to the state line,” she reveals, causing me to turn and face her. “Protection,” she supplies.
“I’ve got it from here.”
“Being stubborn will get you dead,” she seethes. “In case you need a reminder, you’re carrying precious cargo. You want to die that’s fine. Maybe I can score a discount after burying one son but, you need to take Ryder’s safety seriously. Now, either you call your club and have them meet you at the halfway point or I will have Mooney do so.”
“Such the doting mother,” I sneer. “Don’t you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”
“Another thing,” she says, rolling her eyes as she closes
the distance between us. At the close proximity, I curiously narrow my eyes as she slides her hand inside her shirt, pulling a wad of cash from her bra.
“Classy,” I mutter.
Ignoring my comment, she slaps the cash against my chest.
“That should cover them for a while. If you need more, call Mooney and I will have him wire you more money.”
Glancing down, I wrap my hand around her wrist, roughly pulling it away from my chest. If I wasn’t already sure I was fucked, now would be the moment my theory was confirmed. There was no way I was going to take a penny from my mother. The thought that she could pay me to take Mac and Ryder away from here and keep them safe not only angered me but also made me acknowledge a truth I didn’t want to admit. They might not be mine, but they also weren’t a job either.
“Take the money, Bas,” she orders.
“I don’t want your fucking money,” I growl. “You called me here because you knew despite everything that went down, I’d always come running when it came to her. Like it or not, Mac’s my responsibility now, and Ryder is an extension of her, therefore, you can shove your money where the sun don’t shine.”
Lifting an eyebrow, my mother juts a hip as she tucks her cash back between her breasts.
“Well, that didn’t take long.”
“Excuse me?”
“You, staking claim on your brother’s leftovers,” she explains.
A sinister chuckle escapes my lips as I close the distance between us and speak another truth. The one that everyone seems to have forgotten.
“Ain’t nobody’s leftovers when you’re the one who brought the meal to the table,” I sneer, glaring at her.
Straightening her posture, her nostrils flare.
“Watch where you stick your dick, son,” she retorts.
“Grandma!”
The sound of Ryder’s voice stops me from throttling the bitch in front of me. It also stops my mother from taunting me some more and simultaneously we both turn to face the little boy. Standing next to his mother, he angles his head and smiles up at his grandmother. I forget how to breathe as my eyes sweep over him, drinking him in from head to toe. I expected to look at him and feel the pain I felt the day I learned of his existence. I thought the ground would shake and split, swallowing me whole but the longer I look at him—at his shaggy blonde hair and big blue eyes, at the missing tooth in his lopsided grin and the freckles that decorate the bridge of his nose—the more conflicted I become.
He’s fucking adorable.
And, he’s got my eyes.
My fucking blue eyes.
Reminding myself, he’s my nephew and our bloodlines are one and the same, I shake my head slightly before lifting my head and meeting Mac’s gaze. As if she could read the thoughts running through my mind, she smiles sadly…apologetically.
“Mommy is that him?” Ryder whispers, pulling on the frayed hem of Mac’s ridiculously short cutoffs.
As she tears her eyes from mine, I start for them. Ignoring the Devil on my shoulder, warning me I’m coasting into unchartered waters, I crouch down in front of Ryder as Mac confirms I’m his uncle. He turns to me and I swear to God, it feels like someone sucker punched me.
“So, you’re Ryder, huh?”
“Yes, sir,” he says with a nod.
“Sir?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as I slice my eyes back to Mac.
“He’s being polite,” she murmurs, protectively placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’s a little nervous,” she sighs, blowing the fallen strands of hair away from her face before looking back at Ryder. “But there’s nothing to be nervous about, isn’t that right, Bas?”
She looks at me again. This time her eyes plead for me to go easy on her boy and that alone, makes me momentarily forget the circumstances surrounding our situation. Meeting Ryder’s bashful eyes, I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. The kid just lost his father, now he’s being forced to leave his home and stuck with an uncle he never met. Suddenly my resentment fades and I’m hit by the overwhelming need to erase the worry etched upon his innocent face.
“Nervous, yeah? There’s nothing to be nervous about,” I assure him, drawing out a deep breath. Feeling the weight of everyone’s stare, I mutter a curse before continuing. “How about we drop this sir thing though and you just call me Bas?”
Asking the kid to call me Uncle don’t seem right, mainly because I don’t deserve the title. Not when I’ve spent his whole life ignoring his existence.
“Okay,” he replies, casting his eyes towards his shoes.
“Hey,” I call.
As he lifts his chin, I make a fist and offer him a pound. Unsure what to do, he diverts his eyes toward his mother but before Mac can explain a pound is the equivalent of a handshake, I reach for his hand and close his fingers into his palm.
