Sonny
The look with Leigh was quick.
But somehow, she seemed to know why I was here. She understood that I wanted to talk to her—just not now. It was kind of nice, really.
Maybe we were catching the break that we needed, at least on a personal level.
I pressed my face against my father’s room and saw him and Hailey laughing. I tried not to show too much disappointment that Hailey had gotten to my father first. I suppose it was understandable, though.
I wasn’t staying at the hospital around the clock as she was. And in some respects, she was probably the person he needed to see first, even if it wasn’t the person I wanted it to be. I had mostly only bad news. She, presumably, was good news just by her presence.
I stood outside the hospital room with Lane, Cole, Brock, and Spawn as Hailey kept the blinds closed. The five of us were utterly exhausted. My father waking up was good news, yes, but it was just yet another thing to have to do.
And how would he handle learning the clubhouse had been destroyed? How would he handle what I had now come to the conclusion we had to do? Would the coma have given him some perspective and allowed him to consider new possibilities? Or would it have hardened him even further and turned him into an exaggerated version of himself?
One could only hope that having a brush with death had made him more appreciative of the things that could keep him alive.
The five of us sat in silence until Hailey finally opened the door.
“How is he?” I asked.
“Groggy and a bit tired, but he’s there,” she said. “He said he doesn’t want you to hide anything when you talk to him. But I would be careful, Sonny.”
“I will be.”
I said it mostly to get her to leave. At the risk of sounding dismissive, it was club talk time. And no matter what my father said—and no matter how I felt about Leigh—club talk was only for club members. Not old ladies. No matter what.
“Thanks,” she said, taking her leave to a waiting Melissa just behind us.
The five of us stepped in. My father was sitting up in his bed. His beard had thickened, but he had a strangely relaxed look on his face, as if he sort of relished being able to let others take care of him for just a spell.
“Son,” he said.
“Good to see you, dad.”
I hadn’t called him that in front of Spawn very much. I was pretty sure I could be forgiven. My dad seemed to signify as much, giving me a simple nod.
“As much as I’d like to believe that I went into a coma and justice was swift and everything has been done, I know that King and his club are not so easily disposed of. What has happened?”
I looked at the rest of the club. They were keeping their distance. They understood that I needed to be the one to deliver the news. I could only pray that it didn’t piss him off so much that he tried to put himself back in the coma.
“They blew up the clubhouse tonight,” I said, trying to speak as calmly as I could. “We struck at a warehouse of theirs yesterday. Inflicted a lot of damage, a lot of casualties. It got us what we wanted. A meeting with King. But the whole thing was nothing more than a trap designed to get me and the officers away from the clubhouse. Fortunately, we only suffered a couple casualties. But—”
“Say that last part again.”
“What? About a couple casualties?”
My father nodded.
“We may be the Devil’s Patriots, but I’m not looking to be the devil’s roommate anytime soon, nor am I looking for that for any of us if we can fucking help it. A building, we can fucking repair at anytime. If our men die, we ain’t replacing them. I refuse to be as fucking callous as King is, treating men like disposable parts.”
The relief I felt was palpable. It was like all the tension in my muscles just vanished more or less instantly on the spot.
“OK, so that’s done. Have you thought about what’s going to happen next? Or do I need to step in here and take charge?”
“I have, but not even they know.”
I gulped. This was the moment. I was glad my father took the clubhouse news well. He would not take this well—but it wasn’t about him taking it well; it was about him accepting it, period.
