by Emma Slate
“Hell yeah I want to come in,” I said, still trying to wrap my brain around what I’d just seen. “When did he—how did you—and he—”
“Last night. Well, actually, early this morning.” She smiled slightly. “He saw me on stage and came to my hotel room. And then he—ah—”
“I didn’t interrupt you guys just now, did I?”
She shook her head. “We were saying goodbye.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t look like goodbye from where I was standing. You guys are playing with fire. Sneaking around in the clubhouse? Just be glad it was me who saw you guys and not someone else. Like Boxer.”
Joni sobered.
I nodded. “Yeah. Boxer is totally aware that there’s something between you and Zip. It’s obvious to anyone with two eyes. You have to tell Colt.”
“I can’t,” she pleaded. “Not yet.”
“Is this Zip talking, or you? Is this because he doesn’t want a relationship?”
She shook her head. “Listen to what you just said. You’re already calling it a relationship. I need time—we need time—to figure out what all this is without the pressure of telling my brother.”
“I’m in the middle now,” I said softly.
Her eyes were contrite. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
“No. Don’t be. We’re friends, and I’ll keep your secret. Even if—when—all this blows up.”
“I just have to make sure this is real, you know? Before I go messing with everyone’s lives.”
“What does Zip want?”
“To tell Colt.”
“That’s surprising. If he wanted you only for a one night stand, would he even bother wanting to tell Colt?”
“I don’t know.” Her brow furrowed. “They have weird rules about getting involved with sisters. Like a code of honor or something. So Zip might want to tell Colt for the sake of brotherhood and respect, regardless if he has real feelings for me or not.”
“This is a clusterfuck,” I muttered.
“And I hate that I even have to say this, but please don’t tell Darcy or the others.”
“I won’t. If you divulge one thing.”
“What?”
I grinned. “How hot was the sex?”
Joni and I came down the stairs and grabbed ourselves plates of food to take outside. The boys had lit a bonfire and torches to keep the bugs away. The cool beer went down far too easily.
After the sun set, Darcy ushered the kids inside and plopped them in front of the TV in the entertainment room down in the basement. Little ears had a tendency to hear things they weren’t supposed to hear, so it was club policy to keep them on another floor entirely.
Colt spent most of the night with his arm around my shoulder and every time I tried to leave, he’d ask where I was going. Clearly he didn’t feel comfortable leaving me alone because of what I’d said about Knight.
But Knight wasn’t even paying attention to me, or if he was, I was somehow not seeing it.
“Sorry we couldn’t offer you a rowdier party,” Boxer said to Bishop, Knight’s VP.
“Plenty of time for pussy later,” Bishop said. “Anyone need another beer? I’m headed to the cooler.”
We shook our heads and then Bishop wandered off in search of another brew.
I let out a laugh. “You guys sure are fond of that word.”
“It might be my favorite word,” Boxer said with a wry grin. “I wouldn’t mind seeing your friend Shelly’s pretty pink—”
“That’s enough. You’re done. She’s engaged, dude.”
“I can take her fiancé.”
“He’s trained in Krav Maga and carries a pistol.”
“No shit!”
I nodded.
“Then I guess I need to woo her with the promise of my huge—”
I flicked his forehead, lightly, but just enough to get him to stop talking.
“Ow.”
“That didn’t hurt.” I rolled my eyes.
“It could’ve hurt,” Boxer protested.
“You’re a weenie.”
“You just called me a—Prez, your woman just called me a weenie.”
“She’s not wrong.” An easy smile slid across Colt’s lips. It transformed the planes and angles of his face. If it weren’t for the bonfire’s flames, he would’ve looked downright boyish, which wasn’t a word I’d ever thought to call Colt. But all men had the ability to look young and carefree, impish and up to no good when they were happy.
It was one of those moments where my breath caught and I thought about a time when Colt would have a son of his own and the same expression would be stamped across his face.
Colt stared down at me and I could see the flames from the fire flickering in his eyes. I wanted to tell him what I’d just felt, about the emotions tearing through me with such promise I could almost taste the sweetness of joy on my tongue. But we weren’t alone and now wasn’t the time.
“Prez,” Zip said, sliding out from the shadows and coming to stand next to Colt, pulling his attention. “It’s time.”
Colt nodded to his VP. He leaned down to my ear. “I’m about to talk to Sanchez. I’d feel better if you went to our room.”
“I’ll be okay,” I assured him. “I’ll hang with the girls. Safety in numbers.”
He kissed me quickly and then with a nod at Zip, the two of them left the bonfire, heading for the shed that was built just off the clubhouse where the boys held church.
“Another beer?” Boxer asked me.
“Hmm?” I was only listening with half an ear; my gaze caught Knight’s, who was still sitting on a picnic table top, not appearing as though he’d moved. Not even to get another beer. He looked lost in thought. Looked lost in general.
His eyes pinged to mine.
I suddenly didn’t want to talk to the girls.
“What’s Knight drinking?” I asked Boxer.
He shot me a look. “Why?”
