He nodded. “Black Beard, right?”
“Yep.” Her eyes twinkled. “And you had to do a presentation, and I made you that red coat and the little felt beard to wear?”
“Most embarrassing moment of my life.”
She laughed. “You were precious.”
And she’d been eighteen, and a fabulous mother, standing in the back of his classroom, Ava on her hip, whistling and cheering after he took his final bow.
“And afterward,” she said, voice softening, “you said, ‘I wish Dad could have come.’ Because you wanted him to see you doing so well.” Her eyes filled with moisture. “He was there tonight, baby. He saw you doing so well.”
“Mags–”
“I know I’m not your mama. But you’re my boy. So trust me when I tell you this. Your daddy’s a complete idiot, and nothing he ever says comes out right. But he’s so proud of you. I know he is. When you’re talking to him, later, remember that, and don’t get too caught up in his incredibly stupid word choice.”
He nodded. “One thing, though.”
She lifted her brows.
“Do me a favor and don’t ever say you’re not my mama again, okay?”
She started to speak, then nodded instead, lips pressed together as emotion overtook her.
The back door opened and Ghost returned, his gaze moving between them. “Everything alright?”
“Fine, baby.” Maggie stood and went to pour her coffee out in the sink. “I’m gonna go see if the girls need anything.” She kissed Ghost on her way through; kissed Aidan on the cheek too.
Then they were alone. Father and son. The sitdown Aidan had been dreading for months.
He waited for the old familiar writhing in his gut, the band of perspiration that always broke out beneath his collar.
But they didn’t come. Numb…or, maybe…calm, finally, he watched Ghost drag out a chair and sit down across from him.
So often lately he’d noticed his dad looking old and weary. But tonight there was a new vibrancy to the man, an echo of the tan boxing champ who’d once swept Maggie Lowe off her high-heeled feet. The fighting had invigorated him. For the first time in months, his face was free of strain, the sun and laugh lines softer than normal in his wind-roughened face.
They sat a moment, the silence gathering between them…but not in a sinister way. Aidan could sense no malice radiating off his father, and that was when he realized what was about to happen: not a lecture, but a conversation.
They hadn’t had one since their talk in the spare bedroom of Ava and Mercy’s house, right after his hideous bike crash.
Ghost said, “Right after Ava was born, we had this guy come in as a prospect, and he turned out to be a mole for a rival club. You remember?”
Vaguely. He’d been just a kid, and no one had explained things to him outright, but he remembered the tension around the dinner table, the way Maggie had peeked out the windows more than usual, her face tight with worry. He nodded.
“Duane was an impatient man, but a very patient president,” he said of his uncle. “So he thought it prudent to keep this mole on, let him think we didn’t know what he was up to, let him lead us back to his people when the time was right.”
“Sounds smart.”
“It was. And dangerous. I had two kids, and a wife fresh outta high school, and I didn’t have the stomach for waiting. So I killed the guy. Slit his throat and burned the body.” The matter of fact way he revealed this brought up the fine hairs on the back of Aidan’s neck. That’s what it was, to become a president of the Lean Dogs – you lost the part of yourself who found horror in the unspeakable.
“What did Duane say?” Aidan asked.
“He was furious. Called me names. Threatened to take my patches. He didn’t mean any of it, obviously.” He shrugged. “But he said I was a stupid kid, acting rashly out of fear. That fear would get me killed one of these days, he told me. It would get my brothers killed.”
Aidan stared at his father, finding it hard to see even a trace of fear in the man sitting across from him.
“Iwasafraid,” Ghost consented. “I still am. I’m scared shitless all the damn time. And you know what?” He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Duane was wrong.”
Aidan felt his brows go up.