“There you go,” I say. “Now, tap your fist to mine.”
“Like this?” he asks as we knock fists.
“You got it,” I reply.
Nodding, I offer him a wink as Mac’s gaze penetrates through me. I don’t dare look up at her. This isn’t about her or me. Nor is it about Junior or my mother.
It’s about learning to be an uncle.
It’s about Ryder.
It’s about realizing this gig might not be as bad as I figured it would be.
Chapter Eight
I spoke too soon.
Being trapped in a car with a kid and your ex-girlfriend for hours on end is a fucking fate worse than death. I should’ve realized this would be torturous the moment Mac slid beside me in the passenger seat, wearing those barely decent shorts. Fucking Legs Magee always liked to taunt me, and apparently old habits die hard. We weren’t in the car ten minutes before she kicked her legs up on the dash and my jeans grew uncomfortable. However, she hardly acknowledged my existence and focused on Ryder the whole time, making it clear she wasn’t intentionally trying to get a rise out of me. It’s too bad my dick didn’t get the memo.
Riding to the state line with the club on our tail, I tried to distract myself. I couldn’t be sure that Milly wasn’t onto something and figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I gave Jack a heads up that I was on my way back to Brooklyn with a plus one. Scratch that—one and a half counting Ryder.
Jack didn’t answer, and I decided it was probably best not to explain this shit show while driving. Besides, the Brooklyn charter loves a good surprise. I mean, in the past they’ve handled long lost sisters, mental breakdowns and paternity issues with flying colors. Let me not forget to mention the explosions and the shootouts that always seem to sneak up on them. Fuck, my situation is minuscule compared to all that shit. If anything, I’m giving them a break from the mayhem and peril by providing them with this traveling circus.
And a circus we are.
Four hours on the road and we must’ve stopped twelve times. The first few times were so Ryder could take a piss. I tried to be cool about it but after the fourth time, I handed the kid a Gatorade bottle and told him to relieve himself with it. Bad move. He started crying and Mac looked like she was going to choke me. I’m not going to lie, I liked the idea of the latter but, I also felt like a giant dick for making the kid cry.
I was acing this uncle gig.
At this rate, Mac might ask me to baptize him—yeah-fucking-right.
After the Gatorade fiasco, they were hungry. That’s when I realized we had been on the road for hours and the GPS on my phone had estimated our twelve-hour trip would now take fourteen hours. Still, I hung on to the self-control I had left, and we stopped off at a Wendy’s. Chicken nuggets for everyone. With everybody making a trip to the restroom and everyone’s belly full, I thought we were good.
My mistake.
Since my fucking truck was older than dirt it wasn’t equipped to charge an iPad and heaven forbid, the kid took in the sights. Whatever happened to the days when kids got excited over playing the license plate game? You know when you check out the plates trying to spot all fifty states—I fuck
ing loved that shit when I was a kid. Ryder hadn’t even heard of it.
So, again, we stopped, got the charger and now, five minutes later, Ryder is fast asleep in the back seat, leaving me and his mother surrounded by an uncomfortable silence. It makes me realize since we got on the road every word we’ve said has been to or about Ryder. I don’t know if it’s because we genuinely have nothing to say to one another or if we have too much to say. I think the both of us know once we start revealing all the truths we left unsaid six years ago, there will be no taking it back and I know I’m not ready for that. If I’m going to get through whatever this is between us, I need to keep a level head and Mac at a distance. Which means when we get settled, I’m taking her to buy a bunch of unflattering long pants that hide her legs.
“We need to talk,” Mac says.
Fuck my life.
Tightening my grip on the steering wheel, I keep my eyes on the road and remain silent. Maybe if I ignore her, she’ll conk out like the kid and we can both pretend this isn’t happening.
“For Ryder’s sake, I’d appreciate it if you toned down your hatred for me. He’s just a child, and he’s been through a lot—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re still going on about the Gatorade thing?” I ask angrily, peering at her from the corner of my eye. “I didn’t know he would get all upset, Mac. Fucking Junior and I did the same thing when we were kids.”
“It’s not just the Gatorade thing,” she protests. “He’s confused and well, he’s intimidated by you.”
“He’s intimidated by me? If that’s not the biggest crock of shit—”
“Lower your voice,” she hisses.
“Oh, I’ll lower my voice all right. This conversation is done.”
“Why, because you say it’s over? Like it or not, I have questions and unfortunately, you’re the only one who can answer them. I get this is all a giant inconvenience to you,” she spats, furiously. “We’re disrupting the perfect life you created for yourself, but you agreed to help me and Ryder, which means you owe me an explanation.”
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