“But…”
“At myself, yes. Because I didn’t see it.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“I talked to your father about those times. I told him about you hearing me cry when he left and how you felt about it. I also told him how I felt about it.”
“That’s good. You needed to.”
Her hand comes to my knee and squeezes. “You sure are hard with muscles.” She chuckled, then continued. “Your perception of that time shaped the way you looked at the club, your father, and me.”
I started to say something, but she squeezed my legs to halt me.
“They were preconceived notions and not an actual depiction of our lives. I know you said you saw it back then, but if you truly did, why did you start looking into the Ravage MC? Why dig into our family if you knew you hadn’t seen things quite right. They’re going to ask you that.”
This was heavy. “There are a lot of ways I can answer this, Mom, but just know that I will answer anything they ask me truthfully. It’s club business, and I get that now; therefore, I’ll talk to them. Know that I’m okay. I’m not the same scared boy who got his heart broken. Not even close.”
“I respect that. Know that I love you no matter what.” She leaned over and wrapped her arms around me once again. “You need to make sure that you’re ready for whatever they throw at you. Bein’ your momma, I want to let my inner lion out and protect you, but I can’t. There isn’t a damn thing I can do in this situation, Micah, and that kills me.”
“I’ll be fine, Ma. I promise. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Her hand squeezed. “I’ll worry about you until I take my last breath on this earth. That’s what being a parent is. You feel for your child and would bleed for them to take all of their pain away. One day you’ll understand it when you have your own kids.”
“That won’t be any time soon, Mom.” I gave a slight shoulder shrug because I honestly wasn’t sure kids were in my future, but that was a conversation for a different time.
Her smile lit up the room, making the heavy of the conversation evaporate. “You never know what life’ll throw at ya. Come get some breakfast.”
Life wouldn’t be throwing me that particular thing for a long damn time.
My father was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in his hand and the remote in the other. He turned down the television, his attention coming to us. “Sleep good?”
“I can sleep anywhere,” I answered, moving to the table. Another gift from Uncle Sam and military training. Hot, cold, dirty, clean, gunfire … all of it prepared me to sleep light and wherever the location took me. My mom went to the countertop and grabbed a huge platter. Instantly, I darted over and grabbed the platter, taking it to the table.
“Thank you.” She kissed my cheek as we took our seats.
“That’s not what I asked you, Micah,” my dad interjected as I scooted my chair up to the table.
Mom stilled, sucking in a breath. She was so on edge about me being here and what would happen. Hell, it seemed she was even freaked about how my dad and I would get along. Sure, there were lots of bridges that needed to be rebuilt, but that didn’t mean I’d back down from any of them.
My father and I had our issues, but the biggest one was the respect I had for him and he had for me. That I knew had to be mended to the point it was sealed tight. We were making strides but things weren’t simple between us for sure.
“No. Bed’s small, but it sure as hell beats laying in the dirt with bullets flying at your head.”
My father smiled, obviously liking that answer which puzzled me because bullets flying was never funny, but maybe it was my frank honesty. Hell if I knew. It was like learning them both all over again.
My mother, on the other hand, gasped, obviously not liking that analogy. “I’m not ready to hear about that. Not yet.”
“Sorry. Just answering the man’s question.” I reached over and took my mother’s hand, giving it a squeeze in hopes of giving her just a bit of assurance.
My father took his food off the platter and passed it to me. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and pancakes. It had been over four and a half years since I’d had a home-cooked meal from my mom, and I was starved for it.
After living on MRE’s, and takeout when I was stateside, this was heaven. I had eaten enough meals in the chow hall to last my lifetime. This was a five-star gourmet meal.
“Now that’s honest, and we can get ya a bigger bed,” my dad added, forking his food and taking a bite.
I nodded, understanding the reason for his question. “Thanks, but my house is ready for me to move in today. The realtor that handled the rental while I was gone said it’s empty now and ready. Once I get the keys, I plan to go to storage and get my stuff out.”
“You’re not staying here?” my mother asked, not hiding the sadness in her tone.
“Mom, I’m twenty-seven-years-old and need my own space. It’s nothing against you, but I need to start my life, and I can’t do that in my childhood room.”
“Do you have money for that? To be living in the house instead of using it as rental income?” Dad asked.
I nodded, taking a bite of eggs. Since I was an officer, the housing provided wasn’t bad and neither were my paychecks. I had banked a bit during these four years, not to mention the money from before I left. Things were not tight at all. Once I got my regular clients geared up, it would all work out even better so that nest egg could grow.
I continued scooping and eating another bite of eggs. Mom made the best freaking scrambled eggs. It was the milk that made them extra fluffy. Something that not everyone could do, and I could eat a damn dozen of them. After swallowing, I answered. “Yes. Got money banked, contacted a few of my previous clients, and was able to secure some jobs.”
Dad coughed. “Computers?” he asked almost hesitantly, which wasn’t like him, but it was also the reason I ended up leaving in the first place, and it had him on edge.
But I met him head-on, our eyes connected. I needed him to feel me.
To get me.
To understand me.
What I did for clients could get me in trouble, but digging into the Ravage MC was worse making me lose the respect of the entire club. “Yes. I’ll be doing the same as before. It’s what I’m good at.”
“Maybe too good. You dug into shit you didn’t have any right to be in. That shit is gonna cost ya.” His tone was different. As a boy, I thought my father’s voice always thundered. I had learned that was another thing where my mind heightened every sense, including the sounds he made. But this, this was altogether not his usual. He was firm but not angered, more concerned.
My heart hammered in my chest. It wasn’t in fear. No, it was in shame and guilt. Those two things could be worse than any fear imaginable. I’d let my father down. I broke a sacred trust in the club. Some might even view me like an enemy to people I desperately wanted to be family.
“I know.”
“You’re not scared?” Dad asked, his brow raised. He didn’t know what I’d been through. He didn’t know the challenges I faced daily. He didn’t know anything of the past four years except the watered down version I shared. This would be just something else to add to the list.