Walking into his house, he set his suitcase by the door, the low hum of voices reaching him. A heaviness hung in the air and he sighed, wondering if he was chasing fucking unicorns.
Each step down the hallway, toward the den, felt like a pace closer to his fucking execution. Unlike the mansion in LA, Bailey decorated this house with their family in mind. It didn’t only have black, white, or gray color schemes. Nor was there too much marble, no crystal, or any other expensive décor like Kendall had in her house. And it wasn’t a combination like Meggie’s, adapted to suit the life she wanted for her children and the world her husband lived in. He was sure Meggie would’ve been perfectly happy in a reasonably sized house. Over the years, Prez added more than a few rooms on the north side. He went out and up. Meggie made do. She adapted, something she’d done in all areas of her life for as long as Mort had known her.
She consulted Prez for some of the rooms, even when her money paid for redecorations. It was more consideration than Bailey ever gave to Mort, though his money funded it all. It never mattered much to Mort beforehand. And it shouldn’t matter now when he looked around.
Bailey’s touch was everywhere with earthy colors and comfortable furnishings. Welcoming and down-to-earth, like her. Or like she had been. Pop art and family photos decorated their walls, not exclusive pieces that cost thousands. She, like Harley, once loved window seats. Mort had several installed during the last remodel.
He pretended he didn’t remember their family dinners they’d once hosted, before someone decided they should only be at Prez’s house as he passed the kitchen, silent and dark. No aromas of delicious food wafting in the air.
He didn’t want to think about their formal dining room with the sleek fireplace where he and Bailey had shared many a romantic evening because the boys were with Roxanne and Harley was with CJ.
Those memories hurt too much. They felt like a different lifetime—a differentlife. Here, with his family, he left Mortician behind. He wasn’t a killer,thekiller for the club. He forgot the meatshack, the stench of death, the danger. He was husband, father,Lucas.
That wasn’t to say he didn’t consider Roxanne or Meggie or Kendall as his family.TheirMortician was different from the club’s Mortician, but he still wasn’t Lucas to them. He reserved that for Bailey.
She had to understand how much she meant to him. How much he treasured her, missed her, and wanted to help her. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe they’d ever go back to the place they’d beenbeforeshe had her miscarriages. They could be so much better, though.
First, they needed to do right by Harley. They were fucking adults. Enough was fucking enough. And, yeah, Bailey might flip the fuck out and accuse him of putting Harley before her. She’d just have to deal with that. Harley was fucking fifteen years old. They weresupposedto put their daughter first.
Finally, he was there, standing in the doorway of the den, taking in the scene. Bailey in her oversized chair, presiding over everyone like a lonely little queen. Harley squished between Bunny and Roxanne. Lou and Kaleb sat across from one another at the custom-made chess table, while Knox and Zoann sat on opposite ends of the built in bar.
“Daddy!” Harley cried, noticing him first and jumping to her feet.
The relief and joy in her voice hit Mort in the center of his chest. He opened his arms to her and almost cried like a bitch when she launched herself against him, hugging him so tightly, he didn’t think she’d let go.
“Baby girl,” he said, lifting her off her feet and burying his nose in her hair to hide his sniffle. “I missed you so fucking much, Harley. And I’m so sorry for letting you down.”
She cried into his neck. “I’m sorry for being so mean and hateful,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you the way I did.”
“It’s okay, Harley—”
“It certainly isn’t okay,” Bailey inserted.
Setting Harley on her feet, Mort took her hand as he once did when she was a small kid and tugged her closer to Bailey. “Baby, it is. Forgive our baby girl, Bailey. Let it go. We all did fucked up shit in this situation.”
“That isn’t true! She’s a child. Whatever we did to her, it’s because of what she did to us.Me, especially.”
Harley stiffened and Mortician tensed, squeezing her hand. Hoping she took his cue. She did, swallowing whatever she’d been about to say.
“Why are you here, Lucas?” Bailey demanded. “Why aretheyhere?”
Roxanne glowered at her.
“Babe,” Knox called.
Balling her hands into fists, Roxanne clenched her jaw.
Harley glanced at Chester, who nodded. Unfortunately, Bailey saw the interaction. The moment Harley spoke, Mortician knew shit would go sideways.
“I’m so sorry, Mommie. I didn’t mean to be so disrespectful to you or Lolly or Pop.” Still holding Mort’s hand, Harley looked at her brothers. “I’m sorry I was so mean to you, Lou. And you, Kale.”
The boys had missed her most of all. They needed no more incentive or conversation to forgive her, running from their seats and snatching her away from Mort to hug her and envelope her in love and absolution.
“It’s okay, sis,” Lou said, stepping back and smiling. “I even like your new style. Buttoned up from head to toe.”
Harley flushed. Laughing, Lou hugged her and Kaleb again.
Clapping broke the moment.
