Haunt (Bayonet Scars #6)

by Jc Emery

  “I’m pissed,” I say. He stares at me with shock all over his face. Shit. He looks so much like I did when I was his age. “Because I fucked up. No kid should grow up without their dad. I’m pissed because I was a goddamn idiot and should have fought for you and your mom. I was into a lot of bad shit until recently, and it cost me my son. That fucking hurts. Finding out I got a little girl—a baby I fucking begged your mom for—that tears me up. But I’m not pissed at her. That shit’s on me. You don’t take a woman like your mom and fuck her over. Not ever.”

  Zander stands so still, eyeing me warily. He probably only heard about half of what I said, if even. But Amber heard, and that’s enough for now.

  “Are you going to leave?”

  Fuck. I just want to hug the kid and not let go of him. I used to think about what he’d be like when he was born, or if he’d be into sports or cars like I was. I spent so much time wondering what my boy would be like, but not any of those dreams, no matter how big or grand, live up to even a fraction of the reality of having this kid stand in front of me and asking me a question like that. This is the reason I got clean—so I could have and remember moments like this. I just didn’t know I’d ever get them.

  “Nope. Never. I’m going to be so far up your ass, you’re going to think I’m toilet paper.”

  Zander laughs like I’m joking, but he’s got a goofy smile on his face, and fuck if it isn’t the best thing I’ve seen all day.

  “Good,” Amber says from behind me. “It’s almost dinnertime.”

  CHAPTER 12

  In this moment, everything is perfect. My family—my old lady and my beautiful, perfect kids—are sitting around Thumper’s old wooden kitchen table. I’m leaning back in my chair, just chilling as I watch the three of them interact. Amber pulls me into conversation every now and then, and Zander is quiet as hell, but he keeps staring at me like I’ve got two heads or something. I want to talk to him, but when I try, I just fucking freeze up and can’t. Piper is in her high chair and talking her little baby ass off in a language that Amber pretends to speak, but she can’t possibly. Her conversational skills are about as solid as mine are when I’m fucked-up—nothing makes any sense.

  Amber’s eyes shift to mine and she tries—and fails—to subtlety nod her head in Zander’s direction. My eyes widen and I shrug my shoulders. The woman’s got to give me some help here. I don’t know how to be a dad. Fuck.

  “Do you like movies?” I ask Zander. His eyes shoot to mine immediately, but he doesn’t speak. He just nods his head. I suck in an unsteady breath and stand.

  “Are you leaving?” His face pales, and his eyes bounce from me to his mom. His brows draw together, and his knuckles are white as he grips his fork like his life depends on it.

  “Just getting another beer,” I say and give him my best smile. I probably look like a serial killer or something. Fuck. This is probably easier when they’re babies and don’t know how awkward and weird their parents are. I just want the kid to like me.

  Amber signals she wants a beer, so I head out to the garage and grab two cold ones from the fridge. Once I have them in my hands, I give myself a minute before heading back in there. I’m not this uncertain fuck who gets nervous around people who can’t kill me before I can kill them. But this is different. Zander isn’t a prospect—he’s my son. I can’t force him to respect me, and he’s not going to kiss my ass and pretend he likes me. My cut won’t buy me shit with my kid, and it’s fucking me up thinking that who I am underneath the patch isn’t enough to be a good dad for whatever time I have before he’s too grown to want me around.

  Back in the kitchen, Amber is leaning across the table, saying something to Zander that I can barely hear. I move closer but not too close to be seen. My boy keeps a stiff upper lip as she talks, offering only an occasional verbal response.

  “It’s okay to be excited,” she says.

  He rolls his eyes and says, “I’m not excited. He’s cool is all.”

  Amber shakes her head and focuses on Piper, who’s trying to grab macaroni and cheese in her little hand and shove it in her mouth, but they keep slipping out, and she’s getting mad. My girl’s got a temper, just like her momma.

  “Fork works better,” Zander says, eyeing his sister. She’s stares at him, then picks up her plastic fork and waves it at him. Her lips are pursed, parted slightly, and she’s doing this spitting/shushing thing and giving him a warning look.

