Page 7 of The Pursuit of Her Happiness

“Yes?” He really isn’t getting it.

I close the distance between us, rising on my toes to whisper in his ear. He leans down, his smile growing thinking he’s won.“You won’t fuck fat pussy, and I won’t be friends with fucking assholes.”

“Quinn!” he snarls. “You punched me, disrespected me in my own clubhouse, and I’m the one who got in trouble? This is bullshit.”

I decide to speak to him as if he was one of my children, since he’s acting like a spoiled child. “Hunter Allen, I suggest you take a good hard look at your life, your choices, and the effects of your actions. And then ask yourself if you would be friends with that person. Because I’ll tell ya, the man you are right now, the man who ripped me apart in his room…I don’t like that man. Do you?”

“Hey!” Marco comes running over, his face red and fists clenched. “Get away from my mom!” Oh, dear Lord.

“Marco, it’s—”

My brave, stupid boy steps toe to toe with Ford, no fear, just anger. “My mom is awesome, and weird, and beautiful. She plays video games with us even though she sucks at them, and cooks us food, and I always have clean clothes because she washes laundry constantly and they smell nice. And you’re an asshole!”

“Marco—” I step between them, placing my hands on Marco’s slender bony shoulders.

“What? Are you defending him? It’s true, if there was ever an asshole walking upright among us it would be Ford!”

I loosen my grip. “Ok, that’s fair.”

“Quinn!”

I glare at Ford over my shoulder, “What? He has a point.”

“Like mother, like son.” Adams muses, standing at my side, his arms across his chest, staring down Ford. Something brushesagainst my other side, and I nearly swallow my tongue when I find Polk mirroring Adams’ stance.

“Got a problem, prospect?” Adams asks harshly.

“Quinn, we’re friends. Best friends. Please?” I shake my head at him. He’s not sorry for his actions or words, he’s sorry that he’s being punished for them. I stare at him until he raises his hands up and walks away, but not before looking at Marco. My son scowls, breathing hard and looking close to tears. My heart hurts at the confused and wounded expression on Ford’s face, yes, but it nearly breaks when I realize how much my boys have come to love the Congressionals MC and Ford. In that one look from Ford, it might be wishful thinking, but I think I saw the first cracks in the narcissistic obliviousness with which he surrounds himself.

I’m just not sure if it’s too late to salvage a relationship with my boys.

“Come on, Quinny,” Adams drops his heavy arm across my shoulders and leads me to one of the picnic tables. I glance over my shoulder, expecting my boys to be following me, instead I find Polk staring at me with an odd expression. When I raise my eyebrow in silent question, he smirks, shakes his head and addresses my boys.

“You wanna help me at the overnight kennels? I’ve got to check on the dogs before I start chowing down.” Sal starts nodding before Polk is even done speaking. Marco’s eyes light up with excitement but he plays it off with a casual shrug.

“Yeah, I guess.” Can’t wait for his teen years to begin, should be so much fun. Adams tugs me toward the table while Polk leads Marco and Sal around the sitting area like the Pied Piper. We’ve never had pets, not because I don’t like dogs or cats but because I would have been the one taking care of them and I was busyenough with three boys and very little help from their father. It was a headache I wasn’t willing to deal with, but they are older now…

“Shit,” I mumble to myself, swinging my leg over the bench where Adams indicates.

“What?”

“Sorry.” I chuckle, “I just realized I’m probably getting a dog soon.”

Adams’ laughs heartily, “We’ve all been suckered by Polk at one time or another.”

Barkley slams a plate down across from me, the club enforcer scowling at Polk’s retreating form. “Had me playing fucking nursemaid to that damn pig a few years ago.” He sounds so grumpy, but I squeal at the mention of a little piggy.

“Awww! How cute! Why haven’t I met this little piggy?” Everyone around us starts laughing, Audrey and Tilly setting their own plates down to sit near me.

“He outgrew us.” Barkley snarls at me.

“No!” Buchanan yells out, his voice rising in pitch, “He had a damn sidecar built for it and it got too big to be his travel buddy!”

“Shut. The. Front. Door.” I bounce in my seat, hands clapping, picturing the big bad enforcer cruising down the highway with a little piggy in a sidecar next to him. “When you went riding…. did it cry ‘wee, wee, wee’ all the way home?”

“Fuck off,” Barkley snaps, holding up a juicy rib and savagely tearing the meat off it with his teeth.

“I will not,” I reply primly, settle my chin on my folded hands and blink owlishly at him. “Where’s Wilbur?”

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