Having grown quiet, Preacher took several shallow breaths and turned away. Leaning back in my chair, I wrapped my arms around myself and just attempted to process everything he’d just confessed.
I could count on two hands the times that my father had been noticeably emotional about anything over the course of my lifetime. Half of those moments had been about me, while the other half had occurred on the rare occasion that my mother was brought up.
I’m not entirely sure why I was so surprised to find out the true extent of his feelings for Debbie. I supposed knowing something as opposed to hearing a firsthand account of that same thing were two very different beasts.
I’d known he’d loved her, of course, even as brief as their relationship had been. He’d loved her enough that her disappearance had crushed him. However, I’d never realized the true depth of his emotions.
Having had Debbie by his side during the tragic loss of his parents, the extent of what he felt for her now made more sense. I knew well enough how tragedy tends to bring about heightened emotions, and usually only one of two possible outcomes: you either grow closer or farther apart. Debbie, it seemed, had quickly become Preacher’s crutch, every bit as much as Preacher had become hers.
I would have thought these revelations might have had a soothing effect on me, but I found myself experiencing the opposite. My irritation was mounting, coupled with the anger of being lied to for so long, and about my own family no less. “Daddy,” I snapped before I could squelch my rising temper. “What happened next?”
Preacher faced me and smiled sadly. “Baby girl, I’d be willin’ to put good money on that being the day we made you.”
“Not that,” I said, making a face. “I meant what happened after that.”
Behind me, Deuce snorted loudly, and I turned to find him smirking. Frowning, I asked, “What’s so funny?”
Deuce shrugged. “That probably happened a few more times.”
With an exasperated sigh, I turned back to my father. “I want to know what happened with the police. Did they have any leads? Was anyone taken into custody?”
I’d only managed to find one article about it online—the Four Points Massacre, it had been called. The article had been sparse on details, and instead fraught with warnings and accusations about the dangers of “motorcycle gangs”.
A faraway look in his eyes, Preacher stared at something over my shoulder. “Wasn’t long after gettin’ back to the city that your mother started gettin’ sick. Couldn’t hold nothin’ down.”
“Daddy, the cops. What did the cops say?”
“It was your Aunt Sylvia who thought she might be pregnant.”
Frustrated, I glanced back at Deuce and rolled my eyes. Now that I knew the truth about my grandparents, it was obvious to me what Preacher was doing. The same thing he’d done my entire life—refuse to discuss his parents. He’d never dealt with losing them, that much was obvious to me now.
“So you brought Debbie home with you?” I asked, resigned to just letting him talk. There would be no forcing Preacher Fox to do anything he didn’t want to do. And I could always ask my uncles for specifics later.
Preacher’s eyes flicked to mine. “Of course I did!” he huffed indignantly. “You think I’d leave her behind?”
“I don’t know what to think!” I shot back. “Everything I thought I knew was wrong! I don’t know what’s true and what’s a lie anymore!”
“There were good reasons I lied to ya, Eva.”
“Like what?” I practically shouted, jumping to my feet. Gripping the bedrail, I glared down at him. So many feelings were coursing through me, too many, and every single one of them was unpleasant.
I jabbed myself in the chest. “Tell me why I couldn’t know the truth about my mother!”
Preacher let out a hard sigh, and his chest let out a painful-sounding rattle in response. “I will, I will… but I gotta tell you the rest of the story first.”
My eyes bulged, and my grip on the bedrail tightened. I was about to let loose a string of curses when a familiar hand appeared on my shoulder.
“Fuckin’ breathe,” Deuce whispered.
I shook my head furiously. “But he—”
Deuce grabbed my wrist, pulled me out of my chair, and dragged me across the room and into the bathroom. Glaring at me, he kicked the door closed behind us and folded his arms across his chest. Regardless of his age, my husband still painted a formidable picture—his height, his breadth, and the way his eyes could turn bitterly cold in an instant, sucking all the warmth from the room.
Not that I was intimidated. “Move,” I demanded, gesturing angrily.
His arm muscles flexed, causing the dragons tattooed on his forearms to twitch restlessly. “Not a chance in hell, bitch. You need to calm the fuck down first. You start yellin’ at your old man now, you’re gonna regret it later.”
I mirrored his stance—arms crossed under my breasts, legs spread apart—and scowled up at him. His lips twisted, and dimples appeared.
“Put your fucking dimples away!” I hissed. “He lied to me for my entire life! Not just about my mother, but my grandparents too! I thought I could do this, but now—” I threw my arms up in the air. “I feel like I don’t even know my own father!”
I went from shouting to crying in the span of two heartbeats and collapsed to the cold floor with my face buried in my hands. Of course Deuce was right—I couldn’t lash out at my dying father, couldn’t let him leave this world thinking I was angry with him. Even though angry was exactly what I was. Furious, even. Confused, too. And a whole lot brokenhearted.
“You can do this.” Deuce’s voice was firm, yet soft. “I’ve seen you weather worse shit than this and still come out swingin’.”
I peeked up at him through my hands. “Worse than finding out everything I knew was a lie? Worse than losing my father?”
Deuce only stared down at me, stone-faced, those beautiful blue eyes of his suddenly ice-cold and swimming with ugly memories.
“Never mind,” I quickly whispered. Wiping my eyes, I took several shaky breaths. I could do this. I could get control of myself and walk back out there and do everything in my power to ensure Preacher’s last days were good ones.
Getting to my feet, I pressed a hand to my throat. “Deuce, the kids? Did you—”
“Taken care of. They’re all on the next flight outta Billings. First thing tomorrow.”
“Everyone is coming?”
“Every last one of them little assholes and all the damn fools they married.” His eyes began to smile. “My grandbabies, too. They’re all comin’.”
I lurched forward into his waiting arms and sagged against him.
“I should be able to do this,” I cried softly. “I’m a grown woman. Our daughter is practically grown. And I’ve got stepchildren with babies of their own. I should be able to keep it together!”