"I know you won't. You're a better man than I was at your age." Another pause. "So, what's the plan? You staying in Florida permanently?"
"For now. We'll come visit in a month or so—I want Dalla to see Ireland, meet the family properly. But our base will be here, at least until we figure out something more permanent."
"And your work with the Brotherhood?"
This is the harder conversation.
I've been a Mackenzie soldier since I was eighteen years old.
It's all I know, all I've ever been.
The idea of walking away from it completely feels like cutting off a limb.
But staying the way things were isn't an option either.
"I don't know," I admit. "I can't be running operations overseas with a pregnant girlfriend and a baby on the way. But I'm not ready to walk away entirely either."
"I'll talk to Liam," Da says. "We'll figure something out. Maybe consulting work, training, something you can do remotely or on your own schedule. The Mackenzies value you, RJ. They won't want to lose you entirely."
"Thank you, Da."
"Don't thank me. Just don't mess this up." His voice softens, just slightly. "You've got something real with this girl. Something worth protecting. Don't let anything—not the Brotherhood, not me, not anything—come between you and your family."
"I won't."
"Good lad." I hear voices in the background—someone calling for him. "I have to go. Call me next week. Let me know how things are progressing."
"I will. Da?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For understanding."
He's quiet for a moment.
When he speaks again, his voice is rough with emotion he'd never admit to. "You're my son, RJ. I want you to be happy. Even if that means I don't see you as often as I'd like."
He hangs up before I can respond.
I stand on the porch for a long moment, watching the sun climb higher in the sky.
The compound is coming to life around me—prospects heading to the garage, the smell of coffee drifting from the clubhouse kitchen.
Normal morning sounds. Normal life.
Except nothing about my life is normal anymore, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Tor finds me in the garage later that morning, working on one of the club's bikes.
It's not really my job, but I needed something to do with my hands while Dalla rests.
"Heard you talked to your father," he says, leaning against the workbench.
"Word travels fast."
"Small compound." He shrugs. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just figuring out the future." I tighten a bolt, then set down the wrench. "I wanted to thank you, by the way. For what you did at the farmhouse."
