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Duncan took a few beats to understand the question and try to find the true answer. “Both, I think.” When Dad stayed quiet, Duncan focused on the dying fire and tried to explain himself. “I liked my life. I knew what I wanted it to be. I had a plan, and I liked where I thought I was headed. I thought I knew myself, but now that’s all turned upside down.”
“Knowing Phoebe did all that?”
As if the question were a password to something locked in his head, Duncan suddenly saw the full truth. “Not just her. I think ... I’ve felt out of sync since Eureka. That whole deal fucked with me, Dad. We killed so many men who barely even knew us. I know they were bad men, the wrong kind of outlaws, but we didn’t kill them because they were rapists or wife-beaters or child molesters or whatever the fuck they were. We killed them because we wanted their house. It doesn’t feel right. I guess I’m trying to figure out who the Bulls are, and who that means I am.”
Duncan fell quiet because he’d spoken his thoughts, and also because those thoughts had shocked him. Dad didn’t reply right away; he let the silence go on so long, Duncan worried that he’d said something very wrong.
When he did speak, Dad said, “I’m so damn proud of you, Dunc.” He tapped his chest with a loose fist. “So proud.”
It felt good to hear, and was a great relief, but Duncan didn’t really understand what it had to do with what he’d confessed.
Dad didn’t make him wait to clear that up. “There are a lot of things the club has done, and will do, that don’t feel right to me. That’s been true almost as long as I’ve sat at that table. I struggled most of my years as a Bull with how far over the line we’ve gone. I fucking hate some of the things we’ve done as a club, and some of the things I’ve done in the name of the club.”
He sat forward and stared hard across the coffee table. The softening glow of the fire drew the scars on his face in shadows. “I once killed an innocent kid, about your age, whose only crime was being related to a man we needed to hurt. I did that because D told me it had be done. He told me he wanted me to do it because the man we needed to hurt had hurt me. And that was true. I would have enjoyed killing that motherfucker. But I hated killing the kid, it still fucks with me all these years later, and I’m pretty sure the real reason D had me do it was to pull me back in line and make sure I stayed there.”
Dad had told Duncan a lot about his years as a Bull. When he was trying to talk him out of prospecting, he’d pretty much dumped every bad thing he could think of on Duncan’s head, trying to dissuade him from wanting a patch. But these were new details, never shared before. And he was talking about Grampa D, the sweet (and also crabby) old man whom Duncan had only ever known as a grandfather who would listen to any kid’s story, no matter how long and rambling it was, like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard, and who loved to let kids ‘work’ with him, building goofy toys out of random parts.
Duncan loved Grampa and couldn’t imagine him manipulating a situation like that. Eight, on the other hand, he could totally see.
He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
Dad wasn’t done, anyway. “I’m still wearing the Bull. After that, after the shit that went down that got Dane killed, after we started muling drugs, I hated all of it, and I fought to stop it. Sometimes it felt like I fought the whole table. There were times when I wanted out. But even with all that, I’m still wearing the Bull. When it comes down to it, leaving the Bull behind would mean leaving myself behind. So I will die in this kutte. Remember the talk we had in California about this? Do you remember what I said?”
Duncan did remember, though it hadn’t factored into his feelings since they’d returned home. Now he let himself relive that talk.
“This life isn’t honorable. But it’s the life we have, so we have to do the best we can and be the best we can be while we live it.”
He wasn’t sure if he was quoting his father’s wisdom, or if he was speaking his own interpretation of it, but Dad was nodding.
“Before anything else, the Bulls are a family. Our family. The way to see through the grime and blood is to remember that this is our family, and hold that knowledge tight. We take care of our family, whatever that means. But within that, be the best version of yourself. Take care of the people you love,” Dad said. “Treat all people with respect, unless they’ve shown you they don’t deserve it. Be loyal to the people who are loyal to you, and fight to keep your world strong and whole. That’s all anybody can do, Dunc. We just do it over here on the dark side.”
“Can I bring somebody like Phoebe into this life?” Duncan asked.
“It’s not your call. It’s hers. So if you want that, you ask, and you accept the answer she gives you. The hardest lesson of my life has been trying to accept that I can’t make other people’s choices, even when I’m trying to protect them.” Dad grinned. “You taught me that yourself. And your mom, and your sisters.”
Hannah and Dad were still faced off about her future plans—she wanted to work at the station and be as deep into the Bulls’ world as she could get, and Dad was holding her back with his whole body.
Duncan grinned back at his father. “Hannah would say you haven’t learned the lesson yet.”
“Yeah. And she’s right. It’s hard, son. But maybe it’s time for me to back off there, too.”
“It’s your fault, you know.”
“What is?”
“That we all want to be as deep into the Bulls’ world as we can get. We love you so much, and you gave us this family, this life. It’s a good family, and a good life. I think that’s why Eureka is fucking with my head. I’ve been a patch for years now, but that was the first time we did something that didn’t feel right to me. Maybe I’ve been pushing Phoebe to let me ask the club to help—”
Dad finished his sentence. “Because you need us to do something good. Balance out something that feels wrong to you.”
Duncan nodded, finally seeing it. “Yeah. I think so.”
“The club does a lot of good, Dunc. You know that. We help out in the neighborhood, we do charity work, blood drives, ...”
“Charm patrol,” Duncan said, sounding more dismissive than he’d intended.
“That’s true. It’s good press and good rep, and it makes our dark work easier. But it is also good work. But I don’t think we can help Phoebe, even if she’d want us to. Buy into her ranch? That’s got to be a huge chunk of money.”
“About a hundred thousand.”
