His father, almost as large as he was, sat with a little smirk on his face. “You know she’s the boss. Best do as she instructed. Could you grab the coffee pot for us?”
Bekkett bent and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Is it okay if I pour him some fresh coffee, Ma?”
His mother pinched both his cheeks. “Don’t sass me, son. Get the coffee. There’s cream in the fridge.” She released his face, waving toward the large stainless steel refrigerator.
“No need to get any for me,” his father called.
Bekkett looked toward the table, meeting the stares of his brother and sister, waiting to see if they wanted cream.
“I’m not a savage. Please bring the sweet cream for me, brother dear.” Solange batted her lashes at him.
Samson flipped him the bird, which he took to mean he didn’t want any. The fridge, thanks to his mother and her overabundant shopping, appeared as though she’d stocked it for an apocalypse. “Damn, Ma, you have enough food in here to feed a family of fifty for a month.”
His mother tried to swat him with a dish towel. “Bekkett Alan, don’t give me any crap about the amount of food there is. Especially when you know as well as the rest of the Larsen clan, just how much gets eaten around the holidays here.”
“Brie, I’m gonna wilt away to nothing if you don’t let us start eating,” his father bellowed.
Bekkett stared at his father’s half-full plate, then at his brother’s and sister’s plates. While his dad hadn’t been forced to wait, his siblings obviously weren’t allowed to dig in.
Moments later, his mother plopped a huge platter of waffles in the center of the large table. Next came the eggs and enough bacon to put a hog farm out of business, followed by hashbrowns. The syrupand everything they needed to top their hearty breakfast off sat at either end of the table. Yet nobody moved to touch a thing until Brie took her seat. Finally, their mother sat down and nodded.
“Honey, will you say grace?” she asked his father.
“Yubba dub, dub. Thanks for this grub. Yay, Lord. Amen,” his father said, smiling widely.
“Samson,” Brie growled.
The rest of his family yelled "Amen" before she could make him say a proper prayer, hands shooting out to grab waffles and spoons filled with eggs and hash browns, while he reached for a stack of bacon and toast. He missed the Tunisian bread he’d only found when he was up North, so before his grabby-handed brother could take half the stack, he took four slices for himself.
They ate in relative silence, if one could call his family silent, as they filled their mouths with food. Bekkett didn’t look up until he’d cleared his plate twice.
“That was delicious, Ma. If I lived here, I’d be as big as a house.” He sat back with a sigh, patting his abdomen.
His dad laughed. “From the looks of it, you haven’t skipped the gym, son. Still riding your bike with the MC?”
He’d never kept his life choices from his family. They were aware he’d become part of the Royal MC. Whether his family understood what that meant, he wasn’t sure. The brothers he’d gained through the club were more than friends. No, they were much more. They were his chosen family.
“Yep. My job also keeps me busy, so I don’t have time to fuck off and get lazy.” He needed to keep moving, keep his mind and body engaged, so he didn’t have time to think.
“That’s good, son. But sometimes you need to slow down so you don’t let life pass you by. One day, you’ll wake up and find yourself an old man all alone with nothing but yourself and a bike to keep you warm. Trust me, you’ll need more than tha—”
Bekkett stood from the table, stopping his father’s words. “I think we all know I’ve had what you’re suggesting I look for, Dad. That ship has passed for me.” He held up a hand, pushing in the chair with the other. “Leave it alone,” he growled,not wanting to get into a discussion or argument about his love life. Or rather his lack thereof.”
He turned from the table, touching his mother’s arm as he passed her.
“Bekkett, don’t go,” his mother murmured.
“I’ll be back after a while. I have a few errands to run today,” Bekkett promised, forcing his voice to sound softer than the growl from moments ago. He walked out through the mud room and into the heated garage. His truck sat next to his father’s equally jacked-up one. The large four-car garage with its heated floor usually brought him a sense of calm. Now he couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there.
“Son, wait a minute. I didn’t mean to upset you. Hell, you know I only want the best for you.” Samson Sr. moved with a grace that belied his sixty years.
The man could be mistaken for someone twenty years younger with his fit frame and knowing eyes. Too bad he didn’t make his other son go to the gym or exercise in some way other than lifting a can of beer at the local pub. If Samson Jr. didn’t get his shit together, Bekkett figured he’d be the poster child for an early heart attack.
Bekkett let out a frustrated breath before turning to look at his father, pushing thoughts of his brother out of his mind.
“I know and appreciate your worry, Dad. I’m actually happy most of the time. It’s the holidays that are hard for me.” He shrugged, trying to feign a casualness he didn’t feel. “One day, maybe things will be different, but forcing shit never works. Besides, I think you have one son who needs more of a shake-up than I do.”
His father chuckled. “Oh, believe me. Your brother Samson and I have gone round and round about his bullshit. He has a plan about his future, which I will be on him to see through. We good?”
