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“Just get your ass inside, kid,” Blizzard demanded, holding open the door and nodding for me to get inside. “Trust me, you’re not gonna want to miss this.”
Blizzard wasn’t just my vice president.
He was one of my father’s best friends, and growing up, I’d always called him uncle. He’d been a voice of reason and an ear to listen when I needed it. He’d also put his foot up my ass more times than I could count—every single one which I’d deserved. At some point, all the brothers in this clubhouse had helped me become a better man and thankfully, not held past mistakes I’d made against me.
I only hoped this visit from Kit was a friendly one and not my father needing support from another president because he had to do something crazy like take my cut.
Blizzard and I hurried through the clubhouse doors and made a sharp turn to the right, heading down the hall to the room where the club members held church. In my mind, I was skimming through everything I’d done over the past couple of months, wondering if there was somewhere I’d slipped up, but as I paused at the large wooden double doors and raised my fist to knock, I was still at an absolute loss.
I slammed my fist against the thick mahogany doors three times and held my breath.
“Come in!”
Swallowing hard past the nervous lump in my throat, I pressed down on the handle and eased one of the doors open, slowly stepping inside.
I knew all these men—most since I was just a kid.
I looked up to them.
I admired them.
And they’d never treated me as anything less than family.
But walking into that room was still the single most intimidating fucking thing I’d ever done. Every set of eyes was on me as I stood at the end of the long table, the club emblem hand-carved into the center. All these men I’d spent my whole life admiring and idolizing were watching me, straight-faced and stoic.
“Oliver, join your brother,” Dad ordered from his seat at the head of the table.
I blinked, not realizing my twin brother was standing off to the side of the room, looking just as petrified and confused as I was. Kit sat to my father’s left in Blizzard’s chair, our VP suddenly nowhere to be seen, though I’d sworn he was right behind me.
Oli joined me, his sleeve brushing my arm, and the two of us shared a nervous glance before we focused on the table full of men.
The silence made it hard to breathe, and I was positive the entire room could feel my heart pounding against my chest as it raced hard and fast.
“I invited Kit to sit in on church today because there was an important decision to be made, and I wanted his input,” Dad explained as he got to his feet and braced his hands on the table.
No way.
No fucking way.
“And Kit, along with every other member in this room, agreed… unanimously… that both of you had earned your patches,” Dad continued as Blizzard strolled through the door behind us carrying something important. There was an obvious catch in my father’s voice as he fought to keep things neutral, but I knew how he must have been feeling in this moment, with two of his children following in his footsteps. “I’m fucking proud of you both.”
Blizzard made his way around the table, laying out two new leather cuts, patches already sewn across the back. The club logo stood proud in the center, the club’s name curved across the top as our top rocker, and our territory—Athens, AL—formed the bottom rocker.
“As you probably know, we usually make you do this yourselves,” Blizzard announced, nodding to the patches. “But since the ones you’ve got on look like a fucking blind man sewed them, we figured maybe we’d get someone with a little more experience to step in.”
“You can thank your mother when you get home,” Dad added, though I could have guessed since I’d spent hours watching her patch and repair Dad’s cut over the years—adding patches, replacing them. It took time and a technique I didn’t possess.
“Just like every road name in this room, the name you are given holds significance. It tells a story about who you are and how your brothers see you,” Dad announced, once again finding that stern, gravelly voice I knew so well. “And while we recognize you both together as blood brothers and twins, we wanted to make sure your names honored you together but also acknowledged your individuality.” Blizzard picked up the first cut and held it up so we could see the front.
The patch on the left chest read Bow.
“Oliver, Bow is the road name the club has given you. Hunting with a bow takes skill, patience, and a hell of a lot of endurance,” Dad explained as he got to his feet and walked around the table toward us. He took the cut from Blizzard and stepped around behind Oli, holding it so my brother could slip his arms through before Dad lifted it onto his shoulders. “I’ve watched you become a skilled hunter over the years, using a weapon that lends itself to all your most valuable skills. But don’t be afraid to let go sometimes and trust that your brothers will have your back.”
Dad scrubbed Oli’s head, spiking up his short, sandy-blond hair before the two embraced silently for a moment.
When they finally stepped back, my brother looked over at me with wide eyes—complete shock taking over.
We both knew what we were working toward—that we’d hopefully earn this right one day.
