Page 31 of The Prez

“I know. Don’t care.” Zeke slaps my outstretched hand and I head home, not really in a good mood after my thoughts and phone call with my sister.

I ride home with too much on my mind, just wanting to go to my room and lie down, maybe run a few miles on my treadmill to get away from my own thoughts. I can’t believe I let so much time pass without telling Maria about Elena. I was so worried about myself and not wanting a child that I left it up to Rax to break the news to Maria.

Failure. I’m a worthless failure.

When I push into the house, I find music playing softly, but Omari singing almost at the top of his lungs. He’s at the stove stirring something in a pot and Little Raf is sitting in his highchair, waving some toy around. Omari turns around with his spoon, wipes it off, then uses it as a microphone as he walks over to Little Raf. He sings to him, totally off key, but Little Raf loves it, paying rapt attention with a wide smile on his face. My heart feels lighter just watching them together.

It takes Omari a few seconds to notice me. He’s not the least bit embarrassed by his terrible singing. In fact, he walks over to me, still singing terribly on his makeshift microphone, dancing around me. Luckily, he dances better than he sings.

After he’s circled my body, he turns his back to me and shakes his ass against my thigh. That immediately gets a rise out of me, my cock chubbing up as I look down at him and feel those soft globes against my leg.

Wrapping an arm around his waist, I pull him back to me and in his ear, I murmur, “You’re trouble, you know that?”

He looks back at me with a smile. “I know.” With a chuckle, he steps away from me, going back to the stove. “You’re home early. I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow morning when you were heading out.”

I put my helmet down on the coffee table and take off my jacket, hanging it on the back of the couch. I have a seat and undo the cuffs of my shirt, rolling up my sleeves. For the first time in weeks, I look around my house and hardly recognize it. There are pictures on my wall. Some are normal photographs of Little Raf. Some with Little Raf and Omari. They’re smiling in every one.

Besides the photographs hanging, there are some motivational ones that are whatever, besides the one that reads ‘Live, Laugh, Love.’ That shit has to go. What kind of bullshit is live, laugh, love?

There’s even a plant in my living room, its fat green leaves soaking in the sun from the open window.

As I look around, I see a lived-in house for the first time since I moved here almost fifteen years ago. There are toys on the floor, shoes by the door, mail on the table, just a general sense that people not only stay here, but theylivehere. I’ve never had that on my own.

Omari watches me after he puts the spoon in the sink, taking in my expression after my visual tour of a house I don’t recognize, but pay the mortgage for. “Do you hate it?” he asks in a small voice.

My fucking heart actually clenches because of how unsure he sounds. Since I met him, he’s been this spitfire thatcommands my attention. He sounds nothing like that now. I want my spitfire back.

Scoffing, I point to the picture on the wall above the television. “Get rid of that shit and it looks fine.”

A relieved laugh bursts from him as he goes to the drawer for a clean spoon. “I figured you’d hate that one. I put it up as a joke.” I grunt, disbelieving. “You don’t believe me?”

“How can you prove it?” I answer his question with a question, which only makes him smile.

When he finishes stirring the pot, he turns and looks at me, assessing. “Why do you dress like that every day? Do you ever dress down?”

“Sometimes. But I like dressing like this. My grandfather was a man I looked up to a lot. He might not have been on the right side of the law all the time, but he was a loyal man that took care of his family.” Saying that puts an unexpected lump in my throat because I’m not doing that at all. Quite the opposite, actually. I shake that thought away and continue. “He always told me to dress presentably because I never knew who would be watching. I wanted to be like him, so I started to dress like him. Now I don’t feel right unless I’m dressed how I want.”

Omari nods, taking Little Raf out of his highchair. “It’s nothing wrong with it. I just never saw a biker dressed like you. It’s … you look … nice. All the time.”

“Thank you, precioso.”

He walks over to me and hands me Little Raf. It’s so sudden that all I can do is open my arms and let him settle on my thigh. “Let me get dinner finished and I’ll come get him,” Omari says, rushing into the kitchen.

For a few seconds, I’m stunned, not knowing what to do. Any minute now, Little Raf will feel my inadequacy and start crying, wanting Omari back.

I wait. And wait. And … wait. Nothing happens. He honestly doesn’t pay me any attention. Little Raf looks around, observing his surroundings the way babies do—not really seeing, but focusing on different things for a few seconds at a time.

Since he stays quiet, I lean back on the couch to get comfortable. I’m surprised when Little Raf follows me down, lying against me, his chubby hands gripping my shirt. He kicks his legs, babbling against me. I look down at him in fascination, watching this baby that’s been in my house for weeks, but I haven’t taken the time to see how happy he is.

When he got here, all he did was cry and squirm, whine, and fret. Even when Jace, who is great with babies, tried to calm him, he just cried and cried. He settled for a while with Jace’s old lady, but not for long. What did Omari do to change his attitude?

I can see Omari moving around in the kitchen and every so often, he looks over at us with a gentle smile on his face. When he catches me watching him, he winks at me. I give him a dry look and he chuckles, shaking his head as he turns away.

After a few minutes, Little Raf stops kicking his feet and wiggles around. I arrange him more on my chest so he’s comfortable, patting his back awkwardly to get him to calm down again. I’m sure I’m doing this all wrong, my patting too rough or not enough or too soft or … something. I’m hoping more than anything that he doesn’t start crying. He calms down after a few more seconds and I relax into the cushions. I hold still so he doesn’t wiggle around again and start whining.

Omari comes back over about ten minutes later, a soft look on his face. “Alright big man,” he says to Little Raf, who pops up and wiggles against my chest. With a gentle smile, Omari takes him in his arms, kissing the top of his head. “We got some peas for dinner tonight. How do peas sound? Huh?”Little Raf blows a raspberry, making Omari laugh and an unfamiliar noise leap from my throat.

A surprised look aimed at me, Omari asks, “Did you just laugh?” I frown at him and shake my head, but he’s not fooled. He chuckles and pulls the highchair over to the living room couch. He sets Little Raf in it, then wraps a bib around his neck.

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