I released Melissa’s hand and extended my greeting. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Dr. Walker offered a smirk in return. “Same,” she replied, her tone light but with a hint of warning. She gestured with herthumb toward the large man still standing on the steps. “Though I’m almost positive you won’t like meeting him. He’s in a mood.”
Melissa let out a breath. “When isn’t he?” she muttered, exasperation clear in her voice.
“He knows, Missy,” Dr. Walker said, her tone more serious. “Dante texted Sypher, who then told Gunner. He’s not happy.”
Melissa’s frustration grew. “How the hell does Dante know? You know what? It doesn’t matter. I don’t give a damn if Gunner is happy or not. He has no say.”
Dr. Walker added quietly, “He came here to bring you home, Missy.”
Brushing past Dr. Walker, Melissa headed straight for the intimidating man, cursing under her breath, and left me standing with her best friend. Dr. Walker offered a wry smile. “So much for the happy reunion.”
I hesitated, glancing toward the brewing conflict. “Should I go over there?” I asked quietly, uncertain whether my involvement would help or make things worse.
Dr. Walker shook her head, a knowing look in her eyes. “No. I’ve learned that when it comes to the Jefferson siblings, it’s best to let them work it out on their own.” Her tone was firm, as though this was a lesson hard-earned through experience.
I opened my mouth to respond, but the scene shifted abruptly. Across the yard, Tank—Sinclair’s son—suddenly stepped forward and landed a hard punch to his father’s gut. “Asshole!” Tank shouted, his voice echoing with raw anger. Sinclair doubled over, clutching his stomach, his eyes flashing with both pain and disbelief. Melissa jabbed her finger into her brother’s chest, her voice sharp as she laid into him with barely restrained fury. Sypher, meanwhile, had Dante pinned against the brick wall—both so absorbed in their reunion they seemed oblivious to the tension crackling around them. On the porch, Silas lounged with his arms crossed, grinning at the chaos thatwas unfolding. Suddenly, a piercing whistle sliced through the commotion, freezing everyone in place. Heads snapped toward Dr. Roxanne Franks as she appeared at the top of the front steps, her granddaughter perched on her hip, eyes blazing with righteous anger.
“Were you all raised in a damn barn?” Dr. Franks boomed, her voice echoing across the yard. “Danny Josiah Franks, I taught you better. Take your man upstairs—no one needs to see your tallywhackers!”
Sypher’s eyes widened in horror, a flush crawling up his neck as he stammered, “MOM!” He darted a mortified glance at Dante, who smothered his laughter behind a hand, shoulders shaking with silent amusement. For a heartbeat, Sypher hesitated, caught between indignation and the undeniable urge to escape his mother’s wrath. Finally, he grabbed Dante’s arm, muttering under his breath, and the two beat a hasty retreat toward the house, casting sheepish glances backward before disappearing inside.
Silas couldn’t help himself—a snicker slipped out, earning him a swift, practiced smack to the back of his head from Dr. Franks. “You think this shit’s funny, young man?” she barked, fixing him with a glare that could scorch paint.
Rubbing the spot, Silas’ grin vanished. He straightened, feigning all the innocence he could muster. “No, ma’am.” Inside, though, I knew he relished the drama—this was better than cable TV.
“Good,” she huffed, passing Danika into his arms. “Take my grandbaby inside. She doesn’t need to see or hear what I say next.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Silas answered, cradling Danika protectively. He offered a playful wink to our niece—his only remaining audience—then vanished inside, leaving a trail of suppressed laughter behind.
As soon as Silas disappeared, Roxy descended the steps, her gaze locking on Melissa and Gunner. She jabbed a finger toward the door, her meaning unmistakable. Melissa and Gunner exchanged a tense, resentful look—neither wanting to yield—and then shuffled reluctantly toward the house. Their footsteps were heavy, muttered barbs exchanged under their breath as they brushed past Dr. Franks, each refusing to make eye contact with the other. Melissa’s jaw was set, her anger smoldering just below the surface, while Gunner’s rigid posture betrayed his own barely contained irritation.
Turning to Tank, Roxy took a steadying breath and softened her tone—just a little. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. But remember one thing. Heisyour father. You may hate it, may even wish it weren’t true, but that man has looked for you damn near his whole life. So before you pummel him into the ground, listen to what he has to say. You at least owe him that.” She finished with a gentle but firm nod, her eyes briefly flickering with compassion.
Then, rounding on Sinclair, she narrowed her eyes and delivered her verdict. “And you, sir, are no gentleman. He is your son! I don’t know what you said to him to piss him off, but a word of advice... he’s a grown-ass man and a biker to boot. He is more than capable of making his own decisions. You may not like them, but you will respect them. If that doesn’t work, remember this... he’s younger and bigger than you!”
Sinclair straightened his suit, trying—and failing—to reclaim some dignity. “Dr. Franks, I don’t think—” he began, only to falter under her unflinching gaze. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, and a heavy look of frustration twisted in his features. He hated being called out in front of everyone, especially by a woman who saw right through him.
“That’s right, Mr. Sinclair. You didn’t think. Instead, you order everyone around as if we all work for you. Got news for ya,buddy. We don’t. So stop with the lording and act like a father who gives a damn.”
Sinclair let out a long, measured breath and finally turned to Tank, defeat tingeing his voice. “I would appreciate it very much if we could talk inside.”
“Whatever,” Tank huffed, his glare still icy as he stomped toward the house, Sinclair trailing behind, his stride slower, more hesitant—each step heavy with the weight of unresolved history.
Beside me, Dr. Walker let out an admiring whistle. “Holy crap,” she whispered, eyes sparkling with awe. “I want to be her when I grow up.”
I couldn’t help but agree—Dr. Franks was a force of nature, and in this storm, everyone else was just learning to weather her winds.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Melissa
The upstairs bedroom felt suffocating—a cramped sanctuary, sunlight dulled by heavy curtains. I barely had time to catch my breath before Gunner burst in, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. His anger filled the space. His voice was raw and jagged. “What the hell is going on with you and that guy? Why was he holding your hand?” He glared at me, accusation burning in his eyes.
I snapped, my patience frayed after months of heartbreak. “That is none of your damn business.” My voice was brittle, echoing the sharp ache in my chest.
Gunner stepped closer. His anger was desperate now, not just furious. “The hell it’s not! You’re my sister, Mellie. And you were Travis’ old lady—my brother’s woman.”