“Because he needs a refill.”
“You gonna take it to him?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Stop asking me why,” I snapped. “But if you want to know, I think I owe it to Colt to get to know Knight. I’m the president’s Old Lady, right? It’s my job to make outsiders feel welcome.”
“Knight’s not an outsider. He’s a Blue Angel.”
“Semantics. And you know what I meant.”
“Look at you, fitting in with your new family.” Boxer wrapped an arm around my neck and pulled me to his chest so he could plop a kiss on top of my head. “Proud of ya, Mia.”
His words weren’t condescending and they felt like a warm breeze on my skin. I smiled up at him. “You’re okay, you know that?”
“Just okay?” He puffed out his chest. “Tell everyone I’m amazing.”
I pushed against him and he released me. With a laugh I headed toward a picnic table that was covered in full booze bottles, plastic red cups, and a tin bucket full of ice that was rapidly melting in the heat from the nearby fire. I swiped a bottle of Jack and headed toward Knight. He watched me approach with an unwavering, intense gaze.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.” His tone was wary, like he didn’t trust or understand why I was standing in front of him.
“Thought you could use another drink.” I held out the bottle of bourbon to him.
His eyes dropped from me to stare at the bottle. His fingers gripped the neck and he took it from me. “Why’d you bring this to me?”
I shrugged. “You look lonely over here. Thought I’d come say hi. We didn’t really get a chance to talk at The Rex.”
“I was busy with other shit.” He nodded and unscrewed the lid. “Thanks.” He took a swig and then limply let his hand drop so the bottle almost touched the bench.
“So you’re from Coeur d’Alene,” I said.
“Yeah.”
Knight clearly hadn’t perfected the art of conversation. I thought about leaving him to his own devices, but then he lifted the bottle of Ja
ck to me.
A silent offering of friendship.
“Thanks.” I took the bottle and drank.
A ghost of a grin flittered across Knight’s mouth. Half his face was concealed in shadow, but what I could see was covered in a beard. But he had a nice smile.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the spot next to him.
“Okay.” I scrambled up to the table’s top and plunked down next to him, far enough away that should our knees fall to the sides, we wouldn’t touch.
I stared at the fire when I asked my question. “What was that? Back at The Rex?”
“What are you talking about?”
“When you saw me. You looked—I don’t even know how to describe it.”
“Are you always like this?” he asked.
“Like what?’
“Blunt.”
“What do I have to lose by being blunt?” I asked.
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“Neither did you.”
He took the bottle of Jack back and downed a few swallows.
“How old are you,” he asked suddenly.
I frowned. “Why does it matter?”
“Please?” His tone was low, but I heard the plea just the same.
“Twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five,” he murmured.
Icy fear slithered down my spine. I didn’t know why Knight was asking about my age. His expression gave nothing away. He just continued to drink and I sat there next to him, feeling like an idiot.
I made a move to get up off the table.
His hand shot out to grip my knee.
I froze.
Before I knew what was happening, a blur sailed through the air and tackled Knight. The bottle of Jack dropped from Knight’s hand and his back hit the table.
“What the hell!” I yelled, clambering to get out of the way of the fight.
“I saw you touch her, fucker,” Boxer growled. “You touched Colt’s woman.”
Boxer didn’t give Knight time to defend himself because he punched the older man right in the face. Knight was no slouch, though. He let Boxer get in one good hit, but then he quickly rebounded, using his legs to launch Boxer off him.
Boxer hit the ground with a thud, but before he made a move to get back up, Knight was climbing off the table. The corner of his lip was bloody, but otherwise didn’t look like he’d taken a punch or been winded at all.
“It’s not what you think,” Knight began.
“Fuck you and fuck your shit,” Boxer said, rising. “You don’t fucking touch another brother’s woman. You’re a brother! You know this!”
Sounds of conversation had ceased. Old Ladies and Blue Angels had crowded closer, trying to piece together what had just gone down.
Knight didn’t look at Boxer—instead he stared at me. “Your mother…her name was Scarlett O’Banion.”
My eyes widened. “How did you—”
“Because,” Knight’s eyes were grim. “I’m your father.”
Chapter 24
Father.
Father?
I looked at Knight; everyone and everything around me disappeared as I gaped at the face of the man claiming my paternity.
“That isn’t possible,” I blurted out.
His expression was tight. “It’s possible. You look just like her.”
The air in my lungs whooshed out and I felt myself falling. Boxer was suddenly lifting me into his arms.
“What the fuck is going on out here?” came Colt’s angry voice.
I hadn’t even heard the shed door open, but then Colt was there. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see anyone, not wanting them to see me.
No one answered Colt.
“I’m not gonna ask the fucking question again. Why are you carrying my woman?”
“It was either catch her when she fainted,” Boxer drawled. “Or let her hit the ground.”
“Faint? She fainted? Why the fuck—”
“Brother,” Knight began.
I moaned. “I didn’t faint.”
“Here,” Boxer said, all but dumping me into Colt’s arms. “You need to go inside with her. Knight too. The rest of us are gonna stay out here and get wasted.”
