“Nothing like this.” Nash kissed my cheek, a soft, barely there brush of his lips. “Where I grew up, that would’ve earned me six weeks of hardcore Sunday school.”
“What does it earn you now?”
“Nothing but joy, brother.”
Nash thought he was a simple bloke, but sometimes he said shit that was so poetic it stole the breath from my lungs.
“Dad?” Willow tugged on my arm. “Can I have a cider?”
I tore my transfixed gaze from Nash. “What?”
“Cider. Mum said I couldn’t smoke weed. She didn’t say anything about alcohol.”
“Didn’t she?” I combed my Nash-addled brain for confirmation. Found nothing sensible. “All right. But not until later.”
“You’re the best.”
I wasn’t. Not even close. But if my kid thought that for just one day, I’d die a happy man.
* * *
Cold-weather festivals had a different vibe than any I’d ever spent getting drunk in a sunny field.
They were darker, moodier, and if I’d been with different people, I might’ve felt that edge.
But I was with my brothers—bar Saint who’d disappeared the second we’d slipped through the gates. I was withNash, and despite the fact I knew he was guarding my every move, these cats were fun, even Mateo, as he stood in the centre of the circus-themed band tent, UV pink paint smeared on his scarred face.
It made the vicious mark seem almost pretty, and I watched Rubi step back to admire his handiwork, snapping a picture with his phone. “Miss Lili is going to love that.”
Mateo shook his head. “You’re such a fucking bellend.”
Beside me, Willow laughed, her slender body bopping along to the Roma-funk band tearing the place up. She had paint on her face too, but Mateo had obliged before Rubi had got to her, inking her high cheekbones with anarchy symbols that Kara was gonna justlove.“Can I have a cider now?”
It was late in the day, the light outside beginning to fade. I’d run out of reasons to say no, and I searched out the pop-up bar at the back of the tent, but Nash grasped my shoulder before I took a step. “I’ve got it. Stay with the crowd.”
His word choice threw me.Stay with the crowd—
“Dad, come dance with me at the front.”
Willow tugged me in the opposite direction, weaving through the masses in a way I could only dream of. “Wills, slow down before my BFG feet trample someone.”
She either couldn’t hear me, or didn’t give a shit, and it was loud enough that I gave her the benefit of the doubt.
We reached the front as the band launched into a stomping, high-tempo number. Willow bounced like a motherfucker, gripping my shirt. I jumped with her, my world narrowing to my kid and the crazy day that had made her so happy. She was a whirlwind of energy—a life force—and there was so much fuckin’ love in my heart right now.
A few songs in, Rubi and Nash joined us, rioting like no fucker was watching. Willow howled with laughter. With joy. Tipping dirty Strongbow down her throat as I picked her up and spun her around, the bright lights blurring, the beat of the song pounding with my happy pulse.
These were the moments I’d survived for. The dreams that had kept me living on too many dark days to count. And I owed every single one to the man dancing like sin beside me. I felt him in every fibre of my body—my skin, my dick. My heart. Couldn’t look at him cos right now, I belonged to Willow, but fuckme. As if I’d needed another thunderbolt of affection for him.
Day turned into night and we kept dancing while Mateo and Ranger watched from the sidelines. I had no idea where Decoy and Folk were. Or Saint—he was still AWOL, and it made more sense than him jumping around to Smuggler’s Beat.
Least, I thought so until the headline act finished.
Willow was on her third can of cider.
I swiped it from her and necked what was left.
“Hey!”
