Page 139 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

Ghost nodded.

“You let him think you weredead.”

“Iknow, Kev.”

The wind shifted, and the rain blew in under the overhang, cold prickles across Ghost’s face.

Tango said, “I don’t think anyone but you could have turned the club into what it is now. Made it bigger, and stronger. Iknownobody else could have kept it together. The club – you– just knocked off the biggest threat in the underground. That’s huge. Nobody’s better at protecting the club. You make the hard calls.

“But you suck at the personal shit.”

His bluntness surprised a snort out of Ghost.

Tango turned his head, and shook it, but Ghost glimpsed a sliver of a grin. “Sometimes I hate you,” he said, ruefully, and that shut Ghost up real quick. “Sometimes all of us do. But we love you, too. And I think most of us made our peace a long time ago with the fact that you were an excellent president who was always gonna piss us off as a brother and a friend. And a father. I don’t know if you can apologize to Aidan in a way he’ll accept. But I know you need to apologize to the club, too. As our president. Because this time, you were a shit dadanda shit leader.”

Ghost felt like he’d been struck. In a good way.

He nodded. “I know. I know that. Thanks.”

Tango nodded, too. “Stand up.”

And here came the real hit. If he felt like swinging, Ghost was going to let him.

He stood.

Tango stepped in – and put his arms around him. The breath that rushed past Ghost’s ear was shaky. “Glad you’re not dead.”

Ghost hugged him back. “Me, too.”

~*~

“Alexandre Bonfils! Are you smoking?”

He was, and he threw his cigarette out into the rain as his mother approached beneath a cheery red umbrella.

“Alexandre Bonfils, are youlittering?”

“Fuck,” Alex muttered, and ducked out to grab the steaming butt and toss it in the trash. When he got backbeneath the porte-cochere, Tina snapped her umbrella shut with a shower of cold droplets, and gave it a shake for good measure. Then she looked up at him, and smiled the same soft, sweet smile she’d given him when he was a little boy who’d had a nightmare, and said, “How you doin’, baby?”

“Well, I’m smoking and littering, so take a guess.”

She stood up on her toes and hooked her free arm around his neck.

He bent down to loop both arms around her and return the hug.

“I’m proud of you,” she murmured. “You did a good job.”

He pulled back, brows raised. “Good? I’ve broken about two-hundred laws, and probably don’t have a job. I’ll probably have to move back in with you, because I’ll be penniless…” He trailed off, and smiled when she smiled. “I know. Thanks, Mom.”

She reached to cup his cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being a good man. You helped your brother, even though you had every reason not to.”

Every reason not to.

That was what he would have said that first day – God, that had been months ago. It seemed like years. When Mike had made his careful way down the carpeted steps of Alex’s amphitheater classroom clutching a packet full of photos. Slimy-brown skeletons dredged out of the water. An old silver belt buckle.

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