Chapter 8

EIGHT

Climbing out of my third Uber of the day, I wave a friendly goodbye to my driver, then heave an irritated sigh as I shut the door and wait for the car to speed off. That’s when I return Dark’s texts, standing in the middle of a dusty, gravel parking lot as the overhead sun fills me with nature's vitamin D and makes it hard to read whatever mishmash of letters I pound in my haste to tell him to fuck right the hell off.

Thanks to the glare, it takes three tries to fix all the typos.

Me: I don’t know how many times I must repeat this. I bought the train ticket! I ordered the Uber using my work phone with my fake name! I entered the building with my bag and turned in my ticket for my phony trip. I changed my clothes in the bathroom, counted to a gazillion, left, and called another Uber using this phone five blocks away.

Him: It was supposed to be six. Six blocks, Kali. Not five.

Me: Maybe it was six.

It was actually seven. Fuck him very much, but I’m not telling him that because his instructions are annoyingly detailed. I’m an adult, not a kindergartener. I covered my tracks. To avoid a fight, I did exactly what Dark ordered me to do. Now he’s getting on my last nerve for me doing just that. I can’t win.

Shoving my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, I ignore the buzzing against my ass and enter the roadside restaurant out in the middle of no-fucking-where. From the outside, the western-styled bar and grill looks like a dilapidated shithole. The inside feels like home.

A portly, snaggle-toothed waitress carrying an armful of plastic menus lumbers to the front door to greet me. She’s downright adorable as she aggressively points to the rear of the bar and grins. “Girl, git your bony ass where it belongs.”

Throwing my head back, a laugh rips out of my throat. “It’s nice to see you, too, Marge.” I pat her shoulder as I do just that—get my bony ass where it belongs. Not that I think I have a bony behind. My ass is shapely. Maybe not bootylicious, but there’s a slope—a curve. Not all of us can be graced with two dump trucks attached to our rears like dear ole Marge.

Tucked in a back corner, two dark heads sit around a table. Giddiness ignites in my veins as I approach.

I tussle the one with the fullest head of hair.

“Hey, Mom,” he greets, looking up at me from his seat as his brother Tarek snickers and two-finger waves—his typical male greeting.

“Hey, back. Long time no see, stranger.” I smooch his upturned forehead. “Wasn’t sure if you were gonna show today.” Wanting to remain close to him, I pull out the well-worn chair next to my son and claim it for myself.

Marge rushes in before we get a chance to chat, drops plastic menus on the table in front of each of my boys, and arches a gray, brushy brow in my direction. “The uzhe?”

“Has the menu changed?” I tease, already knowing the answer.

She flips me off.

I smile like a movie star.

“The uzhe, it is,” she crows, then turns her attention to my sons when she says, “You two look just like your daddy and grandpa.” She whistles as if they’re the hottest men she’s ever laid eyes on. Around these parts, that’s partly true. This dot on a map is more than a bar and grill. It’s a safe space for bikers. The number of leather-clad, weapon-toting men that frequent this place is the only reason it’s stayed afloat all these years. They even have a backroom for meetings—or church, if you’re hip with the motorcycle club lingo.

That sounded lame, didn’t it?

Hip with the lingo.

Shoot me now.

Tarek grins and puffs up his chest at her compliment, more for Marge’s benefit than his. He’s a good kid.

Fog remains stoic, showing no emotion.

I don’t expect anything different.

Being reminded he looks anything like his father is never… good. Fog took Dark’s cheating the hardest. Probably harder than me, if that’s possible. He idolized his father down to his clothes, his favorite music, and even the movies he watched. Unlike his brother, Fog wanted to be a Sacred Sinner since he started walking. The aftermath of Dark’s deception destroyed their relationship like a land mine neither of them could avoid. There is a thin line between love and hate, and their line is damn near invisible. For years, Dark has tried to mend fences. I know he has. But I’m sure you can guess how that’s gone.

Marge reads the room like the smart cookie she is and vanishes to give the boys a chance to pick their lunch.

Elbows perched on the table edge, head hanging low, fingers shoved through his hair, Fog sits in despair like Fog always does, being the most sensitive, introspective of my kids. He’s also the biggest at well over six foot three and, if I had to put a number on it, in the range of three hundred pounds, or so his size 2XL shirts would indicate.

Drumming his fingers on the table's edge, Tarek grins at me as if his brother isn’t having a crisis. “Sooo…” he drawls. “I hear you only went five blocks.”

This little shithead.

“You talked to Dad,” I guess as the hairs on the back of my arms stand on end, sending a chill down my spine.

“Yeah. He talked to Dad,” a gruff voice speaks from behind me.

I freeze.

Smoother than silk, the Devil himself slides the chair out beside me, across from Fog, and bumps his foot against mine as it settles under the table.

I forget to breathe.

Fog squeezes my knee beneath the table in tune with my internal freakout.

I dislodge a stuttering breath.

Dark reaches out to tuck a strand of hair around the shell of my ear like it’s a normal day in some new reality I’m unaware of.

My heart punches my sternum like we’re in a heavy-weight boxing match. My muscles seize, turning my frame into an ironing board, as I wait for him to extract his everything from my bubble. Once his featherlight touch clears my earlobe, it trails lower to drag across my neck. Somebody kill me now, pinch me, or whatever works. I don’t like this dream.

