In my hand, I held the family I’d never gotten to have. A handsome young man grinned at the camera, his arm wrapped protectively around the beautiful girl smiling beside him—a tiny baby swaddled in her arms.
That beautiful girl was my mother and that baby is me.
Tears clouding my vision, I found myself stumbling backward, nearly tripping over the chair behind me. Oh God, I couldn’t breathe. It was too hot and I couldn’t fucking breathe.
Clutching the picture to my chest, I hurried across the room, threw open the office door, and burst into the hallway, gasping for air. The hall was thankfully empty, and I sagged back against the wall, breathing hard.
Glancing around, I felt as if I were seeing the clubhouse for the first time.
Everything felt different now—foreign.
And everywhere I looked, I felt her—the ghost of a girl I’d never gotten to know.
I could see her now, walking down this very hall. Young and beautiful. Pregnant with me yet still just a baby herself. And utterly without a clue as to the kind of world she’d stepped into. I wanted to reach out and grab her, pull her to me, and keep her close. Keep her safe from those who would try to take her from me.
I followed her ghost until my eyes stopped on a familiar shape skulking in the shadows by the stairwell. “Tiny?” I called out, squinting. “What the hell are you doing?”
Tiny shuffled out from stairwell, his eyes on the floor. “I’m sorry, Eva,” he whispered, his sad eyes finding mine. “I never wanted to lie to ya. ‘Bout your mom and ‘bout your old man bein’ so sick.”
I shut my eyes for a moment and then let out a sigh, and with it any residual anger I was harboring. There was no use in yelling at a bunch of old men who’d only been doing what they were told. It would only hurt both them and me, and it wouldn’t change a damn thing. My mother was still gone, and Preacher was still dying.
“You can make it up to me,” I told him.
His head bobbed in earnest. “Anything, Eva. You name it, it’s yours.”
“You spent so much time with her—my mother.” I lifted the picture, showing him. “Will you tell me about her? I want to know everything about her, Tiny. Every single thing.”
A wobbly smile stretched across his sagging jowls. “Is that all? Where do ya wanna start? Shit, I still remember the day you were born like it was yesterday.”
He offered me his arm and I looped mine through it. Arm in arm, we headed toward the living room.
“Scariest fuckin’ thing that ever happened to me,” he said.
I bit back a laugh. “I love you, Tiny,” I murmured, shaking my head. “With extra sugar.”
• • •
It was nearly four in the morning by the time I dragged myself up to my old room. Pushing open the door, I cringed when it creaked, and then smiled, unable to remember a time when it hadn’t creaked.
The television was on, bathing the room in muted, flickering light. I took a moment to look over the familiar space—the posters on the wall, the framed photos, the rows of shelves filled with cassette tapes and CDs. It felt like home and yet… didn’t.
Eventually my gaze landed on Deuce. Lying on his stomach in bed, he wore only a pair of boxer shorts. His lack of snoring told me he wasn’t sleeping.
We hadn’t spoken since we’d left the hospital and he’d disappeared within minutes of our arrival at the clubhouse.
I sat down beside him, visually tracing the many tattoos covering his broad, muscular back, marveling at his beautiful body. Whereas my father looked ten years older than he should, Deuce looked at least ten years younger than he was. Not that it mattered what age he looked—Deuce would never not be beautiful to me.
“Baby? You awake?”
“Nope.”
“Are you ignoring me?”
“I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you, ain’t I?”
A smile tugged at my lips, and I bent down to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. His warm, smooth skin twitched beneath my mouth, and a shiver shook through Deuce.
“We can talk about it if you want,” I whispered. “Don’t let it fester.”
