Page 10 of Sparrow

“Honestly…” Romeo glanced around the room to make sure father and son Karolsson were the only two who remained. “I’ve just been trying to live up to your legacy. You and Teller are a tough act to follow.”

His dad let loose a drunken belly laugh. He slapped the table twice and took a deep breath. Shaking his head, he sighed. Then he schooled his features while he once more regarded his son. His expression turned serious. For half a second, Romeo thought his father looked sober when he reached out and gripped his son’s shoulders.

“You have it in you to be better. Don’t forget that.” His hands fell away. “Me and your uncle are a bunch of selfish assholes who think of nothing but our club and ourselves.” He thought for a moment, turning his eye to his glass, and his mouth turned down, expression souring. “I’ve done a lot wrong in my life. Don’t try to be like me.”

“How can you say that?” Romeo leaned toward his father. “Look at all you’ve done and how high you are in the club. You’re not just any old VP, you’renationalVP. You have all their respect.” Shaking his head, he couldn’t believe how much his father downplayed everything. “I’d be lucky to be half of what you are.”

His father nodded as though he were going through a catalog of errors. “It looks like that, don’t it,” he commented as he scrubbed his hand over his bare chin. “Don’t get me wrong, I fought for it all, and I’m damn proud, but things could’ve been a lot better.” He looked upon his son, and Romeo swore he saw some regret in his eyes. “I should’ve done a lot of things differently. Put your head on straight, stop messing around, and get serious.” He pointed toward the main room of the clubhouse. “I know you want more than what is out there.” His words were laced with unspoken intention, causing Romeo to regard his father with furrowed brows of suspicion. What the hell was he talking about? “Be better than me, son,” he said as he stood and clapped Romeo on the back. “From what I’ve seen, you’re already on your way.”

Chapter 6

Sparrow

Aham and cheese sandwich sat half-eaten on the coffee table while aFriendsrerun played on the television, more for background noise than anything. Pipes had left for work, maybe. A run possibly. Hell if she knew. Sparrow should’ve paid attention when he said where he’d be. Had he said where he’d been? Did he ever?

Her fingertips ran along her cheek again. The redness had gone away an hour ago. He’d left no visible sign of what he’d done, but that didn’t mean anything. What he’d done made her very aware of the relief she felt when that door closed behind him. The weight off her shoulders, how she breathed easier, and just how much more comfortable in the apartment she felt without him there.

This wasn’t a relationship. She’d somehow put herself in a voluntary hostage situation. She’d made him her warden just so she could cling to this backward ass club and her father’s memory.

At the thought, she pushed off the couch and went to the room she shared with the man she preferred not to be there. Feelings bigger than her comprehension and her ability to process warred within her and her stomach rolled, threatening to spill the little bit of sandwich she’d eaten on the carpet.

Once again, she found herself cursing her lack of organizational skills as she sifted through the mess of closet contents. Boots, jeans, t-shirts, a high-heeled pump that lacked a twin all went sailing over her shoulder as she dug deeper, looking for the one thing she needed to see. It’d gotten bigger since she’d last opened it. She’d put more in it. She probably shouldn’t have, but well—she had no good but.

When it came into view, she smiled through tears. She had no clue why or when they’d appeared. Tugging the box out, she sat on the floor with her back against the bed. Using it as a wall between her and the door, she wanted privacy as she opened the box. This cardboard cube became her own personal time capsule for happier times.

On top were her father’s things. His cut folded perfectly, still stained with the blood of his last breath laid on top. She’d tucked it away after Pipes’ overdose. Silly as it was, she didn’t want her father to “see” her choices or something. It didn’t make any sense. She knew that, but either way, she kept him, his cut, in a box now—out of shame.

She brushed her fingers over the stiff leather. Time wasn’t being kind to it. She’d need to oil it and care for it if she wanted it to last. As she placed it aside, she made a mental note to do better. Her birth certificate, passport, and high school yearbook were under that and they went to the side as well.

She swiped at the tears when the cracked rainbow lollipop came into view. It hadn’t faired too well when she’d thrown it across the room upon discovering it. Pipes’ O.D., Jacob’s speech about the Roughneck Riders and his asking her to go to Montana, missing her test—it’d been too much. The candy bouquet had felt like a mockery.

That was until Pipes’s first relapse.

Then her whole life felt like a joke. Every hope she had—everything she’d ever dreamed of, all the things she’d wanted—one big practical joke. She’d used all her school money to help pay for the hospital bills that insurance didn’t cover. She put her dreams on hold to help Pipes get better—for him to go to rehab—hoping they’d have a better life in his sobriety.

Until he used again. And again. And again.

She’d never been more thankful that no one cleaned the stock room than the day she found the broken rainbow lollipop, which led to the discovery of all the pieces of the bouquet. Well. Maybe most of them. She hadn’t been able to recreate the arrangement. She just kept what she found and put them in the box.

In her moments, which seemed to be cropping up more often, when her life felt completely bleak, she liked to go to her box of happy memories. These keepsakes reminded her of the brief moments when she stole a bit of bliss just for herself.

As she took one lollipop out after the other, she could pretend Jacob never thought she was just club ass. That she’d never acted like it. One day, she’d let it go and move on with her life. No doubt in her mind Jacob had. She had no business fucking anyone in a parking lot. She’d ruined Jacob’s view of her and, potentially, her life with Pipes. She was a giant mess.

Once all the candy had been unloaded, she gave herself a mental pat on the back for not once wanting to unwrap one and eat it. Even though there were cotton candy ones in there and she’d been eyeing those for two years. Then again—would they still be good? She’d never had a lollipop last that long.

Shoving the thought out of her mind, she delved deeper into her memory box, which was essentially both a DeLorean and a TARDIS in her mind. The shoebox of Jacob’s letters came out and she snickered. She’d read these silly things a thousand times over the years. They’d been absolutely ridiculous and cringeworthily awkward.

Yet, at the same time, she found them absolutely magical in their innocence. How many nights had she wished she could crawl into that box and go back in time to those letters—she wouldn’t change things. No, she’d seen enough movies to know about messing with the space-time continuum nonsense. She’d just like to go back and feel those feelings again.

Sifting through them, she thought about finding some of her favorites when the thick edge of a photo caught her finger. She covered her mouth, and a smile erupted on her face as their youthful expressions stared back at her in the strip of photos from the photo booth. Only two out of the three had pictures. They’d been interrupted and even that made her laugh.

The memories of those precious few weekends they’d spent at the rally when they shouldn’t have been there were the happiest she had ever been. She longed for the simplicity of those days. As she tossed the strip of photos down, the next item to come out of the box was a letter, with a photo.

The letter she’d read the most. The letter with the promise she’d clung to for years. She wished on every shooting star for him to come through on that promise. A glutton for punishment, she opened that letter one more time. Skimming it, she got to the line, the line that speared her heart every time.

My bike’s running. She’s not pretty but she’s pretty loud. We’ll go for a ride when I get there.

Jacob.

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