Page 106 of Protector

“Always dividin’ my time between my business and the club, poor kid must’ve thought I worked all the fuckin’ time,” he mused. “What about you, Jamie? What parts of yourself do you see in your kids?”

I frowned. “You know I ain’t high, right? This feels more like the kind of conversation you have when you’re fucked up—”

“I’m serious.” He sat back down. “When you look at them, what do you see?”

“Mikey—well, Mikey is just like his old man—”

Slim held a finger up. “I’m gonna stop you right there. You ever looked at Mike and saw the part of yourself that believed he was invincible? That’s what I always thought about you when we were kids. Seemed like nothin’ could take you down.”

“Yeah. Given how shit has gone, I think life took that as a challenge.”

“I know you wanna believe the kid’s a lost cause, but he ain’t. He just needs a little guidance—”

“A little?” I interjected. “Had to call in a fake tip to the crime line in Galveston just to get him to stop drinkin’. I know for a fact that he’s hit on my girl before but can’t tell you if it’s because she’s a fuckin’ knockout or if he really just hates me that much.”

“Maybe the apple don’t fall far from the tree,” Slim pondered, drumming his fingers across his lap to ‘Kashmir.’ “Maybe he sees the life you have, and he’s jealous. Think about it, Jamie. Despite the mistakes you’ve made, you still have a better life than anything he ever saw growing up. Maybe you’re his Slim.”

“Never said I was jealous of you, asshole. Just said I felt like you’ve always had your shit together. Don’t get it twisted.”

He took another hit. “Yeah, to me that sounds like jealousy. Now, you gonna let me make my point or not?”

“Wish you’d get it the fuck over with. I’m gettin’ gray hair,” I muttered.

Slim’s eyes were half-open, the joint dangling from his lips while he nodded his head to the music. Clearly, he’d found the sweet spot and was fully relaxed without being impaired. “You gotta tell Mike the truth. I’ve been thinkin’ about the shit with David. He might make bad choices, but he’s always known that I’m a phone call away. In fact, I’m thinkin’ I’ll get through the rest of the weekend and give him a call when I’m back home, see if I can help him get his priorities straight.”

When he fell silent, lost to the faded Farrah poster on the wall, I waved a hand in front of his face. “You gonna finish that in a way that makes sense or—”

“Mike don’t have someone to call when shit’s spinnin’ out of control, Jamie. You think Comedian is gonna offer any quality advice? If he can’t snort it, shoot it, or fuck it, he ain’t interested. You’ve gotta be that person for him, and when the time is right, you tell him who the fuck he really is.”

I thought it over. “You really think he could ever settle down? That he and I could ever have a solid relationship?”

He mulled it over with a slow nod. “I saw the way he looked at you when he was a kid. He wanted you to be his dad—shit, I bet there were times he even let himself pretend that you were. Right now, though? He’s angry because his hero is forcin’ him into a life he don’t want.”

I picked at the leather on the bean bag chair. “I didn’t know what else to do. He was comin’ after the club—”

“You’re not hearin’ me. Might not be the life he would’ve chosen for himself, but it’s the one he needs. Even if he don’t know it yet, kid’s been searchin’ for a family his whole life. You and I know that when shit goes down, there’s no better support than your brothers.” Slim ran a hand over his face before continuing.

“He may never wear a kutte, but he needs to see the good side of the club. If you’re just gonna call him in when it goes south, then you’re missin’ out on a relationship. You gotta help him remember the man he grew up worshiping; not by tellin’ him, but by showin’ up when he needs you.”

It made sense.

I’d thought tough love was the only way I’d get through to him, but it had pushed him away. Mikey didn’t want to be indebted to some club; he wanted to belong.

“You want me to go ahead and tell you that you’re right, or wait a few years to keep you humble?”

He scratched at his beard. “You know I think I’d like a plaque; somethin’ I can hang on the wall in my office that commemorates the day Jamie Quinn listened to reason.”

I flipped him off with a smirk. “Well, you’ll be waitin’ til hell freezes over for that one.”

* * *

My cell phone vibrated across the nightstand, the buzzing intensifying with each pulse. I’d stayed up late again, searching the internet for anything related to Saint—churches, other MCs—I’d even looked into a Saint Anthony’s preschool. We’d been chasing leads on Cobra for over three years, but no one seemed to know the elusive Saint.

All we had to go on was Hawk’s word, but it wasn’t as if we could bring him back to tell us more. The things he’d given up before falling on the sword were vague and cryptic at best.

I closed my eyes when it stopped and was close to drifting off when it started up again. With a groan, I rolled over and fumbled blindly for the phone before bringing it up to my ear. “This better be important—”

“Jamie?” The voice cut off in a sob, and I sat up, suddenly wide awake.

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