Page 9 of Oh Holy Knight

The door closes behind me and I watch as Riggs, Blackie, Bas, Parrish, Pipe, Bash and Bishop all take their seats at the table. That’s when I notice Nico is missing. Muttering a curse, I reach for my phone, but before I can call the little shit and hand him his ass, the door storms open and he comes barreling through.

“Why do you have white shit all over you?” Riggs asks him. “You look like you plowed through a mountain of cocaine.”

Nico shakes the fake snow from his hair and shoots me a glare.

“Your fucking hazmat suit didn’t work out too well,” he grinds out.

“Do I want to know what you were doing that required a hazmat suit?” Riggs asks.

“He was putting up his new Christmas tree,” I say, leaning my back against the chair. I fold my hands behind my head and smirk at my son. “A flocked special.”

“Fuck this flocking crap and while we’re at it…” His voice trails as he shakes more snow from his hair. “…fuck your elf too. Carrie nearly died when she walked in the door and spotted that thing.”

“What’s he talking about?” Pipe questions.

I tell them about the basket, and they all start ripping on Nico. It’s the end of life as he knows it, they say. From this point forward he’s a prisoner to the elf. Little do they know they’re all about to become a bunch of elves themselves.

I take the meat mallet and slam it against the grain of the table. One of these days I’m going to trade this kitchen utensil for a real fucking gavel. “

“Alright, shut the fuck up and settle down,” I call, lowering the mallet again. “Church is in session.”

Nico takes his seat at the other end of the table and everyone brings their attention to me. I start by going over the club’s finances. Pipe fills us in on what’s going on at the garage, while Riggs catches us all up to speed with Kate’s. He also tells us how he found Gunther by the dumpster one night. At first, he thought he was just throwing out the trash from the catering hall, then he saw him put a half-eaten burger in his pocket. When Riggs made his presence known, Gunther tried to flee, but Riggs convinced him to stay. He brought him into the bar and fixed him a sandwich. Then he packed him a bag of food to take back to his wife and kids and told him if he needed extra money, he could work at the bar.

I turn to Blackie, gauging his reaction. If he is still suspicious of Gunther, he doesn’t show it.

Once the subject of Gunther is laid to rest, I bring up the real reason I asked them all here on a Sunday, revealing Maria and I will be hosting Christmas Eve and they are all invited.

“First you take my club, now you want to take my holiday?” Parrish sneers. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“To be fair, it was my holiday first,” I point out. “You were kind enough to help me out after my son passed, but it’s time for Maria and I to take back Christmas. It’s the first year Anna will truly understand, and I want to make it special for her.” I pause and glance around the table. “For all the kids.” I bring my gaze back to Parrish. “That includes your granddaughters.”

His dark eyes narrow into tiny slits.

“Are you insinuating that I haven’t made my granddaughters happy the last couple of years because—”

“Parrish,” Pipe interjects. “You’re missing the point.” He turns back to me. “Been a while since we sat at your table, brother,” he says, knocking his knuckles against the wood. “And I don’t mean this one.”

“He’s right,” Blackie says, drawing my focus to him. “It’s nice to see you healing, brother.”

“I don’t know if that’s the right word. Healing would mean I’m on the mend, that I’m on the road to becoming whole again…” My voice trails as my throat tightens.

I force a swallow and lift my head, my eyes connecting with Nico’s. He and I will never be whole when a part of us is gone forever, but we need to press on. We get one life, one fucking shot to make a difference.

Keeping my eyes pinned to my son, I continue, “Not sure if that will ever happen, but it’s time we push forward. Frankie loved Christmas and if he were here, I know he’d do everything in his power to pass the traditions he loved most down to his daughter.”

Nico nods in agreement and I finally tear my eyes away from him. I glance around the table and exhale.

“So, to take a page from my man, Clark Griswold, we’re going to have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny-fucking-Kaye, and when Santa squeezes his fat ass down the chimney on Christmas Eve, he’s going to find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of Hell.”

“Aye, aye,” Pipe says, slamming his palms against the table. A grin spreads across his face and soon they’re all banging their hands against the table in unison. Well, everyone except Parrish—there’s always one.

“Um, I have a question,” Bash announces, his thick southern drawl on display as he raises his hand.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Well, I don’t recall anyone by the name of Clark Griswold. Is he a relative of ya’ll or something?”

I’d like to tell you he’s kidding, but the poor bastard still considers a cannoli a fried pancake. Luckily, Bishop saves me the trouble of reaching across the table and smacks him upside the head.

“Hey! What in the Sam Hill was that for?” Bash protests, rubbing the back of his head.

“Do yourself a favor and shut the fuck up,” Bishop growls.

“What? It’s a valid question. I wouldn’t show up to Christmas dinner without a present for this Clark fella.”

“Christ, make it stop,” Bishop wails, lifting his hands to cover his face. When he pulls them away, his gaze cuts to me. “Looks like we got our very own version of Cousin Eddie.”

I laugh heartily. The former prospect does sound an awful like Dennis Quaid’s character. Let’s just hope Bash doesn’t blow up the bathroom on Christmas.

Maria would fucking kill me if the shitter were to become full.

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