  “Bubba, be nice!” she says in a little baby shout. A stupid fucking smile and laugh overtake me. She must have practiced that a lot because it comes out so clear compared to everything else she tries to say. Striding into the room, I’m met with a perplexed look from Zander and a soft smile from Amber.

  “She’s bossy,” I say and pop the top off Amber’s beer before handing it to her.

  “She’s a pain in the ass,” Zander says, giving her a side eye. My smile gets bigger as I open my own beer and sit back down in my seat.

  “You both get that from your mother,” I say. Amber told me bits and pieces about my boy, and one recurring theme was how strong-headed he is. Something shifts in his mood. He drops his fork, shoves his chair back, and stands up so quickly it surprises me. What the actual fuck?

  “Sit your ass down and finish your dinner.” Amber’s order does nothing to derail the boy from the attitude he’s cooking.

  “No. He can’t just come in here and act like he knows me!”

  A lump forms in my throat. He’s right. I did just meet him, and hearing the pain and emotion in his voice takes me back to being his age and being pissed at the world for anything and everything. But most especially at the time, for not having a dad. I let my boy grow without a dad, and damn if this doesn’t suck.

  “Sit down.” Amber’s voice has taken on a hard edge that demands a sudden response. But he still doesn’t move. If it wouldn’t make the situation worse, I’d point out that this kind of shit is exactly what I was referring to. Amber goes about trying to talk to the boy, but every second that passes, my mood just gets worse and worse.

  “Why? So we can sit here and pretend like we’re a happy fucking family?”

  Amber shoots up from her chair before I can. She crosses the room and stands right in front of him. I can tell they’ve done this dance at least a hundred times before. I rise from my seat slowly, taking in greedy breaths to calm myself. It. Doesn’t. Fucking. Help.

  “Zander Wyatt Strand, you get your fucking ass back in that goddamn chair. Now.” Amber’s voice is harder than I’ve ever heard it before. Half a second later, Piper is screaming at the top of her lungs. Her face is bright red, with tears streaming down her chubby cheeks. Her little arms are shaking like crazy.

  Zander leans down and shakes his head with a cocky smirk on his face. “No.”

  I will not beat his ass.

  “Kid, you’re one wrong word from getting your ass whooped.” Amber jabs her finger into his chest and stands on tiptoe to get in his face as much as she can. I want to do something, but I don’t think knocking my kid out the first time I meet him is going to go over well with him or his mother. And that’s kind of all I got in terms of ideas right now, so I stay put and do my best not to fuck him up.

  “Which word?” he says. “Bite or me?”

  I will not beat my son’s ass.

  “How many times have you begged me to let you see your dad, huh? And this is how you act? You’re hurting, kid. I get that. But you need to rein it in and fucking enjoy having a father.”

  My woman is in crazy momma bear mode right now—laying down the law while appealing to his heart. Her chest is heaving and her movements are jerky, but her voice is clear as day. Too bad Zander’s skull is too fucking thick for him to hear a damn thing she’s saying. He’s cocky, throwing his size around like he’s the biggest motherfucker in the room. He’s not.

  The kid is at least half a foot taller than her, and though he’s lacking muscle, he’s hearty. Shit. If he were a brother and she were some rand
om bitch, she’d have her ass handed to her right now for giving him shit. Not that Mugs couldn’t handle herself in that situation, but it’s crazy to see the difference in size. She’s small compared to me—most people are—but seeing how our son towers her is just one more reminder of how much of his life I’ve missed. I’ll never see him shorter than her. I’ll never see any of that. All I have left is the smart-mouth teenager who’s smirking at his mother like he ain’t got a thing to lose.

  He ignores her and walks right past his mom, meeting my eye for the briefest moment before the smirk falls from his face. My expression remains impassive as I watch him totally ignore her when he says, “Going out.”

  “You are not leaving this house,” she turns and yells. Her exhausted eyes fall on mine. She mouths, “Help,” before turning and picking up Piper and holding her to her chest.

  Well then. It looks like I have to figure out how to parent right now after all. So, I follow him out the front door and onto the lawn. He stops about ten feet from the house and looks around at the mass of grass and trees that surround us. He can stalk off, but there’s nowhere to go. He turns his head toward me just slightly before continuing on his path.

