“I got a call to help out with the fires in California,” I said.
“You’re not a firefighter, love.”
I threw my hands in the air and forced myself not to completely lose my shit. “I will be fighting from the air. I will never be on the ground. But they need me. There are only a handful of us trained for this kind of backup and I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t go.”
“What about the club and the shit you’ve put into motion?” Dad challenged.
“You know Flea’s got that sorted. He’s gonna cover me until I get back.”
Dad growled and crossed his arms, obviously also trying not to lose his shit.
“What about Tate and all your plans?” Mom asked.
“Tate’s onboard,” I pseudo-lied.
I didn’t go into detail that she was onboard reluctantly or that she was shutting down because she was terrified of losing me. I also didn’t disclose that I was feeling torn because I didn’t know if leaving for three weeks meant I might lose her as well.
“Does it have to be you?” Mom continued. “I’ll be happy to donate to the cause.”
A lot of folks weren’t aware that my mother had been quite wealthy before she married my father. Like, multi-millionaire, wealthy. Us kids, however, were never spoiled. Privileged, yes, but spoiled, no. And that was mostly because of my dad. I think Mom would have given us anything we asked for if she’d had her choice, but Dad was the grounding force between them, and we were taught the value of hard work.
“Jesus, Mom, you’re not paying to get me out of Vietnam. I can say no,” I ground out.
“Okay, wonderful,” she said. “Then you’ll say no.”
“No he won’t,” Dad countered.
“Why not?” Mom cried.
“Because we didn’t raise him to be a pussy.”
“Pretend we did,” Mom snapped.
“Mom, I’m gonna be fine,” I said. “I won’t ever be near the fire. I’ll be well above it.”
She studied me and I could see she was trying really hard not to cry.
I dragged my hands over my face. “Look, I don’t mean to be a dick, but I’m not asking permission. I’m letting you know my plans because you’re my family, and both you and the club are a priority. But the only person who really has a say in whether or not I go, is Tate.”
Mom nodded just as Dad wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up against him.
“Mom, I promise, I’ll be careful,” I added.
“When are you goin’?” Dad asked.
“If I go,” I said. “Monday.”
My phone buzzed, and I saw it was Tate, but knew I needed to settle this with my parents first, so I let the call go to voicemail.
“Give us a minute,” Dad said, and I nodded, stepping out of the room.
I took the moment of privacy to call Tate back.
“Are you okay?” she answered on the first ring.
“Yeah. Parents aren’t happy, but I was expecting that.”
“Well, shit,” she grumbled. “What happened?”
