Page 9 of Manic

I do as he asks, then lean against it, crossing my arms. "What's going on, Dad? You've been wound tight all morning."

He sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. "Liam doesn't make house calls unless something's seriously wrong. Last time he showed up unannounced like this was when the Patriot first started sniffing around our territory."

The mention of the Patriot sends a surge of anger through me.

That bastard's been a thorn in our side for far too long. "You think this is about him?"

"I don't know," Dad admits, and the uncertainty in his voice unsettles me more than anything else. "But whatever it is, it's big enough to bring both Liam and Aleksandr here in person."

I nod, processing this. "What do you need me to do?"

"No fuckin’ clue," he says, his eyes locking with mine. "Whatever's coming, we need to present a united front. The club can't afford any cracks in our armor right now."

"You got it," I assure him, straightening up. "I'll make sure everyone's on their best behavior."

A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. "Good man. Now, go check on your mother. She's been stress-baking all morning."

I can't help but chuckle at that.

Fern might not be my biological mother, but she's got all the fierce protectiveness of a mama bear. "Will do. And Dad? Whatever happens, we got this."

Back in the main room, the scent of fresh-baked cookies wafts from the kitchen.

I follow my nose, pushing through the swinging door to find Fern surrounded by cooling racks laden with chocolate chip cookies.

"Jesus, Mom," I say, eyeing the veritable mountain of baked goods. "You planning to feed an army?"

Fern turns, flour dusting her cheek and a wooden spoon in her hand. "Language, young man," she scolds, but there's no heat in it. "And you never know who might stop by. It's always good to be prepared."

I snag a cookie, ignoring her half-hearted swat. "Dad sent me to check on you. You doing okay?"

She sighs, setting down the spoon. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Just...worried. Your father doesn't get nervous easily, and when he does..."

"Yeah," I nod, understanding all too well. "But we've weathered worse storms, right?"

Fern smiles, reaching up to pat my cheek. "That we have. Now, make yourself useful and take some of these out to the boys. Lord knows they could use something other than beer in their stomachs."

I grab a platter, piling it high with cookies.

As I push back through the door, I nearly collide with Ivar.

"Whoa, watch it," he says, steadying the plate. His eyes light up at the sight of the cookies. "Fern stress-baking again?"

I nod, offering him one. "Yeah. Dad's got her worried."

Ivar takes a bite, speaking around a mouthful of cookie. "Can't blame her. This Liam visit's got everyone on edge. Even the prospects are picking up on it."

I glance over at the group of prospects huddled near the pool tables, their usual cockiness replaced by nervous energy. "Speaking of, they finish cleaning the bikes?"

"Yeah, made 'em do it twice just to keep 'em busy," Ivar grins. "Geirolf's idea. Said if they're gonna hang around, might as well make 'em useful."

I chuckle, setting the cookie platter down on the bar. "Smart man. Last thing we need is them getting in the way when Liam arrives."

The mention of Liam's name sends a ripple of tension through the room.

Conversations quiet, and I can feel eyes on me, looking for reassurance.

It's moments like these that remind me of the weight of being the Prez’s son, the expectation to have answers even when I'm as in the dark as everyone else.

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