Not down with his father’s games, Fog glares at Dark as his hand on my knee tightens. I cuff my palm over his to communicate all is well. That I’m okay. Sure, I’m a little surprised. I didn’t expect Dark to show up. You’d think I’d have noticed his bike in the parking lot. When I arrived, I’d seen Tarek’s sleek black Harley and Fog’s red, flaming devil. Then again, by the looks of Dark, he’s in undercover mode—an expensive black suit and a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the throat where that stupidly attractive tattoo lives. No tie or pocket square. Simple yet sexy. It’s a stark contrast compared to my leather-cut, t-shirt, and jeans-wearing sons.

“I take it you didn’t ride in?” I force out when my ex finally gives me space.

“Nope. The black Mercedes is mine for now.” Dark relaxes in his chair.

I hum in response, not knowing what else to say. I didn’t see the car when I arrived. Then again, he could have arrived after me and snuck in. Or he could be parked out back. Not that it matters.

Marge takes this opportunity to integrate herself back into our family reunion. Looking at Dark, she wipes the back of her hand across her forehead like she might faint. Then the wicked woman leans down and whispers toward me, but loud enough that the entire table can hear, “Is it just me, or has he gotten sexier?” She fans her face as her cheeks burn bright red.

Tarek snickers.

The jerk himself beams like she handed him a trophy and takes it a step further when he blows the woman a kiss. This might very well be the end of poor Marge, as she almost swoons right off her feet. Before she collapses, I reach out and grip her forearm to keep her upright. Her gaze locked on my ex, Marge blinks a handful of times before she clears her throat and pats the top of my hand, which remains gently cuffed around her arm. When I’m convinced she won’t keel over, I let go.

Marge’s gaze swings from Dark to me. “Thank ya, darlin’.” She pats my shoulder. “I’m gonna get ya an extra slice of pie for that.”

I open my mouth to tell her it’s unnecessary. Trust me, I understand the effects Dark has on women, and that’s why he does what he does for the club. Her matronly stare cuts me off before I can make a peep. “Let’s hope it’ll give ya a bigger hiney.” Marge flashes me a mischievous wink. Then she’s gone, lumbering away as if she didn’t just insult my ass.

Tarek cackles.

Rubbing my temple with my middle finger, I covertly flip him the bird.

Dark smirks but doesn’t let the teasing insult go when he calls to Marge’s retreating form loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear, “Kali’s ass is perfect the way it is.”

The handful of men at the bar hoot like a cluster of buffoons.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I quell the urge to kick Dark in the shin for opening his big mouth. Was that necessary? I think not. Nobody needs to come to the defense of my ass, except me. I am perfectly capable of defending myself.

“Right answer, lover boy,” Marge replies. “Your uzhe is comin’ right up. But I’m tellin’ Hank to add extra onions.” The woman whistles a merry tune all the way to the kitchen.

Dark drags a hand down his face and groans.

“It’s gonna be the whole plate.” I press my lips together to keep from bursting into maniacal laughter.

“I know.” Dark’s chin hits his chest in defeat.

“You shouldn’t have almost given her a heart attack.”

He snorts. “I was bein’ nice.”

Sure, he was.

“You’re playin’ with fire.”

My ex glances up and bats his pretty lashes at me. “I’m only playin’ with fire when I’m with you, babe.”

Not at all impressed, I roll my eyes.

“Shut the fuck up.” Fog points at his father. “I didn’t agree to be here so you could talk to Mom like that.”

Not wanting to make things worse, Dark raises both hands in mock surrender. “It was a joke.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Fog grips the table's edge like he’s about to come across it any second. The vein in his neck throbs as he clenches his jaw so hard I’m afraid he’ll crack a tooth.

Worried about my son, I grasp his knee under the table this time. My hand doesn’t cover much, but it conveys enough. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m good.” I double-squeeze to communicate I’m not lying. Because I’m not. I am okay.

Fog’s glare finally breaks from Dark and swings to me, where it softens. “He’s a fuckin’ dick.”

“I know.” My voice is a mere whisper.

“This is such a fun family outing. We should do this more often,” Tarek deadpans without an ounce of mirth. Though, I see the glint of smartassery in his eyes.

Head shaking as if he doesn’t know whether to punch his brother or let shit go, Fog’s lip kicks up in the corner in a microscopic grin. It’s gone in a flash, but the tension at the table disappears, which gives me a chance to soak in the presence of my boys as they finally scan their menus. It’s been months since I’ve seen either of them in person. FaceTime is great, but nothing beats ruffling their hair or watching them smile in person. Marge was spot-on when she said they resemble their father and Sunshine, and it goes beyond the physical. It’s even in the way they move—like predators, graceful with purpose. The simple act of flipping over their menus is familiar. It’s nice. This is nice. I’m glad they came today.

Marge returns with a round of water and takes the boys’ orders and menus. She doesn’t write any of it down. Not even Tarek’s list of burger additions—he has a thing for mozzarella sticks on burgers, and not in replacement of the cheese, in addition to it. Don’t ask. It’s Sunshine’s doing—a diner experience when Tarek was little. Fog’s a different story. He’s simple. When he says, “Give me the best thing you got,” he means it.

“You sure?” Marge tucks the menus under her arm.

“Yes, ma’am,” Fog replies with a definitive nod.

Grinning at his politeness, Marge pats my kid on the shoulder. Looks like he’s earned himself an extra slice of pie, too. People Marge likes are treated like royalty by her and her husband Hank. If royalty consists of extra homemade dessert. To me, that feels a whole lot like royalty. The people who piss them off get onions. Don’t ask me why it’s onions. I have no idea and never had the heart to ask.

