Page 114 of Rafe: Sins of the Father

Rafe—

It’s been a month, and Tori’s father has come around to the idea of she and I together, especially when she told him all about Connor and the so-called ‘good’ guys at her elite school. When he heard how I’d saved her not once, but twice, he came to me and apologized, asking me—me, a biker on probation—to forgive him.

Of course, I did.

Then he offered me the foreman position. Said he knew there wasn’t a situation I couldn’t handle, and so far, I’ve proved myself worthy of the job.

Tori and I are totally committed to each other, and our love feels strong enough to withstand anything. Loving her is easy. Letting her out of my sight is the hard part, but I’m working on it.

We roll into the clubhouse parking lot, and she slips off the back of my bike, undoing her helmet. I shut it down and drop the kickstand, pulling my own helmet off and setting them both on the seat. I hold my hand out for hers. She slips her smaller one in mine, and just like that, everything in me evens out.

I lead her through the clubhouse door and into my parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary party. We’re a little late, but that couldn’t be helped. My girl curled her finger at me when I walked out of the shower with a towel wrapped around my waist. Yes, ma’am. I moved across the bedroom to her, and she yanked the towel off, dropping it to the floor, and then my baby dropped toher knees and sucked me off while I stroked her hair and told her what a good girl she was. Always my good girl.

My brother stands across the clubhouse, Sutton tight to his good side. I thank God my brother survived. His wound has almost completely healed, and Sutton has been exceptionally protective of him these last weeks. If anything, I think it’s made them even stronger as a couple.

He spots me, and I lift my chin to him. He raises his beer, then takes a sip.

I lead Tori to a spot in the circle of brothers and ol’ ladies surrounding my parents as my father makes a toast to my mother. They’ve got a love that’s legendary, and I hope I can live up to it.

I know all the mistakes my father made along the way, and the heartache it caused my mother, until he finally pulled his head out of his ass before it was too late and showed her what she meant to him.

I never want to make those same mistakes with Tori. I want to show her from day one how much I cherish her and how fucking lucky I am to hold her heart. I’ll take good care of it, because it’s the most precious thing I have, more than my bike, more than my cut, more than my life.

Wolf finishes his toast, and the entire clubhouse cheers. Then I watch him kiss my mother with the same passion I remember when I was a kid and he used to chase her around the house, pin her to the wall, and kiss her madly. We kids would giggle until they finally broke apart. Now I get it. A love like theirs never fades, and it never dies.

That’s what I want, and that’s what I aim to have with Tori.

I hook an arm around her and tug her against my side. She fits perfectly, her head right under my chin, because she was made for me. I believe that with every fiber of my being.

Her arms go around my waist, and I know she feels everything I feel.

I kiss her forehead, and she tips her head back, offering her mouth for a proper kiss, so I give her one.

“Should we tell them now?” she whispers.

“That they’re going to become grandparents?”

She nods.

I rock my head from side to side, considering it. “Maybe we should let them have their anniversary night before we go making them feel old.”

“Good thinking. There’s always tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. I want a million of them with this woman. If God gives me seventy more years with her, it won’t be enough. It’ll never be enough.

EPILOGUE

Bev—

Midnight Riderplays on the jukebox, and as I wipe down the bar, I start humming along. I’ve always loved this song. We’ve only got two customers this afternoon, and I wonder if things will pick up soon. But then, Tuesdays are always slow at The Rusty Pelican.

The bell over the door jangles, and I turn to see my uncle walking in. He makes a slow, shuffling beeline for the bar, and takes the stool right in front of me.

I toss my bar rag and lean my elbows on the polyurethane surface. “How’s your day going, Uncle Bill?”

“It’s going really good, Bev, honey. How’s yours?” he asks with a gleam in his eye.

“Fan-tastic,” I say, drawing the word out.

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