Page 9 of Sparrow

Searching his brain for some sort of speech, a movie quote—hell, a song quote at this point would be better than silence. He needed something. Something humble, but inspirational. He should say something about being grateful for the opportunity and honored they chose him.

Hell no. That was corny as hell. Panicking internally, outwardly still, he remained silent.

His father swirled his glass of tequila and lofted his brows in expectation. His free hand lifted before he rolled his wrist, giving him the ‘well, go on’ gesture.

Fuck.

“Fury forever. Forever Fury.”

Another round of hoots and hollers rang out. Men slapped at the table with their open palms. Some used their closed fists. Looking across the table, he saw the smile of approval from his father as he brought the drink to his lips for a sip. Shifting his gaze, he got the nod from Dash.

He’d said the right thing.

WHACK.

WHACK.

WHACK.

Clearing his throat, Monty put the gavel down. “We ride tomorrow.” He gestured to Clark. “And when we do, Clark will ride in the SAA position, with Dash behind him, and Romeo behind him. After we take out the last bit of trash for Bowie, Clark will get his patch.”

All the celebration whooshed out of Romeo—sucked right out of the room as far as he was concerned. Ohio? Fucking Ohio. He had no want, or need, to go back to that fucking state. The Roughneck Rider territory could burn to the goddamn ground and he’d be just as happy.

The gavel once more took residence in the president’s hand. “Anyone got any other business?” he asked, though his voice sounded tired, like he’d had enough. Even his brothers had already started to stand, stretching, ready to start their nights.

As much as he wanted to, Romeo kept his fucking mouth shut.

With a final slap of the gavel, Monty called an end to church.

Remaining in his seat, he accepted the congratulatory back slaps from his brothers as they passed. All the while he stared at the profile of the Norse god carved into the center of their table. The member patch had to be removed from his cut, replaced with his new officer one—Enforcer. A goddamn honor.

Jesus fucking Christ. He scrubbed his face.

Up until the announcement that he’d be going back to goddamn Ohio, he’d been eager to join his brothers in the sewing circle—downright giddy, in fact. Now, he couldn’t bring himself to rise out of a chair. He couldn’t take his eyes off the high cheekbones or the flowing hair of the Viking deity.

He’d rather chew glass than go back to that hell hole of a clubhouse. He didn’t want to risk running into her. And he sure as shit didn’t want to know something that he’d purposely gone out of his way to avoid knowing about—whether or not she became that douche canoe’s Ol’ Lady.

He smelled the tequila coming off his breath like a cologne and it gave him away long before the faux leather chair wheezed as he sat down. Tearing his gaze away from the motorcycle club’s namesake, he took in his father.

Cocking his head to the side, the older man’s soft, albeit glassy, blue eyes studied his son. He placed his mostly empty glass on the table while he pursed his lips, bracketed by a once dark brown Fu Manchu, now peppered with gray hairs.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you aren’t too happy to be heading out with us tomorrow,” he drawled as he turned his attention to his glass.

Romeo snorted. “What’s not to love about a twenty-four-hour ride with my brothers?” he asked with only the slightest hint of sarcasm.

His father smiled. “Oh, with all the old assholes on this ride, you know it’s going to be more like forty hours. Half of us got prostate issues, the other got the diabetes, and need to pee every twenty minutes.” He brought his glass to his lips.

Romeo couldn’t help but laugh at the joke. In reality, while they looked road-weary and haggard—biker life did that to men—Romeo would put money that no one had passed sixty yet. “You really think you can make it?”

Tex arched a brow as he swallowed the drink. “You keep talking like that, you aren’t going tomake itout of this room.”

Now there was a strategy to get out of Ohio, get his ass beat. Though, fucking up the night of his promotion to an officer just didn’t sit right with him.

“I’m proud of you,” his father said as he finished off his drink.

Caught off guard, Romeo studied his father as though waiting for another quip to come. Was this a set up to a punchline?

“All your mother and I ever wanted was for you to be a better man,” he said as he looked off as though staring into an abyss. “We both agreed we wanted you to be better than me, we just had different definitions of what that meant.” He grinned as though it was an inside joke Romeo wasn’t privy to.

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