Since the first time I met Marge, over two decades ago, on a visit to one of the California Chapters, I’ve adored her. She was just as sassy back then as she is now, but she got around better. Age will do that to ya. Being on your feet running this place six days a week will also do that to ya.

Dark sips his water. “Five blocks, huh?” He speaks against the edge of his glass before he takes a bigger drink.

Looks like we’re still stuck on my Uber from the station. Why are we back to this conversation? I thought the case was closed.

“It was seven.” I spill the truth because enough is enough. What is it with these men?

“Told you.” Tarek puts his hand out, rocking an I-win, pay-up-sucker smile.

Grumbling good-natured expletives under his breath, Dark yanks his wallet from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. It’s full of big bills as he rifles through them and slaps a crisp fifty into our son's open palm.

Fog stretches his tattooed hand across the table, mimicking his brother’s pose. Dark doesn’t hesitate to slap a fifty there, too. If Mr. Moneybags wants to spread the wealth, I’d happily take some of that off his hands. But I know it’s not his money. It’s the clubs. He’s playing his part of the rich man, ready to buy high-dollar pussy at an illegal auction. Dark’s acting skills are immaculate, which is why being married to him was scary at times. Worrying about what was real and what might be fake messed with my head when we were younger. Especially when he was gone for weeks, sometimes months at a time, and he couldn’t tell where he’d gone, what he’d done, or why they needed him there. Club business stays club business. Thankfully, as the boys grew older, he took fewer assignments that kept him away from us for longer than a week or two. Until Abby and we all know how that went.

“So, we’re betting on Mom now, are we?” I gesture to the money they’re stowing in their respective wallets.

Tarek sits forward to slide his wallet back into his rear pocket. “Dad’s been blowing up my phone?—”

“Tarek,” Dark hisses, slapping his palm on the tabletop.

“What?” Resettling in his seat, our son shrugs a single shoulder up and down. “It’s true.”

Squeezing his eyes shut as if he wants nothing to do with this conversation, Dark shrinks in his chair and crosses both arms over his big chest. Once again, his foot knocks into mine under the table before it starts to bounce. My heart jolts at the accidental contact, and I turn my body away to keep him from doing it again.

Ignoring his father’s reaction, Tarek keeps talking. “Dad’s been worried about you.”

“Okay?” That’s nothing new.

“You need to check your apartment.”

Ah. Shit. Here we go.

“Christ,” Dark bites off, shaking his head in frustration.

“Why?” I look between them for answers.

Tarek’s the first to fill in the blanks. “Dad had cameras installed.”

He what? What?

Hating where this is headed, I massage the frown lines between my brows as they begin to ache. “He… I don’t understand.”

Shifting in his chair, Dark stares at me straight-on. “We agreed you need to be safe.”

Fog nods as if he concurs with his father’s sentiment, which shocks the hell out of me. Them on the same side of anything doesn’t compute.

“I agreed to no such thing,” Tarek chimes in. “Invading Mom’s privacy without her knowledge is bullshit, and you both know it. Pops agreed.”

Great. Sunshine’s involved, too. It’s a family affair.

The other two males at the table remain quiet, and I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. I have cameras in my apartment. Why would they need to be inside my apartment, and why wouldn’t he have asked before installing them? Inside my apartment is the safest place I can be on this assignment. It’s in a gated complex with eight units. It’s small. It’s secure. That was the point of me moving there.

An awkward silence descends.

Tarek relaxes back in his chair as if his conscience is now clear.

Blowing out a breath, I try to navigate this. “Sooo,” I drawl. “I came up here on my only weekend off to see my sons, and when I get back to my apartment, I have to search for cameras. What the hell, guys?”

My ex lifts his glass and takes a long sip of water. I watch his throat work as he swallows. “You’re ours to protect.”

That’s his explanation. Really?

“Wrong. I protect myself.” I point to my chest for emphasis. “ Who has access to my apartment cameras?”

“Dad,” Tarek answers, staring pointedly at his father as if waiting for him to deny it. But he does no such thing.

“Dark. What the fuck? You asked me to be a part of this. I have followed every single order you have given me. I have built a friendly relationship with—” I stop talking and look around as if there are cameras here with microphones, listening to our conversation, even though I know that’s impossible. Marge chases out the riffraff, and Hank is a former biker, who I’m pretty sure sweeps for bugs daily to keep their clientele safe. Leaning forward so far that my breasts press against the table’s edge, I gesture to our sons with a flick of my chin. “Am I even allowed to speak about this in mixed company?”

My ex nods. “Yes. They’ve been briefed.”

This motherfucker.

“Why were our sons briefed, Dark?” Reaching inside my front pocket, I extract a small, tumbled obsidian crystal and slam it down on the table in front of him because he’s going to need it—for protection from me. I’m gonna murder him for real this time. It’s a miracle it doesn’t shatter under the force of my rage.

The jerk stares at the small stone with wide, expressive gray eyes, then at me. For a suspended moment, I think he’s going to do or say something, but then he blinks, and the cool mask of indifference descends, locking into place. One that can’t be penetrated because he no longer cares to care. He’s Dark, the businessman. Dark, the biker. He doesn’t have feelings. He’s a big, bad man.

Fuck him.

