Page 10 of The Prez

“Fine. Let’s go.”

“Mr. Orozco?” the woman asks, her heels clicking on the floor as she makes her way over to me. “I’m Sharon Clive. A social worker here.”

“So?” I say in frustration. “Why do I need to know that?”

She raises an eyebrow, not taking kindly to my attitude, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m barely holding it together. “Well,” she says, “I have your nephew, who was in the accident with your sister Elena and brother-in-law, Alejandro.”

My back goes ramrod straight. “My what?”

“Your nephew,” she repeats slowly like I’m dense. She releases a long sigh and puts her hand on my forearm. “He was in the car with your sister and brother-in-law, but he was uninjured. We’ve run several tests on him and he’s as fit as a fiddle. When I verify your identity, you may take him home. I know this is a difficult time for you and your family, but he’ll need you now.”

“No.”

She steps back, sizing me up before she repeats, “No? What do you mean no?”

“No,” I say more firmly. “I don’t want a kid. I didn’t sign up to be a parent. Find someone else.”

With an incredulous look on her face, she says, “You realize that if you refuse custody of your nephew, he will be turned over to child welfare services. He’ll go into fostercare, something your sister was adamant about not wanting before her untimely death. He will be a ward of the state.”

I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to reiterate that I don’t give a fuck, but before I can, Jace says, “Excuse us,” to the social worker. He grips my bicep and drags me away with such force that I almost trip over my own feet.

Once we’re a few feet away from the social worker, my back to her, Jace grasps my arm in an iron grip. His face is screwed up in a scowl. “What the fuck, man? What are you doing?”

If it were any other situation, I would have knocked Jace on his ass and beat him to a fucking pulp. But right now, my mind is racing, a million thoughts whizzing past at once. When I think I pin one down, it jets away and another takes its place.

Growling, I rip my arm from his hold and run my hand through my hair, tugging at the strands. “I can’t take care of a child, Jace. I’m the president of a fucking motorcycle club!” I whisper shout. “How the fuck am I supposed to take care of a fucking kid?”

Surprisingly, Jace steps closer to me, almost threateningly as he crowds my space. “So? I’m the new vice president and I have three. I had three when I was fucking sergeant at arms. That’s no fucking excuse.” His gaze bores into me, anger brimming in his eyes.

Jace is a damn good father, he and his old lady popping them out back-to-back. He’s happy, loving his family. But I’m not him. I’ve never wanted children. Never had the desire to be a dad. Elena shouldn’t have put this on me after twenty years of fucking radio silence.

“That’s the last piece of your sister. Don’t be an asshole, Prez.” Jace grabs my arm again and turns me around.

In the time that Jace and I were talking, the social worker went to get the kid. It’s a baby. An involuntary gasp leaves mylips as I look at him. He looks just like Elena, the same wide, dark eyes, the same dark hair flopping in his face and the same tan skin. He looks sleepy but babbles a grin at me and his whole face lights up just like my sister’s.

I can’t do it. I can’t take him. I can’t look at his face every day and see Elena staring back at me in those wide brown eyes. It’s too much. It’s too much to see this baby that is a part of my sister when I hadn’t clapped eyes on her before I saw her fucking body less than an hour ago.

Jace steps to my side and mutters, “We’ll all help. But if you let them take him away and live with some random family, you’ll regret it.”

I look at him with a snarl. “Shut the fuck up before I put you on your ass.”

He shoots me a humorless smirk. “We’re in the hospital, so I can get patched up quickly.”

I grunt and turn back to the social worker. “Why can’t he go with his father’s kin?”

Her scowl is legendary. It puts mine to shame. “From what Mrs. Suarez told me, her husband, Alejandro, had no family. He grew up in foster care, which is why she didn’t want it for her own child. Trust me, Mr. Orozco, if there were another option, you would not be getting this baby. Your attitude doesn’t suggest he’ll have a great home life, but your sister was very clear on what she wanted in the event of her death.”

I bristle at her implication. “His home life will be fine,” I say through gritted teeth. I hold out my arms for the baby. The quicker I take him and we get out of here, the better.

“Your ID, Mr. Orozco.”

Huffing in frustration, I pull out my wallet and snap my ID out, holding it in front of her face. She deftly takes it from my fingers, peering down at it like she’s trying to memorize my full name, address and organ donor status.

Appearing satisfied, she hands my license back to me and I shove my wallet in my pocket. I hold my hands out again for her to hand me the baby.

Sharon’s scowl deepens and she looks down at the baby,my nephew, bouncing him a little. “Now,” I growl.

She turns hard eyes on me, then takes a few steps closer and puts the baby in my open arms. His slight, but solid weight settles into me. I look down at him and have to bite back a curse. He’s the spitting image of Elena, down to the thick, black hair that is an unruly mess on his head.

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