Page 15 of Bound By Consequences
“No. Bed’s small, but it sure as hell beats laying in the dirt with bullets flying at your head.”
My father smiled, obviously liking that answer which puzzled me because bullets flying was never funny, but maybe it was my frank honesty. Hell if I knew. It was like learning them both all over again.
My mother, on the other hand, gasped, obviously not liking that analogy. “I’m not ready to hear about that. Not yet.”
“Sorry. Just answering the man’s question.” I reached over and took my mother’s hand, giving it a squeeze in hopes of giving her just a bit of assurance.
My father took his food off the platter and passed it to me. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and pancakes. It had been over four and a half years since I’d had a home-cooked meal from my mom, and I was starved for it.
After living on MRE’s, and takeout when I was stateside, this was heaven. I had eaten enough meals in the chow hall to last my lifetime. This was a five-star gourmet meal.
“Now that’s honest, and we can get ya a bigger bed,” my dad added, forking his food and taking a bite.
I nodded, understanding the reason for his question. “Thanks, but my house is ready for me to move in today. The realtor that handled the rental while I was gone said it’s empty now and ready. Once I get the keys, I plan to go to storage and get my stuff out.”
“You’re not staying here?” my mother asked, not hiding the sadness in her tone.
“Mom, I’m twenty-seven-years-old and need my own space. It’s nothing against you, but I need to start my life, and I can’t do that in my childhood room.”
“Do you have money for that? To be living in the house instead of using it as rental income?” Dad asked.
I nodded, taking a bite of eggs. Since I was an officer, the housing provided wasn’t bad and neither were my paychecks. I had banked a bit during these four years, not to mention the money from before I left. Things were not tight at all. Once I got my regular clients geared up, it would all work out even better so that nest egg could grow.
I continued scooping and eating another bite of eggs. Mom made the best freaking scrambled eggs. It was the milk that made them extra fluffy. Something that not everyone could do, and I could eat a damn dozen of them. After swallowing, I answered. “Yes. Got money banked, contacted a few of my previous clients, and was able to secure some jobs.”
Dad coughed. “Computers?” he asked almost hesitantly, which wasn’t like him, but it was also the reason I ended up leaving in the first place, and it had him on edge.
But I met him head-on, our eyes connected. I needed him to feel me.
To get me.
To understand me.
What I did for clients could get me in trouble, but digging into the Ravage MC was worse making me lose the respect of the entire club. “Yes. I’ll be doing the same as before. It’s what I’m good at.”
“Maybe too good. You dug into shit you didn’t have any right to be in. That shit is gonna cost ya.” His tone was different. As a boy, I thought my father’s voice always thundered. I had learned that was another thing where my mind heightened every sense, including the sounds he made. But this, this was altogether not his usual. He was firm but not angered, more concerned.
My heart hammered in my chest. It wasn’t in fear. No, it was in shame and guilt. Those two things could be worse than any fear imaginable. I’d let my father down. I broke a sacred trust in the club. Some might even view me like an enemy to people I desperately wanted to be family.
“I know.”
“You’re not scared?” Dad asked, his brow raised. He didn’t know what I’d been through. He didn’t know the challenges I faced daily. He didn’t know anything of the past four years except the watered down version I shared. This would be just something else to add to the list.
“No, not scared, Dad. Just ashamed. That’s an entirely different thing.”
My father smiled, and that was that. He seemed good with my answer, and it was the honest truth. Whatever they dished out, I could take. I understood the need for payback. I understood the need for revenge.
A cell went off, and my dad reached into his pocket, pulled it out, looked at the display and left the table. This meant it was the club.
They were probably wanting to make sure I didn’t hightail it out of here before they got a chance to beat the hell out of me. As a kid, that would’ve been the outcome. Now as a grown man, hiding would never be an option for me.
My mom reached over and grabbed my hand. “I’m scared for you.”
Inside of me cracked. I never wanted to cause her an ounce of pain, sadness, or fear. Clutching her hand, I stared deep into her eyes. “I’ll be just fine, Ma. Promise.”
“It’s not gonna be pretty, Micah.” Her head shook. “You didn’t see them after you left…”
Reassuring her wasn’t going to be easy. She loved me and had never stopped no matter what I said or did; she’d always been there for me.