“Because I wanted them to be.” My ex shrugs as if this isn’t a big deal, but it’s an enormous deal to me.

“Dark,” I whisper-hiss.

“Yes?” he replies in his uppity, posh tone that makes my skin crawl.

“I told you,” Tarek announces as if he’s telling his father and brother they’ve done fucked up. Because they have.

But this Dark doesn’t care.

This Dark is a person I hate. Not the fake hate created from a broken heart and shattered dreams. The real kind, where you can’t even look at the asshole any longer. Because I know if I do, I’ll get up and leave and never turn back. I’ll ruin any chance I have of catching up with my boys. They are what I came here for. Not him. He wasn’t even supposed to be here.

Needing space, I remove myself from the table to use the ladies’ room. I take too much time washing my hands and staring at myself in the mirror for no reason other than to bide my time in hopes Marge will bring our food before I return.

Wanting to look nice for Tarek and Fog, I wore makeup today—smokey eyes and blood-red lips. I also put effort into my outfit since I haven’t been able to since the start of my job— dark skinny jeans, a charcoal t-shirt with an Edgar Allen Poe quote on it, and black Chucks. Is it wildly fashionable? No. It’s comfortable and fitting for a biker bar.

The door to the restroom opens. Marge comes in with a concerned expression etched across her face. “What happened?”

Heaving a sigh, I lean my hip against the sink. “My ex is a dick.”

“Oh, honey, we know.” She waves the knowledge off. “We all know. Damn, fine man, fucked up and lost a damn fine woman. Even if I hadn’t asked Hank to give him onions, he would have done it on principle alone.” Sprier than she’s been all day, Marge swoops in and hugs me up tight, much like I suspect a grandma would, had I ever known mine. Not realizing how much I needed this, I return the embrace with just as much strength, and Marge grunts. “Don’t break these bones now.”

Inhaling her familiar mixture of beer, cheap perfume, and fried food scent, I chuckle. “I won’t.”

Marge is the first to pull away but doesn’t go far when she thumbs toward the closed door. “I made a call. Figured you might need a little distraction.”

“Marge. What did you do?”

“I said I made a call.” The wicked woman smiles like she ate the canary and leaves me standing in the bathroom, watching the door suction itself closed with the nosiest hiss.

Then I hear a memorable voice before I see her.

The bathroom door slowly opens, and a blue-haired sprite of a woman walks in.

“Pixie!” I rush one of my oldest friends and hug her up, much like Marge did with me.

Her small arms wrap around my center as she giggles like a tinkly fairy at my enthusiasm. “Hey, Kali.”

Once I’ve gotten my fill, I pull back and give her a solid once-over. It’s been years since I last saw her in person. “You look amazing,” I gush, gesturing toward the bright tattoos flowing up both arms, now traveling onto her throat.

Not one to take compliments well, the shy woman blushes a thousand shades of crimson and combs a shaky hand through her hair. “Thanks. I think.” Unable to look at me, she stares at the white bathroom wall until her discomfort fizzles away.

There’s a quiet knock on the bathroom door.

“Kali. Marge said to get your…” The male clears his throat uncomfortably, like he can’t say the words.

“My bony ass out there?” I answer for him as a giant smile spreads across my face.

The door opens, revealing the smallest gap, and Axel, Pixie’s old man, peeks through it. “Care to join us?”

Leading the way, my friend snatches my hand. Ever the gentleman, Axel opens the door for us to pass and rejoin my family—where two more chairs have been set for our guests, and plates of steaming food fill every inch of the tabletop. We pack in like sardines, and I’ve never been more grateful for the distraction in my life. Despite the solid, three-inch pile of onions on top of Dark’s chili cheese fries, he had better cough up a big tip for Marge. This spread is fantastic.

On a plate bigger than my head, my breaded chicken salad with homemade croutons and ranch is a sight for sore eyes. Famished, I dive in as Tarek scoops his dad’s onions off his plate onto his own. Even Pixie and Axel have piping hot breakfast platters ready to devour. The food soothes me. So many nights, we ended up here, laughing and carrying on with our friends, much like this. Those were simpler times when Pixie lived here with her family. Before she and Axel moved across the country to the Sacred Sinner’s Mother Chapter, where Pixie owns an all-female tattoo shop. It’s wild to think we spent many nights here talking about her dream of doing just that.

Throughout lunch, Dark carefully shovels the messiest of fries into his mouth with a fork and fingers the obsidian rock beside his plate. Now and again, as he chats with Axel, he’ll look over, smile, and resume whatever they’re talking about.

Fog plucks a crouton from my plate and crunches down. I nudge the butthead's foot under the table, and my son genuinely smiles at me for the first time since I got here, releasing a tightness in my chest I didn’t know was there. For the first time all day, I breathe easier in the company of those I love the most, minus Sunshine and Lily.

When Dark and Axel finish their meals first, they leave to throw darts at the far side of the bar beside the red-felted pool tables with beer logo lights hanging above them. Not long after, our sons join them, but not before Fog and Tarek tidy up their empty plates and kiss my cheek. Marge sneaks in once they’ve left and steals Dark’s chair. Probably in hopes she can smell him. I can’t say I blame her. He does smell amazing, and she has always had a crush on him and Sunshine.

“You’re on a job?” Pix asks once the men are far from earshot.

I nod, and she leaves it at that, knowing I can’t divulge more, even though I’d love to.

