“Sixty, it's me,” I heard him say. “Feed Bingo for me tonight. Won't be coming back to the clubhouse to pick him up 'til tomorrow sometime.”
I looked around for a place to sit. His apartment was surprisingly spartan, and I walked toward the big couch in the middle of the room, never seeing any of the beer bottles or busted pizza boxes I'd expected.
“Shit, bro, you okay?” I heard the other man say through the phone. “Must've found your own fuckin' party – we were keeping your bottle warm! Whatever, long as you're happy, fed, and deep in *. Out.”
Joker killed the call with a grunt. A tense silence blanketed the small, cozy space between us. I watched him take a lap around the coffee table like a lion deep in thought, before he finally sat in the black leather recliner across from us.
I licked my lips, tasting fear in my own sweat. “I don't know where to begin,” I said.
“At the fuckin' beginning, babe. You tell me a story. I'll sit here and listen real quiet – just like your little boy.” He leaned forward, hands on his knees, the wild eyes he shared with my son stabbing through me. “Maybe by the time you get to the end, you can put him down for a nap in my room. Then we can talk about more serious shit.”
I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat before I started. Had to do it several more times throughout my story. I told him about the Deads rolling into Seddon, coming into my store, roughing up whoever they didn't like, and walking out half the time without paying for anything.
Nobody challenged them. Nobody dared.
I told him about the drugs, how bad it got since mama died and he left for Tennessee, what life was like, living in a building half-full of junkies.
He heard about how long I suffered alone, doing my best to raise Alex on my shoestring budget and some food stamps when I needed them, how I wished every day, every night, and every minute in between that mama was still alive to help.
I didn't tell him the truth about the boy, where he'd come from. Stupid when he knew – holy Christ, he knew – but the words caught in my throat every single time.
He watched the tears come down in silence, sitting up a little straighter, a mix of compassion and raw hatred in his eyes.
God, what a contrast.
What a storm.
Joker sucked in a sharp, brutal breath, one that made his entire chest ripple, reminding me how incredible he looked underneath his leather cut and thin club t-shirt.
No, no I couldn't think about that, though. I had to carry on.
“Then there was Hatch,” I said. “That's what he called himself.”
“President of the fuckin' Deads in northern Georgia,” he growled, nodding.
He already knew. Hell, of course he did. None of this nightmare would've happened if I weren't plunged into the middle of a blood war between motorcycle clubs.
“Yeah. Well, he knew about us, our history. Knew he could use me to get to you.” Joker stiffened up, staring me down. I hugged Alex closer, glaring back just as angrily. “Obviously, I wouldn't have screwed you over. I didn't know how to break the news, Jackson. I had to play along, at least for a little while, anything to stop him. He threatened Alex, told me he'd kill him right in front of me!”
I forced my voice to a hush, feeling him stirring in my arms.
“Alex, huh?” Joker said, ignoring my bullshit. “That's a great fuckin' name. Strong name.”
“Right,” I said quietly, before I glared at him again. “Seriously, how was I supposed to tell you what was really going on? Every time I came by, you made it very clear you wanted nothing to do with me. You wouldn’t even sit down and talk.”
“That's before I knew you were sitting on the biggest fuckin' secret in the world,” he growled, standing up. “Whatever, fuck it. Let me hold him. I'll put him down for a nap. Gotta learn sometime.”
The big, awesome biker towered over us. Reluctantly, I sighed, and lifted my baby, offering him up to his father for the first time.
I was ready to jump in at a moment's notice, if he held him the wrong way, or moved too fast.
It never happened. My heart plunged into my stomach and smashed into a million bits, just watching them together.
Alex rested his head on Joker's thick, muscular arm, suspended against his leather chest with that wonderful, manly scent.
Father and son. One.
A sight I thought I'd never see, that I'd tried to keep for so fucking long...
God. What the hell was I thinking? If only I'd come to him sooner, told him about the little boy.
Maybe he wouldn't have been dead for so long. Maybe I wouldn't have suffered alone.
It was too late for that. Tears clouded my eyes as I watched him holding the boy, rocking him gently in his arms, staring down at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.