Page 4 of Property of Player

“It’s a four-bedroom house, and it’s just me and Cici now. I don’t need all that space.”

“Does Cici know?” Pony asks.

“No. Wanted you boys to be the first to know.”

“How long you been plannin’ this?” I ask.

His gaze narrows on me and drops to where Molly’s hand is in mine. “A while. Let’s talk out on the deck, VP.”

And with that designation, he puts me in my place. I’m the club’s VP first, his son second.

I release Molly’s hand with a murmured, “Wait here.” Then follow him out.

The wind whips over me the moment I step onto the deck.

While Slaughter Beach is technically on the Delaware Bay, the Atlantic Ocean is just beyond with Cape May on the left and the Harbor Lighthouse on the right. The temperature is in the mid-sixties, but the gusty winds make it brisk in April.

A set of stairs leads down to a sandy path heading over the dune to the beach beyond. Gulls soar overhead.

“You still with that bitch?” my father asks, folding his arms and leaning against the railing.

“She’ll do for now. One’s as good as another these days,” I say, wondering why he gives a damn.

“Son, that’s no way to be.”

Oh, now it’s son, is it? I huff a breath. “Why not? You think I want to put another woman in danger, get her killed like I got Debbie killed?” I lay a hand on the rail, staring out over the rolling surf.

He drags in a slow breath. “That bitch is just after a patch. You get that, right?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He drops it and stares at the water.

The corner of my mouth lifts, but it’s not a real smile. “So, your buddy ‘Jimmy the realtor’ finally pawned a house off on you?” My father has been friends with Jimmy since high school. Jimmy’s got billboards up all over the area, his big, smiling face and the bold lettering. Need a house? Call Jimmy Jack!

“Yes, Jimmy sold it to me, but I contacted him.”

“Whatever.” I really don’t want to talk about it.

“You know what today is?”

Of course, I know what the fuck today is. It’s probably why the nightmares picked up this week. “Figured that was why you called.”

“Let’s put flowers on your mother’s grave. Debbie’s, too.”

It’s the last thing I want to do, but I nod. I live with their deaths every damn day. Staring at their names carved into headstones just makes it worse. But maybe it’s the penance I deserve. He and I—and the whole damn club—are responsible for their deaths.

I know I’m not the only one who’s had a hard time with this. My father has been in a dark hole for years. My brothers have each dealt with the grief in their own ways, Beck with booze, Pony with anger.

My baby sister deals by acting out.

I’ve built a wall; one I won’t let anyone get past.

Never again.

I’ll never bury another woman I love.

My father stares at me, waiting for an answer.