"He can wait," I say and take another sip, emptying my glass. The front door opens and then slams closed. Little feet stomp inside in a dramatic huff. My sweet Esme practically throws herself into the room. With the way she acts, you'd think she's eighteen and not eight. Her near-black hair is piled high atop her head, and her wide gray eyes are shooting daggers at her mother.
"What's up, Chicken Butt?" Alex says, turning her attention to her daughter. Alex isn't even remotely fazed by her daughter's attitude. She gets it enough at home from both the girl and her father that she can't afford to get riled up every single time somebody pitches a fit.
"Your husband won't stop complaining about how long Grandma's taking," Esme says to her mother before turning away. Sitting herself down in the chair across from me, she stares at me blankly.
"Hey, you blame your grandpa for that one," I say, picking up the speed of my patty-making.
"Thanks, Grandpa," Esme shouts with her eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"Would you crazies stop talking to Grandpa and get the damn patties made already?" My grandson sticks his head in the window and gives us a warning look, like his eight-year-old ass can do something about it if we don't. He's the spitting image of his twin sister. All dark hair and gray eyes with a complexion that seems to shift between olive and a pale pink.
Alex's and Esme's heads whip around so quickly that if I didn't know better, I'd think they might be possessed. Alex's scar catches the light, and it looks just as angry and painful as it did the day she was released from the hospital all those years ago. My daughter takes too long with her response. It's Esme who responds with, "Shut up, Michael." Even knowing they named him after his uncle, hearing my grandson's given name sometimes throws me off. We normally call him Track because he can outrun just about anybody he comes across. While Esme, in honor of her mother, gets called Queenie.
Looking out the window again, I watch Track rush off to bitch to his father about our speed or lack thereof. My smile brightens when I see Ian and Mindy approach with the kids. After Chel died a few years ago, they took in Xavier and DJ, who are now thirteen and six. It was tragic the way we lost her. Marks lost control of his bike when they were on a ride up the coast. Chel and the baby didn't make it. Marks did, until he couldn't take any more and took his own life six months later. He was a good man who loved Chel with his whole heart. Did right by her. Married her, treated Xavier as his own, had DJ, and was expecting a little girl. But sometimes that's just how life is. It takes the best ones early and leaves the rest of us to suffer the consequences.
Out in the distance, closer to the barn, are Wyatt, Grady, Jeremy, and Diesel. They have a few prospects with them, including Chief's son, Stephen. Duke and Nic sit side by side at a picnic table with their daughter Robin, who's a teenager now. On the opposite side is Cheyenne, who's about to give birth to her and Jeremy's son any day. Their toddler-aged daughter, Haley, sits between Chey and her grandma, Holly. My line of sight follows Track, running around in the distance, being chased by Charlie and Jim, Grady and Holly's kids. Once, a few years ago, I made a joke about the growing size of the Forsaken family, to which Amber announced she was pregnant again. It was right before Elle and Diesel started trying, but after one miscarriage, they decided not to go through that again.
Ryan stomps in the house with his mini-me son hot on his heels and shakes his head at the stack of patties in front of me. I've been done for almost five minutes now, but I wasn't about to rush them out to Mr. Temper Tantrum. Even if he is damn cute when he's acting a fool.
"Al, I think you need another baby," I say. My eyes are on Ryan, but my comment is for his wife. I'm smiling like a goofball, fondly remembering the day the twins were born.
Alex snorts in response and starts telling me how that's not going to happen in a variety of ways. Ryan moves behind Alex and holds her against him. Softly, he places a kiss to the scar between her eye and ear. He does this a lot, touching her scars, kissing them. He never shies away from them or seems to think she's any less beautiful with them. If anything, she's more beautiful, I think. I can't help but watch this man and woman who remind me so much of me and Jim. I love my kids, I love my family, and I love this club. There will always be violence and danger on the periphery. That's life when you live outside the bounds of the law. But there's also loyalty and pride. And family.
A black suit comes into view, blocking my sight line of the kids off in the distance. I blink, my eyes trailing up the long torso, and nearly burst into tears at the sight before me. His olive skin is darker than the last time I saw him, but that's to be expected in summer. His brown eyes dance, almost exactly like his sister's did just a few minutes ago.
"Come on, Mom," Michael says. "You didn't think I'd miss my niece and nephew's birthday, did you?"