I mouthed a thank you to Thane as I pressed Jessa forward, introducing her to everyone else. The club welcomed her, each Maverick making her laugh—usually at my expense. But Jessa’s shoulders tightened with every introduction, and overwhelm began to shadow her eyes.
Bayou approached with his daughter trailing just a step behind him. “Jessa, I want you to meet Gracie.”
Gracie gave a small wave.
“Hey,” Jessa said, her eyes brightening at the sight of someone her own age.
“I’m making bracelets over there,” Gracie said, gesturing toward a distant picnic table on the edges of the yard. “Want to join me?”
Jessa glanced up at me in question.
“Go ahead. You can meet everyone else later.”
They walked off, and I looked to Bayou. “I still think of Gracie as a seven-year-old. It didn’t even cross my mind that they were the same age.”
“She’s growing up too fast,” Bayou said.
“How’s she doing now?”
“Good,” he said tightly. “Therapy’s helped. I’ll never be able to repay Fuse for what he did for us.”
While Bayou and Fuse had both taken part in making Gracie’s mom and piece-of-shit boyfriend pay for the awful things they’d done to Gracie, Fuse had claimed all responsibility to ensure Bayou would get full custody. While his hotshot lawyer had called it self-defense—and it was, to an extent—the club’s reputation and Fuse’s role as sergeant at arms didn’t help him in the eyes of the district attorney. He’d served seven years in prison for defending an innocent girl and making her abusers pay. But I knew he didn’t regret a second of it.
I wrapped a hand around Bayou’s shoulder and squeezed. “Fuse did it because he cared. Because it was what was best for Gracie.”
He glanced to where Gracie and Jessa sat. “Hopefully, they’ll become friends. I think they’ll be at the same high school.”
I looked at the girls, who were hunched over a rainbow of thread before them. Their fingers moved quickly as they braided and knotted the strands. Every few minutes, they’d erupt into giggles.
After eating a plate of ribs, I sat with Fuse and Merrick near the edge of the fire. The flames had burned down to embers, and the yard had quieted as most of the Mavericks had headed home. Family barbeques weren’t raucous party nights, and some of us were getting too old for that shit anyway.
“When does the gym open?” Fuse asked as he stretched his long legs out toward the fire.
“In a few weeks. There’s not much to do. All of the equipment is there. The place is clean. A few repairs, but nothing Reaper’s guys can’t knock out in a day or two.”
“Still need to hire a few trainers,” Merrick said.“Line up some classes.
Fuse sipped his scotch. “In another life, I practiced Krav Maga. I could teach some classes for you.”
“What haven’t you done?” I joked.
Fuse had retired at thirty, having started and sold a few companies and invested well. He always conveniently had a skill we needed.
“Not much,” he mused. “But I liked teaching those self-defense classes for Kenna. And I’m getting bored. Don’t really want to do the corporate thing ever again, though.”
“Fuck that,” I said. “Suits and board meetings? Give me grease, sweat, and broken fingers any day.”
Giggling sounded behind us. Kenna, Jessa, and Gracie approached with a handful of tangled colors.
“We come bearing gifts,” Kenna chirped. She held her wrist to the air and shook it, the firelight catching on the metallic threads ofher bracelet.
Jessa handed Merrick a bracelet first. “This one’s for you. I chose black, red, and orange because I’ve heard you call Kenna ‘Wildfire.’”
Merrick’s scarred face softened. “Thanks, kid,” he gruffed.
Fuse sat up straighter as Gracie approached him, clearly a little surprised by the attention. “We made yours blue and silver, because you’re always so steady and calm.”
“But there’s one thread of red in there,” Jessa added. “Because we know you can blow shit up when you need to, even if you don’t lose your cool while you’re doing it.”
