Page 124 of The Wild Charge

But it wasn’t until they were all five parked at a picnic table eating roast beef sandwiches that Mercy realized Ava’s custom of bringing him lunch with the boys had fallen off once Millie was born. She used to bring sandwiches, Remy, and Cal, and eat with the bike shop crew most afternoons. She was her own boss, essentially, and could so such things – but three kids, and a tense year or so for the club had altered that.

He hiked Millie up higher in his lap, offered her the corner of his own sandwich, and wished that he’d bothered to feel bad about this before.

Ava was pushing a straw into Cal’s juice box and glanced up, briefly, missing nothing. “What?”

He smiled. “I miss this. All of us together for lunch.”

She smiled, too, but shook her head a fraction. “We wouldn’t be having it now if not for–”

“I know. I don’t miss that part. Just us together.”

Juice box safely delivered to Cal’s waiting hands, all three kids munching or drinking, she met his gaze properly, her own going wistful. “I know, baby. I miss it, too.”

“Daddy,” Remy spoke up. Mercy couldn’t get over how grave and serious he was; wasn’t sure if that was his own latent personality coming through, or some combination of all his genetics. “Can we play football later?”

For Remy, “playing football” was essentially catch; he was small, but his hands were already big, and Mercy had been using a bright orange Nerf football to toss back and forth. A glance at Ava resulted in a nod: they’d packed it. “Sure, buddy. And if I’m busy, I’m sure someone will play with you.”

Remy made a very subtle face.

“Hey, Uncle Aidan’s not got a bad arm.”

“Carter is better,” Remy said, and Ava stifled a laugh in her hand.

“They can compete for your favor, then,” Mercy said, and Remy finally grinned.

Millie abandoned the sandwich half, and he picked it up and resumed eating. “Fillette?”

“Hm?” She was tending to her own lunch.

“I hate to say it…”

She lowered her sandwich, expression mirroring Remy’s serious one; maybe she was where he got it.

“I do hate to say it,” he repeated.

“But you think you’ll have to go north.” It wasn’t a question.

Mercy tugged Millie in close to his chest, and she snuggled back, content to be hugged. “You know I don’t want to leave you all.” And he didn’t; he ached in anticipation.

Ava smiled, soft and wry. “Nah, I get it. Those boys need all the help they can get.”

“I’ll come back as quick as I can.”

“You always do.”

He smiled. “I love you. More than anything.”

She smiled back, bracketed by their two boys, sleep-deprived, stressed, and gorgeous as ever. “I know. Me, too.”

He didn’t want to leave, no, and no one had even asked him to yet.

But this club had offered him a second chance; had given him the love of his life, and his family, and a future. Whenever he could, he would return the favor.

Thirty-Four

A smiling idiot with poodle hair and a black hoodie met them in the lobby. Even without the jeans, boots, and wallet chain, Tenny would have clocked him as a Dog from a mile off. As it was, he turned to them from the bar, bottled Budweiser in-hand, tilted his head, and said, “You Fox?”

“That’s brilliant,” Fox said, as their group closed the gap toward him. “Let’s just be announcing each other’s names out loud.”

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