Placing both palms on the tabletop, Marge leans in conspiratorially. “What is going on with you two?” Her gaze swaps from our table to Dark and the guys.

“With Dark?” I ask to be sure.

Her nod confirms my question.

“We’re on the same assignment.” I pluck a lonesome crouton from the corner of my half-full plate and pop it into my mouth.

“Ah. Makes sense. He called yesterday to make sure I only let our regulars in today and called again this morning to double-check.”

“He’s protective of me.”

“Because he loves you.”

“In his own way. Yes,” I agree and turn toward Pixie to change the subject. “How’s the shop?”

“It’s great. How’s the tattoo?”

Alone in our restaurant area, I get out of my seat and pull up my shirt to the edge of my bra, exposing part of my back and my stomach. I do a complete turn.

Having never seen this side of me before, Marge’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.

Sliding from her seat onto mine, Pix examines her masterpiece with scrutiny only an artist would. She hums thoughtfully as I turn slowly, allowing her to see it for the first time in years.

“This is some of my best work,” she whispers, more to herself than us. “It’s aged just how I thought it would.”

She’s right. It has.

From my ribs down to my hips, wrapping around both sides and up my entire back, is the colorful story of me—entangled in an intricate garden of life.

In the center of my stomach, where I bore my sons, is my favorite scene—a skull lying in a bed of roses with two ravens standing upon its head, facing one another. Between their beaks is a real heart, like the one beating in our chests. Blood drips from the organ down the front of the skull into the flower bed below, right above my womb. To some, it may look creepy. To me, it’s symbolic—bleeding lifeblood into our children. The ravens are a representation of Dark and me. Two becoming one. Vines and flowers wrap from there, up my sides, onto my back, where a lily blooms, and at the top of my shoulder, there’s a sun, and with its brilliant light, it feeds the flowers below. Sunshine.

Everyone is here, inked into flesh. Nobody would guess I had a tattoo covering this much of my body. But that’s the point, isn’t it? With clothes on, I can look normal if I want to, whatever that means. With them off, the deepest parts of me are revealed.

Squinting, Marge points to something on my side. “Is that a crystal frog sitting on a leaf?”

Pix turns me to give Marge a better view. “It sure is.”

“He’s cute,” she says.

“Thanks.” I chuckle, enjoying Marge’s awe far too much.

Did you know, in Egyptian mythology, frogs represent fertility and new life? When I was homeschooled, Mom had an entire section on amphibians in the Mythos. Frogs and toads hold a lot of weight in many ancient cultures. As a kid, I was obsessed with them.

“How long did all that take?” Marge gestures toward all of me.

“Twelve sessions, I think,” Pix answers. “That’s somewhere between fifty to seventy-five hours.”

Leaning back in her chair and crossing both arms under her ample breasts, Marge sniffs. “And men think women are weak.”

“Women do sit better for tattoos. Though I’ve done most of Dark’s ink, and he’s taken it well,” Pixie explains.

“Even the throat?” Marge touches her neck.

Pix nods. “Yep. Even the throat.”

“Shee-it,” Marge whistles, impressed. That makes two of us. I was with him when he got the tattoo—one session and one touch-up a month later, that’s all it took.

“Don’t let him fool ya, Marge. Dark whined for three days when his throat swelled, and he had trouble sleeping.” He was miserable, hating life. We went through a dozen ice packs, and he refused to shower in anything other than water cold enough to shrivel his balls.

“That shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does.” The wicked woman smiles.

Once Pixie’s gone over every inch of my tattoo, I drop my shirt back into place. Just as I do, Fog appears at our table. “Can I talk to you about something?” He touches my arm and jerks his chin toward the front door. I guess we need to talk outside.

Leaving the ladies to chat, I trail my son out the front. He doesn’t stop there but walks around the side of the building to the back, where he leans against the dilapidated siding beside a row of dumpsters, and I post in front of him.

“What’s up, kiddo?” I ask.

Fidgeting, refusing to make eye contact, Fog looks up to the sky. “What I’m about to tell you, Tarek already knows.”

That sounds… ominous.

“Okayyy?” I drawl.

“You can’t tell Dad.”

Oh, boy. This doesn’t sound promising.

“Okay. I won’t,” I vow and cross my heart so he knows I’m serious. I wouldn’t ever betray his trust.

Puffing up his shoulders like he’s pumping himself up to say whatever he brought me out here to say, Fog tugs at the edges of his cut. “Tarek said I need to stop lying.”

“Lying about what, exactly?”

My son expels a harsh breath and tips his head down to stare at the gravel beneath our feet, still refusing to make eye contact. He kicks a bigger rock with the toe of his boot, and it flies under one of the dumpsters. “I know this isn’t the best time.” He chews on his bottom lip.

“It’s always a good time to talk to your mother.” I speak softly, hoping to coax this kid out of his shell.

“What if I said I… Fuck…” Kicking another rock, Fog massages the nap of his neck. “What if I… said I… had a… partner?” He forces the words out as if they are scary to say.

“I’d ask if it was serious and when I could meet them?” I tread lightly because this seems to be a big deal.

Still staring at the ground like it’s the most fascinating thing, he bobs his head along with my words. “What if it wasn’t a…” he trails off, unable to form the words.

A ball of excitement ignites in my belly like a basket of caffeinated frogs.

“Oh. Ohhhh …” I clap loudly and bounce on the balls of my feet. This is it. It’s finally happening!

Fog looks up at me with the widest, most expressive eyes. “What are you doing, Mom?”

