Page 101 of Deserter

“Alright. First, we’ll make sure she’s okay, and then kill her.”

“Yeah. That sounds good,” she answered distractedly as she carefully lifted Kate from the carpet. I watched in amusement as she casually carried our daughter down the hall to the nursery, as if she hadn’t just agreed to murder.

A normal man wouldn’t have gotten turned on by that.

I’d never been one of those though.

“C’mon, Mikey.” I gathered him up in my arms. His head lolled back against my chest; mouth stained hot pink from all the sweets.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he mumbled, not fully awake, but conscious enough to confuse me with the bastard who laid hands on him.

My chest constricted painfully as I forced out, “Don’t apologize to me, kid.”

He mumbled nonsense in return, and I realized that he was still out. I shifted him in my arms as I pulled the comforter down and, suddenly feeling brave, whispered, “Daddy’s got you now.”

I sat down on the side of the bed but couldn’t find the strength to let go of him. Instead, I rocked back and forth with him, just like I did Kate, while telling him all the things I had to keep hidden when he was awake. The words had been building up for years. I couldn’t stop now if I tried.

“When I was your age, my old man beat on me too. I know it don’t feel like it, but someday, it’ll get better. Guys like that are fuckin’ weak—they go after people who can’t defend themselves…” His dark eyelashes fluttered as he slept, but he burrowed his face closer into my chest, as if there was a part of him that heard me.

Maybe a part of him knew who I was. If so, he deserved more than me spouting off sugar-coated bullshit.

“I know that means jack shit right now. I should’ve done better by you.” I tightened my hold on him. “I never should’ve left you with them. I know that now. I had the chance to take him out and I blew it.”

I continued rocking him, thinking about that night in the bar and how, for the first time ever, Slim had given me shit advice.

Tonight had only been a bitter reminder of the family we could’ve been had I not been such a pussy. It didn’t stop me from pouring my fucking guts out to him though.

I was seven when I had my first confession. My mother had eased me into it with the required classes and my first communion, before telling me that Father Sullivan would guide me through reconciliation.

I was free to say whatever was on my chest inside the confessional. I’d been a scared kid, even back then, and I’d become fixated on the idea that I was going to Hell. I’d talked to Father until my voice went hoarse; admitting my every sin since birth.

Holding him like this was like being back inside that booth—scared and in need of forgiveness for all the ways I’d failed him.

“Your batting is getting really good. I was at your tournament last weekend, but I didn’t want your ma to see me, so I stayed back. I wasn’t like you; wasn’t ever good at anything. My old man used to tell me that all I was good for was ruining lives.”

Maybe he’d been right about that.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. “You’re my boy and I will keep you safe, okay? I’m sorry, buddy. Daddy is so sorry. I fucked it all up.”

At the soft intake of breath, I whipped my head toward the door and found Celia, hand clapped over her mouth, with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Jamie,” she choked.

I roughly ran a hand over my face and turned away from her before releasing the death grip I had on my son. I pressed my lips to his forehead. “Sleep good, Mikey.”

Celia was waiting in the hall, but I bypassed her and headed straight for the door.

I couldn’t talk about it.

What was I gonna say?

Let’s fuck the plan and kidnap the kid?

Use the club to take out his pathetic excuses for parents?

Jesus, Celia had shown more affection for him than the woman who’d brought him into this world.

I reached the door and stopped, keeping my back to her. “I’m gonna go check on Molly. I’ll be right back, princess.”

“Jamie, do you—”

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