Bullet’s brows slanted in disapproval.
“Some shit went down years ago, but…Fuck, B. I don’t know what to do.” Bear felt his father’s hand grip his shoulder. He tipped his face up, taking in the familiar roadmap of wrinkles. His father’s skin was like worn leather from his years of riding all day and partying all night. Once a biker, always a biker. It was in their blood. There was no mistaking the biker in Biggs, from his black leather vest with the Dark Knights patches to the leather boots he’d had since Bear was a kid, and every tattooed inch in between. His father looked as though he belonged on a mean machine, save for the cane and slight drooping of the left side of his face, which was hidden pretty well by his scruffy white beard and mustache.
“Hey, Pop.”
“What’s got your nuts in a knot, boy?” He sank down to the stool beside Bear and nodded to Bullet. “Mind getting me a water, son?”
His father hardly ever called them by their given names or their road names. It was always boy, son, or kid. Asking had never been his forte, either, until after his stroke. Still, it was a rare occurrence. Bear guessed that was where he’d learned to do or take or tell. His father had been demanding things from him for as long as he could remember. Ride your bike over to the bar after school to help with inventory. Run up to the store and get [whatever he needed at the moment]. His father didn’t dole out life lessons the way most parents did, with thoughtful discussions and kind conversation. No, sir. Biggs believed lessons were learned by doing not listening. From the time Bear had gotten his driver’s license, his father would haul his ass out of bed with a phone call to drive drunken customers home. Bear would drive the customer’s car and one of his brothers, or Dixie, when she learned to drive, would follow behind and drive him back home. When no one else was available, Bear would drive the customer to their house and then take a cab back. He’d minded those trips like nobody’s business, until one day when he’d driven a drunken man home and the guy had rambled the whole way about his beautiful, smart little girl and his son who tried his patience at every turn. When he’d dropped him off, he’d seen a little girl peering out the window. He’d known then that regardless of how tired he’d be the next day at school, his father had done the right thing. The image of that little girl’s face pressed against the window had stuck with him.
“His girl’s gone through some shit and she wants Bear to ignore it,” Bullet explained.
“Jesus, B. Think you can let me speak?”
Bullet lifted his shoulder and went to help a customer at the other end of the bar.
“Shit you can fix?” his father asked.
“Shit someone should pay for.”
“Always do what’s right, son.” His father took a drink of water. “Need to get the law involved?”
Bear’s gut told him yes, but Crystal had told him no, leaving him in a hell of a position. He looked at his father, who was by no means perfect, but he’d lived a fairly clean life, and he’d helped a lot of people. He had accumulated a lot of wisdom in his sixty-nine years.
“The right thing? What if you found out a woman had”—shit; he had to be careful with his choice of words—“been hurt, but she doesn’t want you to take care of it? Would you act on it or let it go? Is the right thing to respect her wishes or track down the asshole and get him off the streets?”
“There’s a whole world of hurt out there, son. I guess it depends on what level of hurt you’re talking about. You’ve seen a lot in your lifetime, so just ask yourself this: When we helped that little boy last week, was your goal to make him feel safe? Or was it to send a message to the bully so he’d never do that shit again?”
“Both.” But it wasn’t that easy, Bear didn’t know who the enemy was other than a nickname used by probably hundreds of guys at college parties.
“Then I think you have your answer.” His father stroked his beard, a sure sign that he also wanted to talk about something heavy.
It didn’t matter that Bear didn’t see any real answer in his father’s response. He knew Crystal was right. Without evidence there would be no justice for what had happened to her. But he’d make damn sure that she was safe from now on.
“I’ve got something else for you to think about,” his father said. “It’s time we expand this place.”
Bear gritted his teeth. His time was maxed out between covering shifts at the bar, handling the shop, and hopefully, spending more time with Crystal. And if he got his shit together and took the offer from Silver-Stone, he’d be working fewer hours at the bar, not more. He glanced up at Bullet, who arched a brow. Bullet was already working more than sixty hours a week.
“What are you thinking?” Bear asked, considering telling his father about the offer and nipping the expansion in the bud.
“I’m thinking that we’ll put our heads together and make it happen,” his father said. “It’s time to shake things up and bring in more customers. I want to leave you kids something of value. A Whiskey legacy.”
Painful memories came rushing back. He’d never forget the devastation in his mother’s voice when she’d called to tell him his father had suffered a stroke, or the fear that had consumed him at the possibility of losing the man who meant so much to him.
“Pop, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” He held his tongue about the offer. He couldn’t take away his father’s dream when all he was thinking about was his children.
“Actually, I’m leaving right now. I need to get going before your mother drives out here and hauls my ass home. Love you, boys.” He pushed to his feet and patted Bear on the back. “Church Monday night. We can discuss it then. Start thinking about how you’ll make it work.” Meetings for the Dark Knights were called church.
When he left, Bear and Bullet exchanged a long, stressed look. It was no secret that their father loaded Bear up with responsibility like a Sherpa.
“Dude, you got this?” Bullet asked. “I’d offer, but I don’t know shit about anything other than keeping the place in order and serving drinks.”
“Yeah. I’ve got it. I won’t let him down.” He pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to Crystal in case she was lying awake and couldn’t sleep. He hated the idea of her being alone tonight. Thinking of you. You okay?
“Need help closing up?” he asked Bullet.
“Nah. Get out of here. You look like shit.” Bullet came around the bar and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Bear shoved his phone in his pocket and headed for the door. “No promises, bro. No promises.”
Chapter Six