“You’re gonna say it,” I cheer, thrusting a hand in the air.

My son frowns, the lines in his forehead stressing as he looks at me as if I’ve been possessed. “I’m gonna say what?”

“Is this when you come out of the closet?” I squeak.

“What?”

“Are you dating a man?” The words rush out because it’s happening! It’s finally happening!

Please be brave. Please be brave. You can do this.

“Am I…” Fog chokes on his words. “Am I…”

“Dating a man?” I urge, far less chill than I planned to be when the day came.

“Mom.”

“Is that a yes?” My feet can’t stop moving as I wiggle in place.

My son’s frown deepens to the point if anyone sees us, they fear for my life, but I’m not worried. He’s not mad. He’s struggling. “Mom, why are you dancing?”

Unable to stop, I wiggle, wiggle, wiggle in the rocks, creating a small crater with my feet. “Because… I’m excited! Are you dating a man?” I sound hopeful, too hopeful.

“Mom, you’re freakin’ me out.”

“Because you’re ready to tell me you’re gay?”

You’ve got this. You’ve got it, Fog. Just say the words. Say the damn words!

“Mom.”

“What?” I jam an eager hand into my pocket to pull out the red tiger’s eye crystal and offer it to my son—for courage.

With a shake of his head and the cutest of crooked grins, he places his palm out, face up. I drop the crystal right onto his heartline, and he crushes his fist around it like it’s a lifeline as he breathes in deep, expanding his chest. Tears well in his eyes as he swallows thickly. Then, the moment happens. The sky opens, and the world aligns, and finally, fucking finally, my son utters the words I’ve been waiting on forever. “Yes. I’m dating a man.”

Slamming my body into Fog’s with more force than I intend, he crashes into the back of the building as I wrap him into the biggest mama bear hug. Laughing with tears trickling down his cheeks, he returns the embrace and encases me in his cushy softness. I stuff my nose between his pecs and breathe in the fresh scent of mint and man.

“I’m so proud of you,” I speak to his heart. To his brave soul.

“Thanks, Mom.” He chuckles wetly and kisses the top of my head.

“So. So. Proud!” I crow into the cotton of his shirt.

Resting my cheek against his sternum, arms locked around his middle, I listen to the wild beat of Fog’s heart as his chest expands with deep, emotional breaths. Imbuing all my love through our connection, I wait for him to soak in the realness of the moment and relax. Inside my head, I whisper encouragement and mantras of strength handed down to me from my mother— Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha . Eventually, a quiet calm descends, his tense muscles uncoil, and his heart rate returns to normal. Only then do I break our embrace and step back far enough to look him in the eye but close enough to reach up and thumb away the wetness cascading down his cheek.

“You already knew, huh?” The slightest grin ticks up at the corner of Fog’s mouth.

“Of course I did. For many years.” I’m a mother. We notice things.

He squeezes his fist around the crystal still in his hand. “And you just waited?” He sounds offended.

“Yes.” I’d wait forever if I had to. That’s what mothers do.

“Why? This would have been a lot easier if you’d have told me you knew.”

“It’s not my place to tell you who you are. You’d tell me whenever you were ready.”

“I’ve been stressing over this for years.”

I shrug. “Well, no more stressing.”

“That’s not so easy,” Fog groans. “I’m a biker. Liking dick isn’t widely supported.”

This is true, but the Sacred Sinners aren’t like other clubs. Sure, you have your assholes, but a gay couple—Bear and Ghost, run the Texas chapter, and nobody gives a damn.

“If they have a problem with it, they have Dad, Pops, and Tarek to deal with. And me. I’m scariest of them all.” I throw my hands out to show how scary I can be, and I twist my face into something terrifying. Sort of.

The scariness isn’t effective when my son chuckles. It’s low and shakes his entire frame. I try not to take offense. “That’s true.”

“Which part?”

“That you’re the scariest.” Shaking his head, Fog smiles at my level of ridiculousness. He knows I’m right.

“See. I got your back, and… Dad and Pops already know, so you might as well tell them. They’ve been waiting, too.”

Fog blinks as if he didn’t expect me to say that. “ Dad knows? Pops knows?”

“Duh.” Listen, as much as I love my son and would have waited until the end of time for him to tell me he was into dudes, he wasn’t exactly covert when he made off-handed comments about attractive actors and the number of men’s magazines with built, older men I found in his room was enough to confirm any suspicion. Those mixed with his lack of dating females, and I easily put two and two together.

“And Dad doesn’t care?” Fog asks as if that’s news to him.

“Why would he care unless the guy you’re dating is a douchebag?”

“Because he’s Dad.”

“Exactly. He’s Dad. Raised by Pops, one of the most open-minded men I’ve ever met.” There’s not a single bigoted bone in either of their bodies. Just because Fog and Dark haven’t been on the best of terms doesn’t mean he’s some asshole father who would hate or disown his kid for loving whoever he loved. If Fog suddenly said he was into imaginary rainbow fairies and needed to catch them in a magical net made of silk, they’d weave the net themselves and help him catch a fairy. No questions asked. That’s what you do for family.

Fog rolls the tiger’s eye between his thick fingers. “Tarek warned me.”

“Warned you how?”

“That I was being an idiot.”

Then Tarek was right.

“Because you were worried?” I ask to be sure. “Wait. Is this why you haven’t been texting me back lately?”

