My slip up of being seen at the races wasn't the first time, though. I went to watch Danny and Andy race too.
It just never had him showing up to chase me off before. Sara was different.
She was his prized possession, and I understood why every time I took a drink from that well of hers.
"You remember what I asked of you." Peter's stance changed—chest puffing out, hips rocking forward the way stodgy old men stood when they had something to prove.
I did remember, word for word. I'd hated it then, and I hated it now. The Ducettes had been my family for years, and then one day, it was over and I was out. Just like that.
"I remember," I told him.
"Then you know why I'm here."
"I do." I picked the wrench back up, more to have something in my hand than anything else. "It won't happen again."
The thing about Peter Ducette was that he'd been the closest thing I had to a father since I was about fifteen years old and the man who was supposed to be filling that role stopped bothering to show up.
I wasn't going to say that to him—I'd never said it to anyone—but it was true, and it sat in the back of my chest like an unquenched flame.
When he'd walked me out of his life, it was the right call, and I'd always known it.
The Gravehounds weren't a hobby for normal men like Peter, and they weren't safe for his sons or his daughter.
So to feel the weight of breaking this promise I made was crushing. And I wasn't a man who often felt guilt or remorse. But this one got to me.
Mostly because he didn't speak, which seemed to make everything worse.
"I'm not trying to cause problems for you," I said. "Or for her."
"I know that," he said, which somehow made it worse. "That's why I'm asking instead of making noise about it. Sara's worked hard for this. She doesn't need distractions."
His words weren't harsh, but they felt like a kick in the balls. Being reminded of a failure came easier from Fox.
I honestly had no emotional connection to him or any other club member the way I did to the Ducettes.
As seriously as I took my oath to the club, I took my obligation to Peter much more strictly.
Without him, there would be no Gravehounds for me.
"Understood," I said.
He gave one short nod and said, "Take care of yourself, Garret."
"You too, Peter."
He walked out, and I listened to the sound of his truck starting and pulling away, and then I set the wrench down again and sat on my stool and stared at the Bentley's engine bay without seeing it.
I made him that promise three years ago and I meant it.
Those boys were only twenty and twenty-one at the time, and Sara turned eighteen only a week before it.
I fully intended to respect that wish because they were like family, and if Peter wanted his boys to stay far away from the life required by a sworn member of the motorcycle club, I had to honor that.
The problem was Sara.
Not the idea of her—the actual woman.
God, she was addictive and had this sway over me I couldn't shake.