  “Z!” I don’t follow, hoping that my voice will carry enough to bring him home. It doesn’t. “Stop.” I make sure my tone is as no-nonsense and hard-as-nails as I can get it. It’s the tone I reserve for Church when the boys can’t shut up but they need to, or when something goes wrong and somebody is about to die for their mistakes. I obviously can’t deal with Zander the way I want to when he’s like this. The boy doesn’t want a father right now, so instead he’s getting the club president.

  “I have to come to you, your punishment is going to be far worse than if you come back to me.”

  He stands fifteen feet away, torn between doing what he wants and what I’ve told him to do.

  “That’s one,” I say, taking a step toward him. “Every step I have to take toward you is a week of shit you do not want to have to deal with. And believe me, boy, the closer I have to move to get to you, the angrier I’m going to be when I get there.”

  It’s a long moment before he turns around, but he fucking does. His face is red, his shoulder hunched, and his jaw is set. He takes one step toward me and stops. “How many steps will it take for you to leave again?”

  I swear to fucking Christ, I will not beat this little fucker’s ass.

  “That ain’t happening,” I say. My temper still flares, but I recognize what he’s doing. It’s the same thing I did to my mom when I first met her about thirty years ago. Still, it’s taking everything in me not to totally snap on the boy. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Nope.

  Going to beat his ass.

  “Boy, I do not have the patience or the practice to put up with your shit. Get your ass over here before I show you how I’d deal with this kind of disrespect from a fucking prospect.”

  He watches me carefully as he takes a single step forward, then folds his arms over his chest and stops.

  I take another step forward, saying, “And that’s two.”

  “Please,” he says with a hard jerk of his chin, “A two-week stretch is nothing.”

  Another step. “Three.”

  He steps toward me again, and now we’re just a few feet away. I swing my right arm out and hook it behind his neck. He pulls back quickly to dodge me, but it doesn’t work. Pulling him into me, I hug the little fucker so hard that I’m not sure he can breathe. This is the only thing I know how to do. It’s what my mom did when I thought she’d leave me and I acted out so bad to make sure I didn’t love another person who didn’t want me.

  “What are you doing?” He manages to speak despite his face being shoved into my cut. His lanky body squirms to get away, but he’s no match for the twenty-two years and hundred pounds I’ve got on him.

  “Showing you that I’m not going to leave you,” I say and hold him tighter. My muscles ache for a reprieve after a few minutes. My back starts to ache not long after that. I feel the need to yawn as the sun sets around us, but still, I don’t let go. I just hold on and wait. Because eventually he’ll relax into me. And when he does, I let out a deep breath but don’t loosen my grip on him. His chin wobbles against my chest and his body shakes, though ever so slightly. I can feel it. I know what he’s doing, and I won’t shame him or worry him by letting go and acknowledging it.

  Eventually, long after the sun has set, he whispers into my chest, “You’re really not leaving?”

  And my heart breaks, because no, I’m not.

  I’m not ever leaving.

  CHAPTER 13

  Piper’s eyelids slowly fall closed. It’s just a moment, a single blissful moment, before they pop open again and she’s staring up at me like I’m about to perform a magic act. I don’t normally hold her as she falls asleep anymore, but I am tonight.

  It’s been a big day for our little family. While Piper may be too young to understand who Wyatt is, she understands all the drama around her. She knows something is wrong when her brother is yelling and I’m yelling back. She hates it. As it is, she wasn’t sleeping well when her brother wasn’t home because Rig had kidnapped him. Now she’s very slowly adjusting to our new, albeit temporary, space. For tonight, she’s just not up for falling asleep on her own in her Pack ’n Play. At least not with the big scary biker staring at her. I don’t know if she’s actually afraid of him, or if she’s just curious. He looks at her the way he used to look at me. Like he’s looking at his entire world. It’s similar to the way he looks at Zander, but not quite.

