Page 110 of The Grief We Hold

I step back. “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten.”

Wraith pours us coffee and then hands me a mug. “I haven’t. Take a seat.”

We move to the small table and he sits next to me, so close our shoulders touch. “Marco kept big secrets from me,” I say, repeating what I said last night. I’m unsure how much he remembers. “I can’t go through life like that again.”

Wraith sips his coffee. “A motorcycle club is the most influential club you can be a part of. People think it’s those Ivy League schools, or the Navy SEALs. But it’s different. You can’t buy or train your way into it. You need to fit, be willing to take a bullet for a brother, but also dance outside the fucking law. Not everything I do is legal, Blue. And some of it you shouldn’t ever know because there are images I don’t want in your head.”

“Do you hurt innocent people?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“But somewhere between knowing nothing and having those images in my head…isn’t there a middle ground?” I hug my coffee cup in my hands.

Wraith looks at me, but I don’t see anger. I see compassion and understanding. “There is. We just got to find it. And I’m sure there are going to be days when you think it’s not enough and I think it’s too much, but I hope we can always find our way through it. So, let’s try it. We found out that another organization had taken something belonging to us and we went to retrieve it. They were reluctant to hand it back, so I got hurt in the fight. Is that enough for you?”

I think about his words. It was more than I was expecting, if I’m honest with myself. “Was your life in danger?”

He strokes my cheek softly. “You might think so, but I say no because I have full faith in my brothers to have my back.”

I hold his wrist and lean into his palm when he opens it to me. “I already had one man leave in the middle of the night and never come back. If we do this, you can’t ever put me in that position.”

Wraith kisses me softly. “I promise you, I’ll never do that. If for any reason I can’t get home, I’ll make sure you know, Blue. You’re never going to be alone again.”

35

WRAITH

“But I’m wearing a sundress,” Raven says suspiciously, looking at me sitting on my motorcycle two weeks later.

“I can see that.” I take in the pretty green sundress and the denim jacket tossed over her shoulders. But most of all, I admire her legs in the little ankle boots, with the sudden urge to fuck her anywhere I shouldn’t, just so I can flip up the hem of that dress.

“I thought we’d be going to the club picnic in your truck.”

Club picnics used to be one of my favorite things about the Outlaws. Lazy days with good friends, beer, fishing, women, and meat grilled to perfection by Smoke.

Fire pits we could sit around and women always happy to see to our every need.

It was even better on family days, when I had Hallie and Lottie. Felt like I’d fucking made it. The life, a family. Felt like I could breathe.

Until the two of them died the morning of the Fourth of July club picnic. I’d left early to help Catfish pull hay bales down from the loft to sit on.

That morning, Hallie had been wearing denim cutoffs and cowboy boots, and Lottie had worn a little T-shirt and shorts set that said,I’m an MC Princesson the back.

But shortly before we were due to leave, Lottie started to make a fuss. I suggested the ride would probably help calm her, but Hallie was convinced some quiet, perhaps a short nap, would set her right.

I kissed both their foreheads and went anyway, without looking back.

When she didn’t show and didn’t answer her phone by one, I drove home to see what was wrong.

While I’ve been to many club picnics since then because it’s expected of the brothers, they haven’t felt the same.

Until today.

Fen is at another overnight playdate, and I don’t feel bad about it at all. Last weekend we hosted six of his little buddies at my place. We fished in the pond and splashed in the river that runs along the back of the property.

I even got Smoke to bring one of the ponies over so they could all have a ride. For the first four hours, I thought I had it nailed. For the three hours before bedtime, I’ve never been more grateful for Raven’s steady and reassuring presence.

It was a solid reminder that kids and too much sugar is a recipe for disaster, and next time, I’ll listen to Raven when she tells me they’ve had enough treats and don’t need s’mores and ice cream.

---