Page 16 of A Biker's Tiny Present

Tiny shakes his head. “Nope. ‘Til the kiddos started poppin’ up at the clubhouse, I’d never even been around a baby more than just passin’ in a store or at a restaurant.”

“That’s crazy. You’re a natural.”

Our gaze finally breaks when Tiny adjusts Nicky back to his shoulder for another burp. After a few good ones, he lays him down on his legs, letting Nicky hold his thumbs and kick his legs against his chest. They’re both smiling and happy—it makes my heart hurt that they’ve both been missing this for so long.

I should have pushed Taylor more to get her to tell me who Tiny was. Her stubbornness hurt two innocent people for no reason. She was selfish and isn’t even around to have to face the questions we have for her. The journals were definitely an eye opener and covered most of the bases, but it would make planning the future easier if she would just come home.

“I’m going to go pack up Nicky’s diaper bag, then we can head to the clubhouse.” Needing to do something, because if I sit here too long I’ll start to cry, I get up and am down the hall before he can reply.

Before we fell asleep the final time, after a third round of being ravished, Tiny told me Whiskey asked us to come to the clubhouse today. I’m not sure why, but after his speech about the importance of the club to him, let’s call agreeing to the trip forcuriosities sake. Tiny wants to show Nicky off to his friends, and I want to see what’s so interesting about this place I’ve heard a lot about but have never been.

CHAPTER EIGHT

TINY

Missing the first six months of my son’s life, as well as not knowing about his mother’s nine months of pregnancy, really fucking sucks.

I would give anything to have been there to support her and watch my son grow. It doesn't take long for Nicky to fall asleep after finishing his bottle, so I just stay where I am and watch him sleep.

Looking around the room and seeing various pictures of a happy family, I can't help but think about the shitty way my life started. My father was a functioning alcoholic, abusive to anyone who questioned a word he said, but it ended up being hisdownfall. Still in prison the last time I checked, his anger was useless and unnecessary.

My mother was the exact opposite while I was growing up. She is the most loving, caring, and supportive mother anyone could ever ask for. Even as she was nursing her own wounds, she never let a day go by that I didn't know I was loved. Luckily Mom met my stepfather while I was away in the Marines and they have been together for twenty-five years. They currently live together in a nursing home and are happier than they've ever been. With the crap she had to deal with from my dad, I’m glad she found someone who actually treats her like the queen she is.

There was one bright beacon of light in my childhood that I will never forget—my Gran. On the occasional weekend when my dad was too drunk to care what was going on around him, mom would sneak her and I off to Gran’s house and we would stay there as long as he didn't notice. Gran taught me how to be a kind human being. Even under the rough exterior that goes hand in hand with my MC lifestyle, the person that she helped mold is still in me today.

Gran taught me how to crochet.

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was eight years old and spending two weeks with her over the summer break. I don't remember where my dad was, but mom needed to work so she dropped me off to stay with Gran. One night there was a particularly bad thunderstorm and I couldn't fall asleep. As I made my way down the stairs, I tried to hear any noises other than the thunder and lightning rumbling and crashing outside. I wasn’t halfway down when Gran called out, “Henry, come on down and sit with me.”

It was the middle of the night and the living room was only illuminated by a couple candles on the coffee table, in between flashes of lightning, but Gran was cool as a cucumber. Camped out on the couch with what looked like a metal stick in one hand,and string wrapped around a few fingers of the other, I could’ve sworn she was weaving magic.

She patiently taught me how to use the hook and string to create a series of interlocking loops, eventually creating what she called masterpieces. Over those two weeks I made countless coasters, winter hats, and even helped her trim a scarf. My circles may not have been perfectly round, and my squares and rectangles looked more like trapezoids, but the time she spent patiently teaching me is something I have never forgotten. Even still to this day, when I have some downtime I pull out my backpack full of yarn, whip a few stitches, and create something I know my Gran would be proud of. Sadly she passed away just over eleven years ago on the day after I came home from my last appointment. I'd like to think she waited to see me just once more, but I know it was her time.

One picture frame sitting on the fireplace mantle catches my attention over the countless others. It's a shot of Taylor, Riley, and Nicky, huddled together in a hospital bed the day he was born. I should have been there for that. I should have been in that picture. It should have been me who took the picture of the three of them together. But it wasn't.

I didn't get to go to any ultrasound appointments, I didn't get to tour the hospital like I saw a few of my Brothers and their Old Ladies do together, and worst of all . . . I didn't get to see him being born. That’s what burns the most.

Nicholas is six months old and growing like a weed, but I have missed so many milestones already. Hell, he doesn't even have my last name.

As angry as I know I have every right to be, there's no use staying in the past. I get to watch the little boy in my lap grow up. I'll get to see him say his first words, take his first steps, teach him how to ride his first bicycle, and even help him fix up his first motorcycle. Everything I get to experience with him in thefuture is something I wish my father had done with me in the past. I won't miss a single moment.

“I packed up some stuff for Nicky so we can spend the day at the clubhouse.” Riley walks in the room and my trip down memory lane comes to a close. She’s changed into a pair of tight jeans, a red and black flannel over a black shirt, and a pair of somehow sexy shitkicker boots. I have a few pairs that look just like hers, in various shades of brown and black, although they are much larger than hers, but I've never thought of a pair of boots as something that would turn me on.

“Lookin’ good there, Vixen,” I shoot her a compliment and a wink.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” she sasses back with a wink of her own. She sets a backpack and a tote bag on the coffee table and points to them as she tells me what’s in each one. “Backpack is full of Nicky's things. Diapers, wipes, a few changes of clothes, as well as his blanket and monkey. The tote bag is his bottles and formula, along with the journals I found yesterday and a couple more that were in the bottom drawer of Taylor’s dresser. I figure while you’re doing whatever it is that you do with your Brothers, I’ll read some more entries and see if I can figure out any clues about where she could be hiding.”

“When I called Whiskey last night to let him know what’s goin’ on, he said he’d call Church for noon. So we should head out sooner rather than later.”

“Church? What’s that?”

“It’s what we call out club meetings. We don’t sit around and pray,” even the thought of some of my Brothers bowing their heads and talking to themselves, makes me chuckle. “It’s called Church ‘cause the room we use to gather is our sacred place. Only fully Brothers are allowed in that room.”

“Oh. Okay.” I can tell she doesn’t exactly get it, but I hope one day she will. “If you’re going to be busy, I can stay here so I’m not in anyone’s way.”

“No, Vixen, you and the little man are comin’ with me.” I get up and put the still sleeping Nicky in his car seat. “I need you with me. If we’re gonna to make this thing with us happen, and we will ‘cause I say so, you have to see how my MC works.”

“Okay.”

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