Page 124 of Ruger's Rage

My father approaches more slowly, his expression guarded but his eyes suspiciously bright. "Elizabeth Matilda Hayes," he says gruffly. "About time you came back to us."

"Dad." I pull away from Mom to face him. "I know I hurt you, all of you. I should never have?—"

He pulls me into a bone-crushing hug, cutting off my apology. "You're safe," he whispers hoarsely. "That's all I care about."

My brothers join the huddle, both talking at once.

"You look different," Brent says.

"Where have you been?" Bryan demands.

"Is this him?" my father asks, finally releasing me to eye Ruger. "The man who helped you?"

I wipe my eyes, trying to compose myself. "Yes. Dad, everyone, this is Ruger. My... boyfriend."

The label feels inadequate for what he is to me, but "ol' lady" wouldn't mean anything to my family.

Ruger steps forward, offering his hand to my father. "Sir, it's an honor to meet you."

My father takes in Ruger's appearance—the leather cut with the President patch, the beard, the new tattoos he just got around his neck.

Then he looks at me, at how I've positioned myself instinctively at Ruger's side.

"You're the one who got my daughter away from that bastard Santini?" he asks bluntly.

"She got herself away," Ruger corrects him. "I just made sure he wouldn't ever hurt her again."

Something passes between the two men, an understanding that makes my father nod slowly before taking Ruger's outstretched hand.

"Then I owe you my thanks, young man."

"No sir, I'm the one who's thankful," Ruger says, glancing at me like I’m his entire world. "Every day."

The initial tension is broken and we all head inside for dinner.

The conversation flows more easily than I ever hoped, years of separation melting away as we all reconnect.

I share edited versions of my time in Morgantown, about working at the bar, about meeting Ruger.

My brothers size him up throughout the meal, their protective instincts obvious but softening as they see how he treats me—with respect, with tenderness, with pride.

By dessert, Mom is showing me pictures of our extended family on her phone, Dad and Ruger are discussing motorcycles, and my brothers are arguing about the Steelers' chances this season.

It feels normal, like my family never stopped loving me, even though I thought they did.

Before I know it, dinner is over and everyone is smiling.

As we say our goodbyes in the parking lot, Mom holds me tight. "Don't be a stranger, honey. Promise me."

"I promise," I tell her, meaning it. "And you'll come visit us?"

"Try and stop me," she says fiercely. "I want to see this bar of yours, meet this Ellie person you keep talking about."

My father approaches Ruger while I'm still embracing Mom. "Take care of my little girl," I hear him say.

"With my life," Ruger answers, and I know he means it.

The drive back to the club is quiet for a little bit until I finally speak up, "That went better than I expected."

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