Page 22 of Reclaiming Venom

“Your mom mentioned a baby.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I have a son now. He’s so damn tiny I’m afraid I’ll break him.”

My heart ached for memories that slipped through my fingers like sand. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, drinking in every word.

“Your grandson’s name is Elijah. We thought it might be better to bring him by a different day, so my club president is watching him.”

“Congratulations,” I murmured, sincerity lining my tone. Even though Ridley had mentioned it before, it hadn’t hit me until now. The realization that I was a grandfather washed over me -- joy mingling with a deep sense of loss for the time that eluded me.

Dawson’s expression softened; vulnerability crept into his voice. “Taylor… she adores you, Dad. She’s always asking when she can see her grandpa again -- drawing pictures of you on that big bike of yours.”

The image hit me like a punch to the gut -- my granddaughter eagerly awaiting my return, her excitement palpable despite the distance between us. For a brief moment, I could see her. The memory vanished again. I swallowed hard, battling against the lump forming in my throat as emotions swirled within me like a storm.

I watched Dawson’s face, noting how my son’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled -- just like Ridley’s.

“Taylor’s got quite the artistic streak,” Dawson said, his voice soft with affection. “Every day she comes home from school with a new masterpiece. And I swear, Dad, nine times out of ten, you’re right there in the center of it.”

A low rumble of laughter escaped my chest, surprising me. “That so?”

Dawson nodded and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. As he unfolded it, I caught a glimpse of bright crayon scribbles.

“This is her latest,” Dawson explained, holding it out to me. “See? That’s you on your bike, and there’s Taylor riding behind you. Not that Nora or Mom let her actually ride when the bike is running. But you often put her on the seat and push her up the driveway, or a little ways down the street.”

My throat tightened as I stared at the childish drawing. The stick figure meant to be me sported an enormous beard and an even bigger smile. I traced it with my fingertip, overwhelmed by a longing for a connection I couldn’t quite grasp.

Dawson watched me intently, his expression a mix of hope and caution. “Do you… have any questions, Dad? About Taylor or anything else?”

The weight of everything I didn’t know pressed down on my shoulders. I wanted to ask a thousand questions and demand every detail of the life I’d forgotten. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I shook my head and handed the drawing back to Dawson.

His face fell slightly, but he nodded in understanding. “It’s okay. I don’t want to push too much, too fast. One of the brothers in my club, Logan, is a paramedic. He’s actually the one who saved your life, and he’s with Akira. He explained about your memory loss and that trying to force it could actually make things worse.”

Dawson stood and brushed imaginary dust from his jeans. “I should probably head out. But, uh, there’s something else you should know, Mom.” He turned to Ridley, who hovered silently in the doorway. “Farrah and Mariah are on lockdown at the Devil’s Fury. They tried to leave to come here.”

Ridley’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. Her eyes flashed as she let out a derisive snort. “Well, remind your sisters that they’re still not welcome at the Dixie Reapers -- at least not until they offer a genuine apology.”

The tension in the room skyrocketed as confusion battled with a strange sense of protective anger surging within me -- a feeling I struggled to understand. What the hell had my daughters done to be banned from this place?

As Dawson nodded and headed for the door, my mind raced with questions. The softthudof the closing door echoed through the house, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. I turned my gaze to Ridley, her petite frame taut with tension, eyes stormy with unspoken emotions.

My throat tightened, the urge to ask about my daughters burning on my tongue. What could they have done to warrant such a harsh response from their own mother?

“Ridley,” I started, hesitant. “About Farrah and Mariah…”

She turned to me, her blonde hair catching the light, a complex mix of emotions playing across her face. For a moment, I caught a glimpse of the vibrant, outgoing woman I knew she could be, but it vanished beneath something darker, more guarded.

The question died on my lips. Did I really want to know? Ridley had already shared so much with me, at my insistence. But what if the doctor and Dawson were right and it would only make things worse? The things she’d shared so far had been good memories. But if my daughters weren’t allowed here, then they’d fucked up in a big way. I wasn’t sure I was ready to find out more about the situation.

Instead, I stood tall, my imposing frame filling the room. “I need some air,” I muttered, brushing past Ridley and striding toward the front door.

As I stepped onto the porch, the rumble of distant motorcycles called to something deep within me -- a part of my identity that even amnesia couldn’t erase.

I took a deep breath, resolve hardening inside me. I might not have remembered everything, but I was determined to piece together the puzzle of my life. For Ridley, for my children, and for myself. The life we shared was worth fighting for, worth remembering.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, I narrowed my eyes with determination. This was just the beginning of my journey back to myself, and I was ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.

Chapter Seven

Venom

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