I start explaining what everything is, the throttle, the clutch, though I think he zoned out when I described the function of the gears. And when I pat the handlebars, inviting him to shuffle forward and place his hands on them, there’s that rasping sound from his throat, which I decipher as his attempt at a pleased laugh. I wonder about starting the engine, then realise the loud roar will probably upset him, so I just let him sit and enjoy himself.
He’s in no hurry to get off. I think he’d stay there all day if I let him, but my conscience is nagging at me, remembering there are a couple of jobs I need to get finished waiting for me in the shop.
“Come on, buddy, time to get off.” Again, I place my hands around him and lift him down.
He makes no protest, just again takes my hand, letting me lead him into the clubhouse, and this time he doesn’t falter. It’s quiet in here, just as I’d promised him. Unusually, there are no members in sight. I’m guessing my brothers made themselves scarce as I was bringing Trip today. The only person is Heathen who’s sweeping the floor. After casting a critical glance over his endeavours, I come up with a plan.
“Prospect,” I snap. Then, when he looks around, I beckon him over. “This is my son, Trip.” I don’t know whether he’s heard all the rumours or is just going with the flow like any good prospect, but he raises his chin and manages not to look surprised. “See this motorbike he’s holding? Well, this is the remote.” I pull it out of my pocket. “See if you can get it going to amuse him.” I then pass over the box of cars. “He likes playing with these.”
Heathen’s good at keeping his face expressionless, but he looks stunned now. “You want me to babysit him?” His brows reach his hairline.
“You want your patch?”
His face falls. “Er, yes, Short. Anything you say.”
“I’ll be in the shop, okay? Give me a call if there’s anything you can’t handle.” Then I crouch down. “Trip, Heathen here is going to play with you. If you need me, just…”Tell him?“Well, if you need me, he’ll know, and I’ll come straight away.”
Hoping to fuck I’m doing the right thing, I get back to my feet and let them take me away.
An hour later, I check my phone. No, I haven’t missed anything. I get back down to trying to pinpoint the reason this bike isn’t running smoothly. It’s a pig to chase down, and I’m fully engrossed. When I finally diagnose the problem, I’m chagrined to find another couple of hours have gone by, and still no word from the prospect.
Guilt floods through me.What kind of father am I? One that knows fuck all about keeping a kid entertained, that’s the kind.Worried Heathen might have him hogtied behind the bar, I quickly wash the oil off my hands and go back to find him.
Opening the door to the clubroom, I come to an abrupt halt. The room that was empty earlier now has more bodies in it. I step forward, then jump back as a toy motorcycle comes hurtling toward me, turning only at the last minute. That gasping rattling laugh reaches my ears, bringing my attention to Trip. It’s then that I see Paint, standing beside him, holding the remote control.
Trip’s more animated than I’ve ever seen him. He’s jumping up and down and prodding Paint in the leg. An action my brother seems to interpret as instruction to send the bike toward me again.
“It’s my fuckin’ turn.” Rat snatches the control from Paint.
He’s not so successful, and the bike topples over. Undeterred, Trip wanders across to right it, and Rattler tries to get it moving again. Internally, I’m preening, pleased my brother has as little of the knack of steering it as I do. But then Woody takes over, and that darn motorcycle makes two perfect circuits of the room.
“Boys, snack time.” Trixie walks in like a waiter in a posh restaurant, carrying a laden tray at shoulder height. She places it down near Trip, and then puts her…wait, what am I seeing?I rub my eyes to check I can believe it. She has her arm around him and is guiding him to the table where she left the food.
“Better dig in quick,” she warns him. “Otherwise, these fuckers will eat it all up.” She then carefully loads his plate with a slice of pizza, chips, and half a sandwich. Trip immediately starts to wolf it down, one little hand protecting his plate as if someone’s going to steal from him.
Fingers dig into my shoulder. “Knew it was a bad fuckin’ idea to have the kid here,” Saint growls in my ear. “These brothers should be out working, yet he’s got them all here fuckin’ playing.” Automatically, I start to apologise, then see his face, and know he’s fucking with me. He slaps my back and tells me, “Kid’s quiet, but I’ve no problem with that. But otherwise, it appears he’s no trouble.”
I’m pleased he’s getting on so well, but also feeling redundant. Thinking I should at least show him some attention – not that it seems he needs me – I make my way over to him. Immediately, Trip puts down his empty plate of food, slides off his chair, runs to me … and he fucking hugs my legs. I’m in danger of fainting.
“Aww, he knows his daddy,” Rattler says.
And me? Well, I’m over the moon.
Encouraging him to sit back down, I make myself a plate of food. Woody moves so I can take the chair beside my kid. “So,you’re having a good day?” I grin at him, then, not expecting an answer, I glance at Trixie, mouthingthank you.
“He’s no trouble,” Trixie repeats. “Quieter than the rest of these noisy fuckers.”
“Hey, I resemble that remark.” Paint looks up in mock disgust, while Winchester pokes him.
“She’s got you pegged, Bro,” Winchester remarks, probably without realising what he’s said.
Saint pretends to gag, “I don’t fuckin’ need that visual.”
It doesn’t help that Paint goes bright red. I guess it’s with anger, but could easily be misread.
Rattler takes advantage. “Brother’s probably wearing a butt plug right now.”
Woody holds his stomach as he laughs and manages to blurt out, “I thought Paint was looking uncomfortable.”