  She lifts her little head and turns to look at Wyatt. I can’t really see her expression from this angle, but whatever face she’s making is making him laugh. I smile. It’s probably the first happy, genuine smile I’ve had in weeks. Since before we came out to California and uprooted our entire lives. Long before Rig dared take my boy. I don’t know when last time was that I smiled like this, if I’m being truthful. But here I am, in my old bedroom, with my old man and our daughter. And she’s making him smile, and that makes me smile. I’m not a religious person, and I’ve never been the praying type, but in this moment, I feel blessed.

  “What is she doing?” I ask. They’re having some kind of silent conversation that has Wyatt raising his eyebrows and making swoon-worthy faces at our daughter. No wonder I was a teen mom. The man’s always wanted kids, takes family very seriously, and can pretty much force an ovary explosion any time he wants. Asshole.

  “She’s batting her eyes at me,” Wyatt says through muffled laughter. His voice is so quiet, and his body is so close. We’re just hanging out on my bed in my old bedroom like no time has passed at all. But it has. A lot of time has passed, and it kills me that I can’t just enjoy this shit.

  “The sassy little flirt is trying to get out of bedtime,” I say. She learned to bat her eyes recently. I swear to Christ that I don’t know who fucking taught her that shit, but she picked it up and has been using it go get her way ever since. Sometimes she looks like she’s having a seizure, because she’s still a baby and doesn’t have perfect control over her movements just yet. Other times, it looks so practiced it worries me for her teenage years.

  Wyatt leans in and tickles her chubby little neck. She squirms in my arms and giggles relentlessly before eventually subsiding into a frustrated yawn. Irritation spikes in me before I can stop it, and I lose my little bit of happy. I’m glad they’re bonding, but he’s riling her up, and that just pisses me off. It’s hard enough to keep her on a routine without this shit.

  Because as surely as Zander is going to mouth off at some point, Piper will wake up at the ass crack of dawn. And that means she’s going to be grouchy. She’s going to be grouchy and miserable tomorrow, and if I don’t get her to bed soon, there’s nothing I can do about it. But I can’t deny either of them this moment. She deserves to bond with her dad, and he needs to learn how to be her dad. So I bite my tongue. No matter how
much it bothers me, and no matter how much I’d rather not be the adult here, I stay silent and try to look happy.

  She’s giggling and reaching out for him, but when he moves closer, she puts up her little hand and says, “No.” No is her favorite word. I should tell him that, so he doesn’t take it personally. But I don’t. Because now there’s light in her eyes that tells me she won’t go to sleep for at least another hour, and no matter how much I want to move out of this bed, she won’t let me. The only thing worse than sitting here for another hour while I wait for her to calm down would be to stick her in her mobile crib. If I take away her new friend and subject her to the inhumane task of soothing herself to sleep, she won’t let me hear the end of it. My girl is a fussy little thing, but thankfully she tires easily despite my fears. Obviously I’m a monster. After Piper finally falls into a soundless sleep, and when I know she won’t wake, I move her to her travel crib.

  Wyatt opens his mouth to speak as we’re sneaking out of the room, but I place my finger over his lips. He raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer to me. He’s charged. With his smoldering eyes, intense focus, and ragged breathing, he’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. All testosterone and muscles and a defiant energy that just sucks me in. Oh hell, this is exactly how I got pregnant with both of our kids.

  Now is not the time, and I’m really not in the mood. I was hoping to end this day without another fight, but it looks like it’s heading that direction anyway. Wyatt wants us, I can tell. I shouldn’t have touched him. Even if it was as innocent as keeping him quiet.

  After Zander and Wyatt had their little blowout in the yard, Dad finally woke up and came out of his room. He marched right up to Wyatt and took a swing at him. Unfortunately, poor old dad is exactly that. Old. Once I hit thirty, I tried to limit the number of times I called anyone old, because I don’t really like it when my son tells me I’m ancient. But Dad is, for all intents and purposes, old. His body is worn, he’s a total curmudgeon, and he probably tells us every single day that he’s “too old for this shit.” It doesn’t even matter what “this shit” is, or the fact that “this shit” changes on the hour, but he’s too old and too tired of it. So when dad takes a swing at Wyatt, who has obviously kept up the weight lifting over the years, it doesn’t end in his favor. Thankfully, Zander was watching, and Wyatt went easy on his former president. Proof that even Neanderthals can check their egos once in a while.