“Left it outside.” He hitches his thumb in the direction of the front door. I nod my head and follow behind. “Just hope it hasn’t gotten itself lost or run over by now, because I ain’t finding you another one.”
“Did you get me a puppy?” I ask, way too hopeful. I’ve been asking for a puppy for years, and he has always said no. The day I can afford a puppy on my own, I can have one. But with the dangers the club is facing, maybe he’s changed his mind and gone to that breeder where they got PJ. I could totally dig having my very own PJ.
“I should have gotten you a dog years ago to avoid this, but no.” He opens the front door halfway, blocking my view outside. I bounce on the balls of my feet and try to peek, but he flicks me in the forehead and shakes his head. “Don’t think I’m happy about this or anything, but here’s your early birthday present.”
I shove past him, careful to jab my elbow into his side extra hard, and stumble onto the front porch. Looking around, I can’t find anything that might belong to me. Movement down below on the street catches my attention. Sitting on top of my dad’s old bike—the very first bike I ever sat on—is Jeremy. Dad walks out of the house after me and closes the door. I make a move to head down the stairs when Dad places his gorilla-like hand on my shoulder and says, “Wait for it.”
Jeremy stands from the bike and step away from it. He gives Dad a lift of his chin, which I catch Dad returning. The more time they spend together, the more similar their mannerisms become, which, frankly, freaks me the ever-loving fuck out. Jeremy lifts his arms perpendicular to his body and slowly turns around. His back comes into view, and the weight of this moment hits me like a sledgehammer to my gut. Dad removes his hand from my shoulder and lets out a small chuckle.
I place my hand over my mouth to cover the gasp as tears explode in my eyes. A wretched sob overtakes me as I find myself taking a single step forward. He’s fully turned around now and a brand new FORSAKEN patch shines from the top of his vest. I got used to seeing his prospect cut with so few patches on it, that this new addition is startling. He finishes his circle and is facing me once again. He drops his arms at his sides and then crooks a finger, calling me over.
My feet have taken off, and I’m halfway down the stairs when I realize I’m in motion. Once I hit the concrete, I’m grateful that even on autopilot I can at least navigate a flat surface. I don’t slow down when I reach him. Instead, I fling myself into his arms. He hauls me up and swings me around in a circle before placing me on the pavement again.
“Holy fucking shit,” I say. I’m almost speechless but not quite. I gape at him for a moment before he places one hand behind my head and pulls me to him, crashing his lips against mine. I’m wrapped up in him, sucked into all that he is and what he’s accomplished. I fell in love with a smart-mouthed boy in a prospect cut, and I continue to sink even deeper in love with this man. There’s so little of the boy left in him now, but what’s replaced the immature antics is a man whose word is his law, and his heart is as beautiful as anything I’ve ever known. But I won’t tell him that. He doesn’t like it when I get sappy and shit.
“When did this happen?”
“Few days after you left town.” The grin on his face is almost unbelievable. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him look so happy before.
“That was almost a month ago!” I scream, a rabid, angry-woman scream that I didn’t know I was capable of until we got together.
“Had to take care of some shit first,” he says with an attitude that makes me want to beat him with his cut. I was home for almost a month over Christmas break and that asshole didn’t call me, come see me, or nothing. Fucking dick.
“That’s your response? That’s all you got to fucking say for yourself? Really, Jeremy Whelan? Really?”
“Would you shut the fuck up?” he shouts in my face so loudly that I’m startled into silence. Has he forgotten my dad is on the porch and can rip his goddamn head off for that shit? I slide my eyes to Dad, whose arms are folded over his chest that’s heaving in laughter. No, really? The asshole gets a new patch on his back and suddenly I’m fucking chopped liver?
“You did not just scream in my face,” I say quietly, readying myself for battle. Where’s that damn blowtorch when I need it?
“Are you going to shut your trap so I can talk to you, or are you going to keep bitching at me?”
“Which do you suggest?” I say with more sarcasm than should be legal.