She laughs lightly, but her amusement doesn’t reach her eyes. She drops her hand and folds her arms across her chest.
“Now that we’re over the awkward sibling bonding thing, can we talk about letting me see Michael?”
“No. I’m not getting into a fucking fight with my brother over that shit.” I will, but I don’t want her thinking she can play me like she plays Ryan.
“Then can we talk about Mindy?” Her eyes are shining now in a mischievous manner as she says Mindy’s name.
“Call her if you want to talk to her,” I say. She won’t, and Mindy won’t have anything to say to her, not really, anyway. I have her under orders to not talk to anyone about what I have her doing. People won’t understand.
Alex’s knowing smile is all I need as she tries to look innocent. “I heard you’re interested in her. She’s pretty.”
“That asshole of yours has a big fucking mouth,” I say and head for Ma and Pop’s house. Alex trails behind at a slow pace. I move quickly to put distance between us and try to block out her quiet snickering. I knew I never should have told Ryan a fucking thing about Mindy.
“Thank you for this,” she says from behind me. I stop walking. She catches up quickly and stands beside me, just yards from the house.
“Didn’t give you nothing.”
“You know, Ryan is a pain in the ass.”
I can’t stop the laugh that escapes me. She knew this before they hooked up, so I’m not sure why she’s bringing it up now.
“But he’s loyal to the people he loves. He says you guys learned that from Mom and Jim. He’s told me stories about when you were kids. I know how much he loves and respects you. It makes me jealous—the relationship you two have. I’ve spent the last year just wanting to get to know you, wanting that kind of loyalty from you. Ryan doesn’t respect much, so the fact that he respects you means a lot. So thank you for giving me that.”
She walks into the house without another word, and thank fuck for it, too. I’ve done enough of that sharing my feelings shit. The last thing I want to do is stand here and tell her the truth. I’ve always loved her. She’s my sister. I guess I’ve always loved Michael, too, but it’s different with my brother. Where Alex walks around with this desire to be accepted and needed, Michael carries a detached confidence with him that’s a little too similar to his father. No doubt it’s how he was able to beat the crap out of her when he thought he was saving her. He just did the job he felt he had to do and didn’t stop to think about it. He’s a real company man in that way.
I’ve been standing outside the house for so long that Pop strides out the front door with PJ on his heels.
“Heard part of that conversation,” he says.
“Nosy fuck.”
“Eh, your mom’s rubbed off on me. Got to have her nose in everything.”
I don’t say anything because I’m pretty much talked out. Too much talking and feelings. I don’t like it. I want to go back to my safe place. Somebody needs to be late on payment or give me lip so I can release some frustration.
“Glad I got you alone. We need to talk.”
“Least favorite words, Pop. The kid just talked my fucking ear off.” I scowl, but it doesn’t pass muster.
“You like her. She’s difficult not to like. Even with the crying shit.” Pop and Alex have a weird father-daughter bond going on. Sometimes he says offensive shit just to see her spin her wheels and try to figure out how to respond. I admit, it’s funny as fuck to see her figure out how to mouth off to our patched president.
“Better be club-related. I’m too sober for any more talks about feelings.”
“It is.” He points to the bench by the front door. We sit down awkwardly, our big bodies filling up the space. “Been a hard year. I’m tired.”
“Yeah.” There’s nothing else for me to say. We’re all tired, and we’ve all suffered in different ways.
“I’ve been thinking about where I went wrong, what I did to get this all fucked up.”
“Sometimes shit just goes sideways, Pop, and it’s nobody’s fault.”
He runs his fingers through his graying hair and tucks the long strands behind his ears.
“Fucked up more than I think if you’re lying to me.”
He knows I’m lying. Of course he knows I’m lying—he’s my dad. Now I’m the one nervously tucking my hair behind my ears and delaying the speech I know he deserves. Jim Stone is more than my father—he’s my patched president. Questioning his leadership is a big fucking deal. It’s like spitting on the patch and should only be done when absolutely necessary.
“Out with it, boy.”