“And I’m honorary uncle.” Josh made sure his claim was clear as well.
I chuckled.
Nicky stopped just before stepping into the nursery. “Daniel.” His throat bobbed, and he wiped a finger under his eye. “Danny. Named him after my brother.”
The brother who’d overdosed. Fuck. Another sting of emotion clamped my throat tight. Burying his only brother was a story Nicky had unfolded for us after we’d all helped him lay his grandmother to rest.
“That’s perfect.” Josh gave him a crushing hug. “You done good.”
“Well, Cat did all of it.”
“Of course she did. She was born a Steele,” Brodie boasted, but his voice was shaky.
“Made of something close to steel, that’s for sure.” Nicky opened the door to the nursery then glanced back. “Thanks, guys. All of you. For coming.”
We took up the entire hallway, crowding at the big window, possibly leaving nose-prints on the glass. Nicky reappeared, holding the tiniest bundle imaginable. Incredible. Wrapped in a blanket with a plain white knitted cap on his head, baby Daniel fit into the pocket of Nicky’s forearm like it was the most perfect cradle in the world. His little red mouth popped open, and one hand clutched strongly at Nick’s huge thumb.
The dudes pulled out their phones, quickly snapping off pictures. Tucker nodded over and over with twin tears coursing down his cheeks—he’d been a father figure to the Steele family after the accident that took both their parents. Now he had a daughter in Rayce, and because of his close bond with Cat, he was practically a grandfather.
We watched Nicky kiss Daniel’s forehead then dip his head toward us before he turned away to take Daniel to his momma.
The commotion since leaving Shiloh kept my mind momentarily off her showing up at the MC. That almost felt like a lifetime ago, but it was only an hour or so. She was a complication from the past I didn’t need.
Correction: my past was the complicated part, not her.
Once I got home—after stopping at the bar for a congratulatory drink with my brethren and Josh Stone and the knuckle draggers from the garage—all the unwelcome bullshit from days I tried not to think about started seeping back in.
Home. There was one helluva big difference between my small piece of real estate in the Old Village of Mt. Pleasant compared to my parents’ house on The Battery downtown.
I owned approximately half an acre and the small cottage that sat on it. The house dated from the 1930s, and I’d been systematically updating it when I had the spare cash—or whenever Tail could help me out for a free case of beer.
At least he was easy to please.
My parents? Not so much. Or maybe I’d given up trying. Yeah. Definitely that.
Trust fund rich boy turns badass biker with a mighty big chip on his shoulder.
My folks owned a distilling empire. The MC even carried our label, but no one knew it came from my family.
Bourbon was king where I’d grown up, and I was into that too, but it had been fast rides, hot rods, and illegal street racing that made me go off the rails.
Such a Rush . . .
Speed was in my blood.
I’d tried hard to remain pretty much anonymous, keep my head down, and most definitely stay off the MPPD’s motherfucking radar since cleaning up my act. At the age of nineteen, after my third arrest by none other than Brodie’s fiancée, Ashe Kingston—then a rookie cop—my father sent his lawyer to bail me out, hand me a suitcase, an envelope full of cash, and the big kiss off.
Seven years ago and I hadn’t been in contact with my parents or my younger sister since.
In all that time we’d never crossed paths. Definitely kept different social circles. I stayed on my side of the Cooper River.
Three strikes and you’re out. Disowned by the Rush family. I’d brought shame on them. Sullied their status in the high-and-mighty, old money, old school Charleston snooty society.
That cash the lawyer had handed over to me? Yeah, those greenbacks sat in my savings account, unused, untouched, unwanted.
Some things I didn’t regret. The cars I’d bought in my teen years as soon as I’d gotten my license—the wicked-looking ’73 silver and black Pantera and the hellishly fast Chevy Nova. Both babied and pampered in the two-car garage that had almost as many square feet as my house.
Didn’t regret having my own place. Owning my own piece of land.
Or joining up with Retribution MC, working with my hands at Chrome and Steele every day to earn a living.
But I had my own plans, too.
And one day I’d face my father and give his money back to him, because I was not a broken man no matter how hard he’d tried to bring me to my knees.
Shy. Her name echoed from my lips as I turned off the light in the fresh-paint-smelling living room with the huge bay window Tail and I had installed last weekend.
She shouldn’t look so good to me.
And I shouldn’t look back to the past, because some things could never be changed.
Chapter Four
Baby Fever