Page 64 of Royally Lucky

“You keep that shit up, and Lux will beat your ass,” Bekkett warned.

The sound of drunk women singing Deck The Halls had his stomach clenching. He needed to get the fuck out of the clubhouse and on the road. His family was waiting.

“Go on before they drag you out to do Karaoke with them.” T-Rex held his fist out.

Bekkett bumped knuckles with his friend, taking the exit offered like a man starving for oxygen.

He let the door shut on its own, yelling out goodbyes to those who spoke as he passed. His words came out automatically, almost robotic. At his bike, he didn’t need to think to ride—the steps he’d memorized burned into his brain like breathing and blinking. Slide your right leg over the seat. Put the helmet on. Push the button to start. Throttle and release the clutch.All the things he’d learned when he was knee-high to a fucking grasshopper.

The familiar rumble of his Harley eased some of the tension building in his chest. He sucked in a few deep pulls of oxygen while pushing the bike backward. At last, his chest didn’t feel like bursting from lack of oxygen.

“Viking, you good?” Jovi Cantrell asked.

Bekkett eyed the road leading out, then the blonde woman who belonged to the newest brother, Steelshot. The woman reminded him of his wife. He gritted his teeth to keep from barking an angry retort.

“Just heading north to see my family. Happy looks good on you. If Steelshot doesn’t treat you right, let me know. I’ll knock some sense into him.” He made a show of punching his right fist into his left hand. The pain centered him, giving him a little of the ground he’d lost back.

Jovi laughed. “You’re the only one bigger than Jentzen around here. Well, besides T-Rex, but you’re still bigger than him. Is that why they call you Viking?” she asked, slapping her hand over her mouth.

He laughed and shook his head. Nobody had the balls to ask why they called him Viking, but she was correct in her assumption. They called him Viking since Freshman year of high school when he’d shot up over six feet tall and kept growing. His mama had sworn he would eat her out of house and home or break her with clothing bills. Being Scandinavian mixed with Norwegian descent gave the moniker credence.

“Jovi, you flirting with the blond god who is not Thor?” Steelshot asked, sliding a possessive arm around his ole’ lady’s waist without heat.

“Nope, I escaped out here, so I didn’t have to participate in that...that atrocity they called singing.” Jovi shuddered.

Bekkett gave a little nudge to the throttle on his bike—a not-so-subtle reminder he was rolling out. “I’ll see you two on New Year's Eve. Go have some fun,” he said.

Bekkett let off the brake with a wave. Jentzen would take care of Jovi. He needed to hit the road and let the wind blow away the shit rattling inside his head, or he’d end up doing something stupid. The burning ache inside his chest was always on a low simmer, but it became hotter this time of the year. If he didn’t pay attention and do the proper things he needed to do, the simmer would boil over and burn shit to the ground.

He aimed his bike north toward Santa Cruz and the Redwoods. The ten-and-a-half-hour drive usually wouldn’t be a problem. However, he didn’t plan to ride the entire trip that night.

Five hours into the trip, he stopped to refuel and get his thicker leathers and warming gear out of his saddlebags. He took them inside the station, paid for the fuel, went into the bathroom, and changed. Once dressed for the colder weather and his tank filled, Bekkett continued the ride. For the next half of his ride, he listened to his playlist through Bluetooth on his custom Arai Corsair-X race-bred helmet. While a lot of his brothers wore skullcaps, he preferred to have his head covered on long rides. The Corsair-X RC felt like he had nothing on with its lightweight shell that blended the best of flexibility and impact protection into one. Fuck, at almost four grand, Bekkett would’ve killed the guy who sold it to him if it hadn’t been. It also allowed him to ride in the cold weather without fogging the visor.

The following day...

He stretched his neck from side to side, seeing the sign to his hometown. His first instinct made him want to head straight to the big house. However, he flicked the switch to turn on his blinker to turn left. It was Christmas morning, and he alwaysspent the first rays of light breaking over the horizon with his family.

Like every year, the ride from the stop sign to the entrance took less than ten minutes. He doesn’t remember if he passed anyone as he rode. The disassociation from reality had taken hold the moment he flicked the turn signal. The loud rumble of his Harley echoed around him. It was the only sound in the snow-white landscape. Towers of concrete interspersed with flat markers greeted him. He didn’t look at any while he continued riding until he saw the bench. His bench.

He came to a stop and brought his boots down on the packed snow. As he did back at the clubhouse, he went through the steps of shutting down his bike. His vision blurred. He slammed his eyes shut. “Fuck,” he yelled and yanked at his helmet.

He laced his hands behind his head and dug his fingers into his neck hard enough to remind himself he was alive, wishing otherwise.

“Let’s do this,” he said.

Bekkett snapped his eyes toward the bench facing a large quartzite headstone. He moved from his bike, muscles stiff from the ride. His chest hurt, and his stomach ached, and his head pounded.

“Fuck. Will this ever get easier?” he asked.

One foot in front of the other, he stepped across the snowy ground until he stood before the headstone with his family's names engraved.

“Nancy and Nina Larsen. Beloved Wife and Daughter,” he rasped as he ran his gloved finger over the words. The fucking irony. He’d have loved to have been a father. To have been able to hold his baby girl. If only...

“JINX, GET YOUR ASSin gear, girl. We got a shitton of customers waiting on drinks.”

Blair rolled her eyes at her boss and his snarl. “I’m coming, Frank. Hold your nads.”

“I’ll give you something to hold if you keep sassing me, girl.” Frank pointed his finger at Blair.

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