Looking everywhere but me, Fog replies a quiet, “Yes.”

This kid. Ugh. Every call and text has been met with one or two-word responses. Never full sentences. It’s been going on for months. I asked Tarek about it. He said Fog was busy. That he’d get back to me soon. I chalked it up to young adulthood. Not everyone wants to chat with their mom once they’re grown. They’re too cool for that. It happens. Eventually, most outgrow that phase. Or so I hear.

Crowding him with my much smaller body, I pop my kid upside his skull. “Calvin Fog, don’t do that shit again,” I scold.

My son snickers and rubs the side of his head. “I won’t.” He smiles down at me as if he finds me cute. To him, I probably am. That’s what happens when you have boys who are already taller than you before they hit high school.

“I mean it.” I wag my finger at him like only moms can. “We’re a family. We get through things together.” Finished getting my point across, I put my finger weapon away. “Now, do you have a picture of your boyfriend? Does Tarek like him? Is he another Sacred Sinner? Does he know your mom is a little crazy?” I rattle off, sounding far more like Cell than I care to admit.

Pulling out his phone from his front pants pocket, Fog opens it with a swipe. And there he is… My son’s boyfriend is on the screen when he holds it out for me.

Wow. Okay. That’s not what I was expecting. Perhaps a cute twink. Someone younger.

“He’s older than you,” I observe, noting the lines accentuating his eyes and bracketing his lips as he smiles. Attractive, but older, much older. Dark’s gonna murder him.

“He is,” Fog confirms with an adorable, shy grin, swiping to show me another picture and then another of his boyfriend. He has good taste, I’ll give him that.

When he lands on a shirtless photo, I grow slightly uncomfortable. “Don’t tell your father,” I whisper-hiss, knowing Dark will want to murder this guy. A pocket-sized, college-age boy. Perfect. This guy… Correction…. This man … is much older and just as big as Fog, and we’ve already established how large my son is.

Frowning down at me, Fog appears confused. “Don’t tell Dad what?”

“Any of this.” I gesture to his phone and the photo of his man wearing a club vest.

“But you said he already knows.”

“He does. Unofficially. If you tell him, he’s gonna ask the same questions, and he’s gonna hate you’re dating a man that age.”

As much as I love my son and am overjoyed he’s finally comfortable being himself, dating someone much older scares me—for his sake, not mine. They are decades apart. He’s barely out of high school compared to a man who has tons of life experience.

“I’m an adult,” he argues, not at all on board with my concern.

Not wanting to ruffle his feathers any further, I gently touch my kid's arm to calm him. “You’re still his son,” I speak softly.

Whatever fight is brewing in Fog deflates the second he realizes I’m on his side. Always. No matter what. If he’s happy, I’m happy.

“Do you really think this is gonna be a problem?”

“With Dad? Probably. He’s protective of everyone in our family. And if he knows him, that’s gonna be worse.”

“Dad does know him.”

“Of course he does.” I massage the bridge of my nose. “What’s his name?”

“Lace.”

Hmmm… Lace. I’ve heard that name before, but I can’t place where.

“You guys out here?” Tarek calls, rounding the corner to join us—the heels of his boots crunching through the gravel.

Tarek takes one look at us, at Fog’s phone, and presses his lips together like he’s trying hard not to laugh.

“I know,” I announce to my eldest. “But Dad’s gonna be pissed when he finds out who he’s dating.”

“Lace is a good dude,” Tarek defends, surprising the heck out of me.

Is it just me, or does today keep getting weirder and weirder? I came here for lunch and to catch up with my sons, only to see Dark, visit with Pixie, and now this. Not that I’m complaining. I’m happy for Fog, and Dark hasn’t pissed me off too much.

Turning to Tarek, I put my hand on my hip. “So. Spill.”

“Spill what?” He runs a hand through his hair.

“If Fog’s sharing big news, I’m sure you have something to share.” I arch my brow and wait for him to come clean.

“Like what?” Tarek looks genuinely baffled.

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Fog wouldn’t randomly come out of the closet. It doesn’t fit his personality. Why today? Why now?”

They share a look.

Then, it dawns on me like a light switch being flipped on.

The assignment.

The risk.

The need to protect me.

“You told me because of the assignment,” I address my youngest.

Fog shrugs up one of his big shoulders and drops it hard. Yep. Thought so. That’s confirmation enough. When I run jobs for the club, the details are secure. Nobody but me, Cell, sometimes Sunshine, and on occasion, Dark knows. But this one, Dark got permission to brief them. No wonder they’re acting strange, even Dark, with him placing the cameras and Tarek calling him out for it. Then Fog’s support of wanting to keep me safe despite the problems with his father. They’re concerned. They don’t know what I’ve done for the club. How deep I’ve gone. All they know is I’m their mom, who runs intel. They don’t know about all the other stuff.

Awe. My kids love me—so much that Fog came out just in case something happened, he wouldn’t leave anything unsaid.

I dramatically clutch my chest. “You two are the cutest.”

Tarek rolls his eyes until all I see are the whites. “Go inside, Mom.”

I turn to Fog and pat his chest. “I’m proud of you and always will be. Tell Dad, don’t tell Dad, that’s up to you. I’ve got your back either way.” Finishing the conversation, I kiss both of my sons on their cheeks before I leave them to figure out their plans and make my way back inside, where my ex awaits me right inside the door.

“Here.” He hands me his phone.

