Which is what led me to the current idea I’m trying to share with the table – a purpose.
“I know that we’re still in need of a few more prospects, quality men who will be loyal, dependable, that kind of thing,” I start. “There are some guys I met in the army, you know, like me, who are still unemployed with no direction. I think they would make great prospects. Not to mention that the MC usually has connections in every town. They know people, have some pull, so they could maybe also help with finding employment too…”
“So, you want to offer prospect positions to unemployed vets?” Remy asks.
“Yes. Mostly ones that are single. Nothing against married or committed men, but the single guys are the ones I think would benefit most from being part of a group again, you know?”
“Turn loners into brothers?” Hugo asks from across the table.
“Exactly.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Hugo instantly agrees. “I need a prospect and haven’t had any luck finding one around here.”
“Same, since RJ stole mine,” Colt replies.
“Dude, you made me take Jordan!” RJ reminds him.
“So, if we took a vote, you all would be for it?” I ask.
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Remy says.
“I have a prospect, so my vote probably doesn’t count,” RJ remarks. “But if I didn’t, I would be on board too.”
“Do you think I should ask the mother chapter to see what they say?” I ask Remy.
“Since their prez and several members are former military, I’m sure they would support it,” my older brother responds. “Where did you come up with the idea?”
“Just something I’ve been thinking about. I know we would have to find the money to pay for it, but that’s something I’ll worry about later on,” I explain. “How do I contact the Fury brothers?”
“We can do a call on speaker phone if you want,” Remy offers.
“Okay. Just give me a few days to figure out how to explain it better.”
“Sure. Just tell me when you’re ready and what our chapter can do to help.”
“Thanks,” I reply, unable to believe that it went so smoothly, far better than I hoped. I half expected Colt or Remy to point out some obvious flaw I was missing. My older brothers were good at making me feel dumb.
Damn, I guess I might actually be starting up a nonprofit, all thanks to Lyla Perry.
CHAPTER THREE
Lyla
“Where’s Daddy? We can’t eat dinner until he gets here!” Laurel whines as she paces in the entryway of the restaurant while I sit on a bench, eating a roll. Her frantic fingers work nonstop, stroking her frizzy red locks hanging over her shoulder. She’s burned the strands into submission tonight to try and erase her natural curls. I know because we unfortunately have the same hair type. It only has two settings – curly or ultra-frizzy. There’s no in-between despite how badly my sister wants smooth, straight hair.
“I don’t know, sweetie,” our grandmother consoles her while checking her cell phone screen again. “All he told me was that there was club business that couldn’t wait. You know how it is…”
“What’s more important than my rehearsal dinner?”
What indeed.
“Maybe it’s for the best.” I take another big bite out of the fluffy roll I’ve been snacking on as I watch her hysterics. When she scowls at me, I swallow it and add, “For the best if you and the rest of the wedding party skip a meal before your big day.”
Laurel blinks her fake lashes at me in confusion. “Why would we do that? I spent weeks choosing the menu…”
It took her weeks to plan the menu from a barbeque joint? Right. It’s not some fancy feast like she’s imagining. Our family is barely clinging on to middle class. So, while her soon-to-be husband may be loaded, our father refused to accept a penny from John for the wedding or rehearsal.
“Oh, you know, to avoid bloating so everyone can fit into their dresses and look perfect tomorrow?”
“Uh! Get over it, Ly. It’s my day, not yours. Stop trying to ruin it!” she shouts, even stomping her foot like a child having a tantrum. The white sundress and heels are an attempt to look innocent, which everyone in the county knows it’s a lie. “It’s not my fault your dress wasn’t with the others. And there’s no way you can wear any of the bridesmaid dresses.”
She never misses a chance to remind me I’m thicker all over than she is and likely always will be.
“Was it too much to ask that you diet for a few weeks before the wedding?”
“Yes,” I reply as I finish off my biscuit. I’m single, unemployed, and have never been kissed. All I have are delicious foods for comfort and the memories of one too-short lunch with the perfect man to play on repeat in my dreams.
I swear, I think Laurel is lying about my dress not being delivered to the seamstress just to sideline me.
Even though there are only eighteen months between us, we’ve never gotten along. Everything has always been a competition between us – who’s prettier (her), thinner (her), who’s smarter (me), who our father loves most. I hope we’re tied there, but sometimes I have my doubts.
Our father has always been super strict, watching me like a hawk while Laurel could do whatever she wanted. She could talk him into anything, including letting her go to parties or stay out late. She was spoiled, and I was sheltered. That’s probably why I’m a twenty-one-year-old virgin still living at home with my dad and grandma.
“Whatever, Ly. You’ll still get to be in the family photos,” the bridezilla remarks. “And can’t you just wear contacts for one damn day?”
“No.” Of course I could, but I hate contacts and don’t want to wear them, mostly because she asked me to.
“Will you at least take them off for the pictures?”
“Nah. It’s too risky. I might trip and fall without them.”
“You are such a pain in my ass.”
“Ditto,” I agree with an exaggerated wink.
“Girls, be nice!” our grandmother chastises us.
Rather than continue talking about my flaws, I decide to change the topic to one that’s uncomfortable for Laurel.
“So, guess who I ran into the other day over at the Village Shopping Center?”
“I don’t really care,” my sister huffs while crossing her arms. It takes all of ten seconds before she caves. “Fine! Who?”
“Guess,” I insist because I know the suspense is killing her. Our grandmother sighs and takes a seat on the bench across from me.
Laurel shrugs but comes closer. “A celebrity?”
“No.”
“A musician?”
“Nope.”
She throws her hands up. “God, Ly, I don’t know! I’m too busy stressing out here to play your stupid game!”
“Then I guess you’ll have to wait to find out.”
She comes closer, taking my bait like I knew she would. “Wait, was it a comedian? A famous athlete?”
“No and no.”
“Ugh, just tell me who!”