Page 88 of The Heart We Guard
“You’re not going anywhere?” he asks, and I know he means leaving.
“I’m not. I said I’ll try. I’ll stay.”
His eyes fill with sincerity, and he nudges my foot beneath the table. “And I promise I’ll speed it up.”
“Speed what up?”
“All of it,” Butcher says, picking up his cutlery. “Every goddamn thing.”
26
BUTCHER
Iwas a dick.
That’s the conclusion I come to when I glance over at where Greer is napping from the walk we took around town after eating so much breakfast. Swear to God, she ate her own body weight, and I enjoyed watching every minute.
Instead of being irate about the Rebels, I find myself wondering how many times I ignored how tired Celine was when she was pregnant with Ember. I wonder how much stress I caused her when I didn’t come home, or she caught me in bed with some club girl, or I ignored her needs.
Not that I meant to hurt her, at the time.
I was young.
Foolish.
Reckless.
Tied into parenthood about a decade sooner than any kid should be.
Jesus, at eighteen years of age, I barely knew how to wipe my own ass, let alone that of a little kid who depended on me.
But as I pull a blanket over Greer, who has fallen asleep on the sofa, I realize I must have let Celine down time and time again. And yet, she raised my beautiful and brilliant Ember.
I’ve got an incredible daughter in spite of my efforts, not because of them. So, I add a mental note to my growing list: Call Celine and apologize for being a dick. She tolerated me for longer than she should have, waiting for me to become the man I had the potential to be.
It seems a little pathetic, just words, but an apology is where I need to start. I’m not sure how the Alcoholics Anonymous twelve-step thing goes. But I’m pretty sure it includes shit like honesty, integrity, and willingness. And these days, I find I’m filled with all three.
My intentions feel a little more noble since I found out I was going to be a father again, and that’s why I get on my bike and ride over to Smoke’s place, instead of simply calling. For late October, it’s still mild enough to ride without a full set of cold-weather gear. But I know days like this are going to be few and far between as we head into the shorter days of November.
Halloween is in ten days, and the club always has a monster party; pun intended. But for the first time in a long time, I think about what Halloween is going to be like in the future, with a little kid we can dress up and pick a costume for.
At times like this, I can almost block out the awful nights of a child who won’t settle, the disaster when they shit the diaper so bad that it sprays all up the kid’s back, and the general absorption of all your attention.
Celine did most of that with Ember, but there was a period I was excited about having a baby, where I pitched in and enjoyed that feeling of being depended on. Of having a little girl who looked up at me with wide eyes and would grin when I walked in to get her first thing in the morning.
We’d swaddle Ember to put her to sleep, and when we unwrapped her in the morning, she’d throw her hands above her head and give herself the biggest stretch a little thing could manage.
I pull up outside Smoke’s house and suddenly feel a bit embarrassed by what I’m about to do. The Outlaws are known for putting brothers first, above all things, but even so, it feels strange to be asking Smoke for help.
Then, I remember how we beat the shit out of Raven’s ex and helped her move furniture into her apartment. And how the club rallied to save Ember. And the protection we gave Quinn when she needed it.
Maybe the club has been changing, and I simply haven’t been paying attention. Maybe I’m the obsolete dinosaur in all this.
I stride up the steps to his log cabin and hammer on the front door. I’m reasonably confident he’s home, because both his bike and his truck are out front. After a minute, I hammer again before stepping back to the bike.
“Stupid fucking idea,” I mutter to myself.
The door to the cabin swings open, and Smoke stands in the doorway with a pair of unfastened jeans, hurriedly pulled on.