On the screen is my favorite little girl. “Kali!” Lily screeches, waving at me wildly from what looks to be her bedroom at home. Dark painted the walls black six months ago. I don’t know a little girl who loves black as much as her.

Snickering at her outburst, I take the phone to the unused waiting area, dust off the bench, and sit down. The old plastic creaks under my weight as the rows of silver duct tape try to keep the ancient pad together. “How are you?”

For what feels like hours but is only like ten minutes, Lily rambles nonstop. I listen as Dark leans against the wall a few feet away, eavesdropping on us. Not that I mind. She is his daughter.

When Tarek and Fog return, they say hello to their sister before Fog gives me a signal that I think means he’s about to spill the truth to Dark. When Tarek slaps his father on the back, and they approach the bar for a round of beers, I know they’re doing just that.

Pixie and Marge eventually find me in the waiting area and join the fun. They get to experience all of Lily’s adorableness up close and personal. When Marge pipes in to ask Lily questions about herself, the little girl beams, and I hand over Dark’s phone for them to carry on. Having no kids, therefore no grandkids of her own, Marge soaks up her time with Lily like she’s one of the family. I guess she is, in a way.

“How long are you here for?” I ask Pixie as Marge discusses cartoons, and Lily explains why Coraline is the best movie ever made.

“A few more days. I’m here to tattoo my brother Coal. Then, who knows what? We’re supposed to be on lockdown since we’re at war, but Big gave us the okay to visit since it’s family.”

“Who are you staying with?”

“Coal. He has an extra apartment for friends and family to stay in when they visit. Thankfully, it’s on the other side of his house,” Pix says, sounding relieved.

“So you don’t run into his flavor of the week?” I guess, grinning as I recall a laundry list of sordid Coal stories I’ve heard over the years.

“Exactly.” Pix nods as she pulls a face. “I thought he’d stop man-whoring by now, but he’s worse now than the last time you probably saw him.”

Humming, I tap my lips and reflect on my last run-in with Pixie’s infamous sex-fiend brother. “The last time I saw Coal, he had two girls on his arm and one sucking his dick at a pool party.” That was a wild night. Drunk on cheap wine, Dark and I had sex in the pool house on top of an old dryer.

Slapping her leg, Pixie’s tinkly laugh fills the air. “Well, I suppose not much has changed then.”

“No. I suppose not,” I return with a chuckle.

We catch up on old times until Lily finally lets Marge go, and Dark returns from the bar with our sons to retrieve his phone. He jerks his chin at me as if he’d like to speak privately. Making eye contact, I nod and get up from the bench to follow him through the bar to the back room, where they hold church. Dark holds the door open for me, then shuts us both inside.

Leaning my lower back against the table in the center of the room, Dark posts in front of closed double doors. “Fog came out.”

“I know.”

“He’s dating Lace.”

“I know.”

“I don’t like it.”

“The dating Lace?” I guess.

Cracking his knuckles, Dark’s nostrils flare. “Yeah. Lace. I wasn’t expecting that. But I’m glad he finally told us.”

“Me, too.”

“I always thought we'd be together the day he came out, and it wouldn’t be like this.” He gestures between us as if that somehow explains everything.

“We are together.” Just because Fog didn’t sit us down together doesn’t mean he didn’t tell us both on the same day in the same place. That’s pretty much the same thing to me.

“Not like that, babe.” Dark sighs. “You know what I mean. I don’t fuckin’ like that our son didn’t tell us at the same time. And I really fuckin’ hate that you’re standin’ over there when I’m here.” He points to where I am and then to himself. “It doesn’t feel right. It’s never felt fuckin’ right. I love you. I love you so goddamn much.” Slamming his head against the wooden door, it rattles on impact as Dark’s eyes squeeze shut like he’s in physical pain. “Fuck.”

“Dark. Don’t do this,” I plead, knowing good and well where this will lead if he doesn’t stop now.

“How can I not?” His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “You’re my wife. Every damn day, all I ever think about is missing you.” Pissed at himself, Dark slams his head against the door a second time and curses under his breath, fisting both hands down at his sides.

“Stop. Please.” Stop hurting yourself. Stop putting me through this over and over again.

“Kali. No. You don’t get it.”

I grip the edge of the table on either side of me. “But I do. I’m the woman you left. The woman who gets to live next to you while you live your new life with your new family. I get it. Our son came out. I’m proud of him. I know you’re proud of him, too. Stop making this more than it is. This isn’t about us. This is about him and the job we have to do. We need to focus on that and our kids. That’s it. Let it go.”

“Kali.”

Swallowing down a hot branding iron of pain, I palm my stomach as if talking to him physically hurts. Right now. It does. I don’t want to do this. “Dark. Let. It. Go,” I beg because I don’t want today ruined with memories of us, our baggage, our issues. This is about catching up with our kids, friends, and our son’s news.

Refusing to spend another moment locked in this room with him, I approach the door. Dark doesn’t hesitate to step to the side to let me leave. For that, I’m grateful.

Rejoining our family is a breath of fresh air. It’s just what I need.

For the rest of the day, it’s us at the bar, eating, drinking, and soaking up the now. We eat homemade pie and shoot pool, even though I lose each time. Axel calls in a few more brothers, and soon the place is swarming with Sacred Sinners. Drunken antics aside, the day bleeds into a fun night, and when I finally pour my tired body into the back of an Uber, I’m smiling the entire ride home. When I fall asleep, that same smile is still in place.