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“Does he make you happy?” he asked suddenly. “I know I’ve got no right to ask. I’m your father, but I’m not your dad. But I still want to know…”
I smiled and turned my head to look at him over my shoulder. “Yeah. He makes me happy.”
I left him sitting alone, pondering everything we’d discussed.
He was right, though. He wasn’t my dad. A dad picked you up when you scraped your knees. A dad checked in your closet for monsters. A dad threatened to kill any boy who broke your heart.
I might’ve shared DNA with Knight, but that didn’t make him family.
Colt was propped up in bed, shirtless, the lamp on the bedside table casting a warm glow across his golden skin. Seeing my name in ink settled me in a way I couldn’t explain. It was like Colt’s arms were around me, giving me silent, solid comfort.
He looked up from his phone. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I shut the door and then padded my way over to the bed, falling face first on top of the comforter.
“Long night?”
“Long night with bourbon.”
He chuckled.
“I have a father,” I murmured.
He paused and then said, “Yeah.”
“Still trying to wrap my mind around that.”
Colt lifted his arm so I could scoot closer to him. I pressed my nose into his side and took a moment to breathe him in, needing the solid assurance that he was there.
“What happened with your call to Sanchez?” I asked, my eyes drifting shut.
“He’s agreed to help us. Not without a steep price though. His shit is already being distributed through the Southwest. He hasn’t claimed Waco, but he is now. He also wants his product in the Heartland of the United States.”
“So we’re trading one cartel for another?”
“Yes, but there’s one major difference,” Colt said, his hand finding a way under my shirt. “Sanchez is on our side.”
“The devil you know, I guess.”
I wanted to ask more questions but with the comfort of the man I loved next to me in bed and the flow of potent bourbon in my veins, I fell asleep.
By the following morning, news that Knight was my father had already rippled through the clubhouse. Boxer publicly apologized for punching Knight in the face. Knight graciously accepted Boxer’s apology and slapped him on the back.
The Blue Angels—Waco and Coeur d’Alene—had all gone to the shed for church, no doubt to discuss the Sanchez situation and what do about the product sitting unguarded in the storage unit.
The kids were still asleep downstairs in the theater room, but I knew it would only be a matter of time before they were awake and demanding food like angry baby birds.
The remains of last night’s party were minimal. The bonfire had burned out hours ago, and all the beer bottles and plastic cups had been tossed into two huge garbage cans.
The girls and I were out back at one of the picnic tables, enjoying the morning air. Rachel sat across from me and was on her second cup of coffee. Darcy perched next to her, staring into the distance. Joni was by my side, close enough that I had to pretend not to see the whisker burns on her neck. Allison had returned from throwing up her guts due to morning sickness. She stood at the edge of the table, nibbling on a cracker.
“This is just so weird,” Rachel said. “I can’t believe Knight is your dad.”
“I know,” I said with a nod.
“How are you feeling about it?” Darcy asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “He’s young. Which is blowing my mind. He’s not who I pictured when I thought of who my dad might be.”
