“You turning into a hybrid,” Digger grouched. “Half Outlaw, half human. At least when you talk one way at a time, I know who I’m dealing with.”
Mortician stuck his head in, preventing Christopher’s response. “Johnnie headed home, Prez. He said to hit him up if you need him back at the hospital.”
“Didn’t need him outside the fucking church,” Christopher replied. He didn’t need that motherfucker anywhere.
“Go back to the hospital to be with Meggie girl. I’ll make sure CJ gets there.”
“Thanks, Mort.” He left it at that, until he got control of his unfair anger. Megan had been through enough.
“He don’t have to ride bitch,” Digger said. “We have a couple loaners in the parking garage. He needs to graduate from that pussyped anyway, since he’ll soon be a Probate.”
Christopher rested his arms on the desk and clasped his fingers together. “CJ not joining the club.”
He’d pulled back on that decision at CJ’s pleas and Diesel’s suggestion. But the latest incident proved that Christopher had been right all along. CJ couldn’t handle the stress and upheaval of constant bullshit. He felt things too deeply.
The idea of CJ not following in his footsteps devastated Christopher. From the moment his boy was born, he’d dreamed of the day CJ became Prez. Maybe if he’d stuck to Megan’s plan…
No!
Fuck her!
She didn’t know enough to keep herself alive for Christopher. She certainly didn’t know the importance of club politics and optics. If Christopher had begun giving CJ odd jobs around the club when he turned fifteen, as Big Joe did with him, CJ would’ve had an easier timenow.
Instead, they’d both ceded toherwishes and it fucked everything up cuz girls, evenhis, didn’t know how to run the fucking club and nurture younger members.
She was the reason CJ couldn’t join the club, too.
All cuz she was hating on Christopher.
“Prez, you not serious.” Mort’s devastated voice broke through Christopher’s fear that Megan was pulling away from him and his anger at her.
His heart hurting, he scrubbed a hand over his face, ignoring the shock on Mortician and Digger’s faces. Ignoring his own pain, but he would be less than a man—less than a father—if he forced his vision on a boy who’d grown up so privileged.
Mortician sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, so Digger took the other one. If anything ever happened to Mort, motherfucker would be lost.
“CJ know?” Mortician asked gravely.
“We talked about it a few days ago. Ain’t brought it up again.”
“Outlaw,” Val called as he walked into the office. “I told Puff you’re here. She wants to know if you need her to bring you dinner or if you plan to eat at the hospital.”
“I’ll eat with Megan and Rebel,” Christopher said. He needed his wife. He was so fucking lost. He…fuck he needed to take care of club business to focus on his family with a clearer head.
Val nodded and fired off a text. “I told her to bring me a meatball sandwich and a ten pack.”
Digger leaned back in his chair and tipped his head back to look at Val. “What the fuck is a ten-pack, bruh?”
“Beer,” Val answered. “What the fuck you think?”
“You stupid,” Digger replied. “That’s what the fuck I think. They got five packs and thirteen packs. Never heard of a fucking ten pack.”
Christopher searched Digger’s face to see if he was joking. Nope, motherfucker was serious.
“You don’t get a baker’s dozen for beer, fool,” Mortician said.
“What’s a baker’s dozen?” Val asked.
“Fuck all,” Christopher said, not interested in explanations that would drag on. Stupid motherfuckers required details explanations and a lot of fucking patience, which he didn’t fucking have.