“Why does Knight need to come inside?” Colt demanded.
“Ask her,” Boxer said and then strutted away.
Colt began to move, his strides long and sure. He was able to get the back screen door open with one hand and then he was walking to the living room. He set me down on the couch and then took a seat on the coffee table, facing me.
“You okay?” His callused hands reached out to touch my face.
My gaze darted to Knight who was standing over us.
My father was watching me with the man I shared a bed with.
I swallowed and nodded, batting Colt’s hands away.
“What is all this?” Colt demanded, looking at Knight.
“Your boy tackled me when he thought I put a move on Mia.”
“Move?” Colt’s voice was deadly.
“It’s not like that, Colt,” I said before Knight could defend himself. “I don’t know how to tell him—”
“Tell me what?”
“Knight says—he’s claiming—”
“I’m Mia’s father.”
Colt slowly stood up from the coffee table, his face dark with anger. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Knight shook his head. “It’s the truth.”
“Why should I believe you?” I asked.
“Your eyes…they turn down at the corners. Just like hers.”
My mother was beautiful, but she had looked sad even when she was smiling. Even in old photos of when she was very young.
“So you knew what my mother looked like,” I said. “That doesn’t mean anything. That doesn’t mean you’re my father.”
“You’re right. That’s not enough proof.” Knight wiped at the corner of his mouth, smearing the almost dried blood. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and drew out a photograph.
I stared at his outstretched hand and with a labored sigh, grasped the photo. It was a picture of Knight with his arm around my mother. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen. Twenty at the oldest. She’d died young, in her twenties. Frozen in youth. I was older now than she was when she’d died.
In the picture, Mom was looking up at Knight like he hung the moon. He was staring at the camera, full of swagger and youthful arrogance. He was nearly clean-shaven, but he had stubble.
My mind was spinning out of control. How was this possible? What were the chances of this happening? That I was meeting the man who’d sired me. I remember asking my mother about my father but she had given me evasive answers when I was a child, never fully explaining something that perhaps at the time I wouldn’t have been able to grasp anyway. Maybe she’d been waiting to tell me everything until I was older.
But she died before she got the chance.
Grammie had been just as cryptic about my paternity. I wondered if it was because she never knew.
I looked at Colt, whose face was expressionless. He wasn’t going to intervene or stop this conversation from happening. And if it derailed like a train on the tracks, then so be it.
“Did you know about me?” I blurted out.
Knight’s eyes went from grim acceptance that I was going to reject him to flaring with hope. “No. God, know. I had no idea. I swear.”
I got up from the couch, setting aside the photo on the cushion.
“Where are you going?” Colt asked.
“I need a drink. If we’re going to talk about my mother, then I need a drink.”
“Why don’t you guys take the office,” Colt said. “You’ll have more privacy in there.”
Knight nodded. “Thanks, brother.”
Colt rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for what Boxer did. He’s taken to Mia like an older brother. He was just looking out for her.”
Knight
smiled. “No apologies needed. I’m glad she found you. Found the Angels.” He held out his hand to Colt who took it immediately.
They shook hands but said no more. Colt led us to the office. “Bottle of bourbon in the file cabinet. Under Z.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you do in your office? Drink?”
He smiled.
I smiled.
Even Knight smiled.
And then I remembered that I’d just found out my absent father was the president of the Coeur d’Alene Blue Angels.
Before Colt headed for the door, he pulled me into his arms and brought his lips close to my ear. “You need me, you call for me. Otherwise, I’m letting you handle this.”
I nodded. “How’d it go with Sanchez?”
“Tell you about it later. You’ve got other things to worry about.” He kissed my lips, sent Knight a look, and then he was gone.
Knight waited to see what I’d do. I wanted distance from him, yet I also wanted him to spill everything he knew about my mother. The mother I hadn’t gotten nearly enough time with.
I took a seat in one of the office chairs, keeping my posture stiff, my body alert. Knight tapped his fingers against his jeans, clearly nervous. Though why he was nervous, I couldn’t imagine. He’d already dropped the bomb that he was my father.
“I always thought my father was older,” I said, breaking the tension. “I mean, when I allowed myself to think about him, I always thought of a man in his sixties. Gray hair, you know? A guy who wore khakis and a polo.”
“Must be a surprise to find that I don’t match your vision.” He looked out the window and stared for a moment. What could he see through the blinds? Was he wishing for an escape?
I got up from my chair and headed to the file cabinet. I opened the drawer all the way and pulled out the bottle of bourbon under the Z file.
I shook my head. “It’s not even a bourbon that begins with Z. Why not have it under the B file?” I threw him a smile, but his own lips didn’t waver in humor, though he was watching my every move. Almost like he was drinking in the years he’d missed, as if studying me would make up for lost time.
“Maybe we don’t talk about her just yet,” I voiced. “Maybe it’s too soon and we should just—I don’t know—try and talk like two normal people.”
“We aren’t normal though, are we? Thrown into this fuckery.”
