That was the worst fucking part of this whole situation. The guy was still out there. Bear fisted his hands beneath the table. “Not imminent. Maybe not at all. But I still want to track down the motherfucker and kill him.” He pushed from the table, needing air.
Bullet grabbed his arm. “Do not take vengeance, bro. You’ll end up in prison, and Tru can tell you how fucking fun that is. And that pretty little filly of yours won’t enjoy waiting for conjugal visits.” He pushed to his feet, sliding a dark look to Bones and tightening his grip on Bear. “And whatever you do, you don’t do it alone. You go down, we go down. Got it? You don’t take care of whatever this is alone.”
Yeah, he got it all right. Now he was on Bullet’s trouble radar, which meant any move he made, his brother was keeping tabs. Gotta love the brotherhood.
Bear wrenched from his grip and stalked outside. Inhaling a lungful of cool night air, he paced, trying to calm his roiling gut, and sent a quick text to Crystal.
How’s my girl?
Waking up with her in his arms had kept him going all day. He’d cooked her breakfast, which she’d reluctantly admitted she liked more than cold pizza. They’d had the hardest time saying goodbye when he’d dropped her off at her apartment this morning, but a text from Gemma reminding her to get to the shop early to discuss their schedule had pushed them along.
Her response came quickly. Busy loving up Harley and working on the costumes.
The door to the clubhouse opened and Bones stuck his head out. “Let’s go. The old man’s ready.”
“I’ll be right there.” His phone vibrated again, and a picture of Crystal kissing Harley’s nose popped up. Damn he missed them both. He sent another text, wishing he didn’t need to hurry back inside. Still have time for your boyfriend Friday night?
His phone vibrated with a response before he even reached the clubhouse door. Yes! Your fuzzy little girl misses you.
He stepped into the clubhouse and made his way toward a table in the back, where his brothers and father were talking. The sounds of cue balls rolling, hearty laughter, and the dense plunk of darts hitting the dartboard were as comforting as a home-cooked meal. Or maybe a last meal, given the conversation they were about to have.
He pulled out a chair, ignoring the inquisitive glare Bullet was giving him. Guess what, B. This one’s not under your thumb.
“Pop was just telling me about his plans to expand Whiskey Bro’s,” Bones explained.
“He’s in,” his father said in his slow drawl, as if there was anything Bones needed to be in with besides investing capital. Bones was the only one in the family who didn’t work at the bar or the shop, but as an equal partner—and a male—he was included in major decisions. He’d attended medical school after college, and after graduating, he’d gone right into practicing medicine. Bear had no doubt Bones would give up everything to help his family, if need be, which was why he’d never made a big deal out of being the one to take over the bar after their father’s stroke. There was no way he would have stolen either of his brothers’ dreams out from under them.
His father sat back in his typical relaxed state, his cane hanging off of his chair. Bear wasn’t fooled. His old man was a thinker, a planner. Bear knew that even after his stroke, if push came to shove, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw his body in the middle of a fight to protect those he loved—or strangers who needed help.
Like the rest of us.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Bear said. “The kitchen will need renovating, and we’ll have to hire staff. Offering food will make this place too big to be run as a family business. You’ve got to be cool with that before you do anything.”
His father looked around the clubhouse. “Nothing’s too big for family. We’ve got a damn big family.”
“These guys have jobs,” Bear reminded him. “And we’re all working our asses off. We’ll need a cook, a dishwasher, waitstaff…You can’t expect Dixie, Bullet, Red, or me to handle it all.” He’d called his mother Red since he was a little boy, when he’d heard her friends calling her Wren, her given name, and thought they’d said Red. The name had stuck.
His dad’s mouth curved up in a crooked grin, the left side anchored low. “See? You know exactly what the bar needs. That’s why you’re going to manage it and make it a profitable endeavor.”
Bear sat back, grinding his teeth together. “I’m running the shop and helping out at the bar a night or two a week. I’m maxed out. But Dixie can handle this. She’s at the bar most evenings anyway, and she handled the renovations at the shop when we added the playroom. She could—”
“She’ll be off and married and having babies before we know it,” his father said. “Then what?”
“So you’re just writing her off again?” Bear scoffed. He’d fought this battle before, and he knew damn well his father would win, because without his brothers’ support, after he said his piece, respect would win out, and Bear would back down. Every. Damn. Time.
“She’s doing a hell of a job at the shop, and she’s a fine waitress,” their father said. “She doesn’t need to do more. She can help you out, like she did last time.”
“Help me out? She came home weekends while she was away at college and worked just as hard as I did to turn Whiskey Bro’s around. And after she graduated, she dug her heels in at the shop, too,” Bear reminded him. “You pushed her in college to make sure she excelled. Wasn’t that in preparation for this? Don’t you think she’s earned the right to run a business on her own? I assume you’re going to have her buy in, like the rest of us.”
Just once he’d like his brothers to open their mouths and stand up for Dixie. But while Bullet would give his own life to protect their sister, the same didn’t go for standing up to their father. And Bones? He knew a losing battle when he saw one, and chose his wars carefully. Maybe Bear was driven by the anger coursing through his veins on the heels of learning about what happened to Crystal and not being able to do anything about it, or maybe it was just that he was sick of Dixie being denied what she deserved. Or maybe it’s that I have an offer for what I really want, and I can’t seem to find the balls to take it. For whatever reason, his patience for this bullshit was wearing thin.
“Of course she’ll buy in.” His father leaned his forearms on the table, his eyes moving slowly around the table, coming to rest on Bear and putting a silent end to the battle that hadn’t really been fought. “The question is, how soon can you get a plan together?”
“I’ll have to consult Dixie,” Bear answered, full of piss and vinegar. “She’s the one managing the budget.”
His father grumbled something Bear couldn’t make out.
They talked for another two hours about his ideas and what Biggs envisioned for the bar. Bear was itching to leave, but he was expected to stay, and even if his beliefs weren’t on par with his father’s, he stayed until Red texted their father shortly after midnight. Bear got up to follow his father out.