Part 8 (1/2)
”Mom was right. You do look like h.e.l.l,” Dad reminds me as we stand in his garage, sorting through some of his tools. Before leaving the apartment, I had thought it was a good idea to stop by before heading into work to talk to Luke, but now I'm realizing it may not have been such a great idea.
”I've been in fights before,” I casually defend. ”You used to tell me it was part of being a man.”
I hear Dad mumble something about me never growing up, but choose to ignore it.
”Are you and Em comin' to dinner next Sunday? Mom wants to make something Mexican. Thinkin' if anything, it'd be good weekend entertainment.”
As his back turns to me, I smile without him seeing it and answer, ”I'll talk to Em.”
Dad dumps a box of old parts onto his bench then takes a few seconds to pillage through them. When he's done, he wipes his forehead before turning back around in place. ”Em's been talking to your mother about Casey.”
”Yeah?” I ask, then wait for his response. It doesn't come right away; he's thinking. As of this moment, it's safe to a.s.sume my mom briefed him on as much as Em had told her.
”Yeah. You ready to play house once Em gets custody?” he asks with half a smile.
Judging by his reaction of my mom's excitement, it's fair to say Dad's accepted what's happening. Even if I don't give him the details of Creed, it's good to know he's not against what Em and I are working for.
”House, Dad? Yeah, I guess I am.”
Dad walks to his garage refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of c.o.ke. ”Before I forget,” he casually states, but the dim look on his face tells me he's anything but casual. ”I saw Dee Dee at the gas station while I was fillin' up the truck this morning.”
”You did what?”
”Yeah,” he answers while shaking his head. ”Have you seen the likes of that woman lately? Jesus Christ, son, if the dead could walk and talk.”
”f.u.c.k, Dad. Tell me you didn't run your mouth about anything Mom told you.”
”h.e.l.l no, I didn't. She'd hardly speak to me unless it was to ask about you. She wanted to know how you and Em were doin', how long you'd been back, s.h.i.+t like that.”
”Jesus.”
He takes a drink, wipes his mouth with his hand then lowers his voice. ”She wanted to know how my boy was fittin' in with the boys at Creed.”
Releasing a breath, I feel my cheeks puff the air out as my head instantly begins to pound.
”Tell me my son isn't gettin' caught up with those boys,” he demands.
”Dad, it's complicated.”
”Tell me my son isn't doin' somethin' he knows he shouldn't be,” he demands further.
”Dad,” I start, but can't finish.
”I lost a child, Max,” he starts with a pained whisper. ”Marie's been gone a lotta years. You don't know what that does to a parent because you aren't one yet. And if you ever want to be one, you'll get your neck outta the way of a place like that and live right.”
”You know why I'm doin' what I'm doin',” I try to explain.
”Dee Dee looks real bad.”
”I haven't seen her yet,” I inform him, my focus going to the keys in my hand and sensing it's time to go.
”You don't wanna see her, Max. She's not the same pretty girl she used to be. I wouldn't have recognized her if she hadn't told me who she was.”
Dad's face is pensive. His disgust for the woman he's known most of her life is obvious.
Before delving into a conversation I'm not ready to have, I inform, ”I gotta go check in at work.”
As always, though, Dad isn't swayed. ”For me, Max, please help those you can, but don't lose yourself in doin' it.”
I nod, then look down the drive and rea.s.sure him. ”I won't, but it's complicated.”
”All things are complicated,” he says.
He's right about this.
”Go on now,” he dismisses. ”Tell Em I'm looking forward to seein' her pretty face soon.”
”Will do. Take care, Pop.”
Chapter Fourteen.
When I arrive at the MC, I'm greeted by a familiar face. Not a friendly one, but a familiar one.
Cilas is back and he looks every bit as p.i.s.sed off and bitter as he always had before. Only now, apparently after finding out I've been working his rounds and doing it alone, he's more p.i.s.sed and even more bitter. Although no way to know verbally, I can feel the drill of his stare into me each time his eyes pa.s.s over mine.
After being away for so long, then spending the afternoon at Dad's, my nerves are frayed. Even with all that, though, it's time to put on my mask of indifference when handling the members here.
”Hey, Cilas.” I keep my greeting casual, although I feel anything but. Although part of me loathes having to be back here, the other part is relieved at the time I'll have with Casey.
I don't get a smile, a nod, or a small wave of Cilas's rather large hand. Instead, his nostrils flare, so I keep walking.
The next person I regretfully run into is Hangar, who sits at the bar with a redhead I've seen here before, but she's usually on Wick's lap.
”Max,” he greets. I'm almost shocked, as it's unusual to get an acknowledgement at all, let alone one this welcoming.
I'm sensing something's up.
As I did with Cilas, I do for him-I go for casual. ”Hangar. What's happenin'?”
”Same ol' s.h.i.+t. Wanna beer?”
Mentally taking a breath and sitting on the stool next to him, I reply, ”Sure, if you've got an extra.”
”Callie!” Hangar's voice bellows without delay. It's not until now, with his focus elsewhere, that I get a good look at him.
On the first pa.s.s, his hair looks wet. It's not. Instead, it looks chock-full of dirt and grime, as does his body. His fingernails, which sit on top of the club wh.o.r.e's thighs, are penetrated with deep grooves of dirt underneath each. The smell of him, even from where I'm sitting, takes up the s.p.a.ce around the bar. He also looks completely s.h.i.+t-faced.