“Except what?” I ask as I get out of bed, walking to the windows.
“I think this Lee guy was an ass to the kid. Gunner got a little defensive and let a few things slip out I could tell he regretted.”
“How bad?”
“I don’t think it’s anything extreme other than not giving him a sense of belonging. I watched him all night, Gabriel. He looked lost. He never intermingled and looked like he didn’t understand the relationships everyone has.”
It’s exactly what I feared. Gunner has been a one man show so far, never really committing to making any bonds with anyone.
“What’s your take on him, Marcus?”
“Hell Gabriel, your world is different from mine.”
“You think we’re that different, Marcus?”
“I trust him. For me and mine. But honestly, Gabriel, I don’t think that boy trusts himself. For you, it could be a problem. My suggestion is to ask your mother what the hell she is thinking.”
I groan, hating and knowing it always comes back to my mother. She wants Gunner here and leaves us completely in the dark as to why. With her though, there is always a bigger picture.
“Gabriel. You decide this boy isn’t worth the risk, you let me know. I have a weak spot for the mutts.”
With that, I hang up on him. Turning, I gaze back at Fallon, carrying our next child. They are counting on me to know how to proceed. To know what is best for all of them. Restless, I walk out of my bedroom, heading to my son’s room. Sneaking in, I have to stifle a chuckle. Gavin’s blankets are thrown off and he’s sprawled out, covering the entire bed. Carefully, without waking him, I arrange him, and tuck him back in. Passing my finger over his bangs to push them out of his face, I wonder for a second. Will he be a better man than me? I hope so. I wish I could shield him from ever having to know this life. To give him a choice. I can’t though. This is his birthright and I hope one day he won’t hate me for it.
Quietly, I leave Gavin’s room and open my daughter’s bedroom door. My sweet baby girl. I do the same as I did with Gavin, I watch her sleeping for a minute. Unlike my son, Bliss sleeps with her brows drawn, and her body guarded. Like me and her mother do. It makes me wonder what goes on in her little mind. Does she worry I won’t be able to protect her? Her, or the others.
Heaviness sinks in. Leaning over, I lay a kiss to her temple and close her door on my way out. Standing in the hall, I feel the weight of every living soul in this house. Whether they like me or not, it now falls on my shoulders to make the hard decisions. Decisions that will guarantee not only our empire’s survival, but our lives.
Not able to quiet my mind, I go downstairs and fix a drink, planting myself at the French doors looking out, thinking of all the family. The ones under this roof and the ones outside. The ones who look to me for their livelihoods.
“Gabriel?”
I don’t flinch or turn at hearing my name called in question.
“Mother.”
“Is something wrong?”
“How am I supposed to answer?”
Her reflection in the pristine glass of the doors shows her head drop. She stays silent for a few seconds before strolling over to the bar with her silk robe floating behind her.
I can hear the crystal clinking as she fills a glass.
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”
Laughing, I turn toward her and sarcastically ask, “You’re quoting Shakespeare to me at two in the morning?”
She returns my sarcasm with, “I’m quoting your father.”
My brow lifts in response, waiting for her to explain.
“Shakespeare’s line was actually, ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.’ Your father always got it wrong, but nonetheless, the sentiment is the same.”
“Is it the reason you can’t sleep?”
“Many nights, Son. Same as you.”
She takes her glass and sits in a chair, crossing her legs. “Your father always repeated the line over and over. I remember being so curious about it. I studied the play, Henry IV inside and out, trying to figure out what was going on in William’s head.”
“Did you learn anything?” I ask, curious to where this is going to lead.
“It gave me insight. Not everyone is made for this life, Son, and I never truly understood it or the quote until I filled those shoes. It’s what you’re experiencing right now.”
“Does it get any easier?”
For a brief moment, I see my mom look up at me with concern and love, then suddenly the Catherine everyone fears, tears through, ripping her eyes from me to answer,
“No. It never does.”
My head nods on its own accord, feeling the last of my hope leave me. Moving to the bar, I fix another drink as she goes on.
“The weight of what you’re feeling drove your father insane. He found escape in the drugs he poisoned himself with. Questioning your morals with each decision will do that to you.”
“How do you not question, Mother?” I ask with annoyance in my voice.
“It’s a good question, Gabriel. Let me know if you ever figure it out.”
Chuckling at this merry go round we’re on, I sit down across from her with a hard glare.
“You think me cruel, Gabriel?” she asks, seeking judgement from me.
I wave my hand and drink, opening the floor for her to assume what she will.
“Let me ask you Son, what is the most important thing in your life?”
“Easy. My children, my wife, my family.”
She slams her empty glass down on the coffee table. “Then fuck your morals! There will be plenty of nights you won’t be able to sleep, Gabriel. But when you do, you will find peace in knowing you did everything in your power to protect the ones you love. The exact same thing I did for you and your brothers. Someone has to make the decisions. Someone has to carry the burden and the restless nights.”
She stands furious and rushes to the French doors looking out at nothing in particular, the same way I was. Rubbing her arms crossed over her chest, she says,
“Many nights, I let my morals keep me awake debating if there was a different way I could’ve done things. I fought those voices. God, the lives I ordered to be killed, Gabriel. The lives I took myself. You would think they would haunt me, but they don’t. They were necessary. My failure was not being able to destroy my compassion for the lives of the weak. The ones who had no way of fighting for themselves. Those lives haunt me. It’s something I pray I can fix before leaving this earth. It’s something I pray I can teach you.”
Sitting up in my chair, I pay special attention to every word she follows with.
“I can count on one hand the things I regret, Son. Your father being one. He needed… he.” She stops suddenly. I know my father is not a road she wants to revisit. Her shoulders rise and fall, sucking in breath, trying to calm herself. When she starts again, the subject of my father is replaced with, “Laura is another. What I wouldn’t give to have been able to save her. Shane, I… I hate what I let myself do to that boy. Your brother Vin, I should have never allowed my need for vengeance… Jesus Gabriel, the things I’ve done.”
I stand, moving toward her, needing to know more. “Gunner Theriot. He’s on that hand, isn’t he Mother?”