They were friends.
He was her best friend and vice versa. There was no doubt, as I watched my father grovel, that he loved my mother. It just wasn’t the right kind of love.
It wasn’t a passionate love, and my mother deserved passion.
And my father deserved someone who thought he hung the moon. Not because of what he did, but because of who he was. He was my hero. He always would be.
“Hey, kiddo.”
I turned around at the voice. The tears fell again, and I found myself wrapped up in the arms of Cormac Delaney. He was the only one I called uncle because I couldn’t understand how he had the same last name as my mom without being related.
“Uncle Mac.” I sobbed into his shirt as he rubbed my back.
“Who do we have to kill, sweetheart?”
“He’s already died once,” I said absently.
My father spun around and asked, “What?”
“Mac, are you hungry?”
“I am, Benny. Did you cook?” Uncle Mac asked, grinning at my father.
“We aren’t here to eat.”
“No, we’re here for your daughter, and to kick some punk’s ass. I can’t do that on an empty stomach.”
“I did.” My mom smiled, then pulled the leftovers out and started making two plates. My father grudgingly sat at the table and waited for my mother to serve him. When she set his plate in front of him, he grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but you’re still on my shit list. And on your daughter’s.”
“Morgan’s? Why?” he asked, turning to face me.
Oh right, I was mad at him for keeping secrets. Only now, the wind had been knocked out of my sails because my biggest secret—the one that I had kept from everyone but my mother—was alive and in Rosewood.
At least I thought he was. I wasn’t sure where he went when he left the clubhouse. I wasn’t sure if he was even coming back.
“You didn’t tell me I had a brother.”
My father dropped his head, his chin hitting his chest, as Mac threw his head back and laughed.
“I told you, fucker!” Mac pulled out his phone and sent a text. I assumed it was to Cian and Duncan.
“How did you find out?” he asked.
“Devlyn told me.”
My father’s head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed. “How the fuck did Devlyn know?”
“Devlyn moved to Louisiana,” my mother supplied. “She’s with a man named Gator and has triplets.”
“Gator is the president of the Bourbon Kings,” I offered when my father looked at my mother as if she’d grown horns.
“Fuckin’ bikers,” he groaned.
“You should have told me.”
