“We’ve been too complacent. We’re like sitting ducks out here. It’s almost been a year. We should have done something by now. As a husband, you want to give your wife what she needs by protecting her kids. As a father, you want to give your kids some peace. But by putting in that marker, we started a fucking war with the Italian mafia. Every man at the table looks at the gavel for direction. Instead of playing offense, we’ve been playing defense, and it’s getting us killed.”
He nods his head slowly, thoughtfully, as he lets it sink in.
“Wanted to tell you before I talk to your brother. Just had to make sure I’m doing the right thing first.”
My entire body tenses as I wait for him to finish. In a way, I don’t think I need him to say it. I already know where he’s going with this little talk we’re having, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach. Men patch in and they don’t patch out. In most charters, presidents hang on to the gavel until they can’t ride anymore. Our charter does a lot of physically exhausting work, and it’s important that our men are able to handle that work. Pop’s nowhere near being unable to take care of his end, but it’s not the day-to-day that’s bringing him down. Shit. I’m not ready for this.
“You don’t have to say it.” If he doesn’t say it, then maybe I can pretend for just a little longer that this isn’t really happening.
“Got to. Otherwise I’ll probably change my mind.”
Fuck. Don’t say it, Pop. Don’t say it. I fight the urge to cover my ears and rock back and forth with my eyes closed like I did when I was a little boy and he would get to screaming at Ryan or vice versa. I hated the noise back then—still do, actually. But back then I didn’t know what kind of man Pop was. My experience with Ma’s men up to that point hadn’t ever been good. I didn’t know men could be good until this pushy fucker came along and forced himself into our lives. He changed me, us, for the better.
Fuck. Now I’m having mushy feelings I’m not comfortable with.
I hate feelings.
“You don’t have to.”
Please, don’t.
Fuck.
“I have to step down, son. It’s time.” His voice is gravelly, and it skips as he pushes the words out. “You were right. I’ve held back because this shit is personal for me. I’ve acted like a husband and a father when I should have been acting like a president.”
“I get it. I just don’t like it. I don’t want Wyatt to be president just yet.”
Pop breaks out into a grin and shoves his shoulder into mine.
“You’re whining. It makes you sound like your brother,” he says.
Oh, fuck that.
Fuck that.
“On second thought, go ahead and retire, you senile bastard,” I say in the same grouchy tone that had him telling me I sound like Ryan.
I do not sound like Ryan.
Chapter 11
IT’S BEEN A little over a week since that shit went down at the clubhouse with Mindy and Leo. Nobody’s brought it up, and thank fuck for it, too. After Pop unloaded that shit on me a few days ago about him stepping down, he hasn’t said another word about it. Basically, I’ve spent the past week avoiding people and their bullshit—even Mindy. That’s why I’m holed up in the chapel all alone and long before we have to be in here for the meeting with Leo and Michael. So far, their stories check out, and we’re mostly confident that working with them won’t backfire on us. It’s not like we have many other choices anyway.
Before I forget, I shoot off a quick text to Mindy reminding her that she’s due at Duke’s house for babysitting duty in an hour. This is the most I let myself have of her. I don’t have to remind her, but it makes me feel better to be a little more in control of what she’s doing. Spending time with her is dangerous—I always want more of her—but I won’t do this to her. The only thing that makes me feel good now is that she doesn’t fight me. I’ve wanted this for a long time—a woman who submits herself to me without question. I think Mindy could be this woman for me.
No. I can’t let myself go there. I want more than she can give, and I need to stop thinking about keeping her. Maybe if I were normal, I could help her get to a healthy place. Maybe if I didn’t feel this violent thirst. Maybe if I were normal or safe or even capable of giving her the kind of love she deserves. Maybe then she could be mine.
But that’s not the case, so I need to let it go no matter how bad it burns. Not even the nastiest whiskey burns as bad as the idea of letting Mindy go.
Boots slap against the concrete, jarring me from my thoughts. I look up to find Ryan walking in, a grimace on his face. He plops down in his seat beside me but doesn’t say a word. He’s acting weird with his silent he is. Not that Ryan is ever very talkative, but he isn’t prone to holding back, and I can tell that he is holding something back.
It’s a long while before he speaks. While I wait, we sit in silence and I act like he’s not even there. There’s nothing pushing Ryan to talk.
“Talked to Pop,” he says.
Now I know why he’s being quieter than normal. It fucked me up pretty good when Pop told me he was stepping down, so it has to be fucking with Ryan, too.