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Storm leaned forward in his chair. “Man, it’s okay to find love again. Your wife died. She would want you to move on.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, drawing blood. “Move on from what? My wife and baby are dead because of me. Me!” I hit my fist on the table, hating the words spewing from my mouth. “Why should I get to be happy? Why should I get to experience love for a second time? Maybe have a kid or two after I’d murdered my wife and son! My son…” My voice cracked on the last word.
My baby boy would’ve turned seven in December. Monica and I had only found out the gender two days before the explosion. We hadn’t even picked out a name for him…
Tears burned my eyes. Fuck, I struggled to inhale a breath as if my chest collapsed on my lungs.
“Breathe, brother.” Storm dropped his head, giving me a moment to get myself under control.
Turning into an emotional pussy in front of your brother was awkward as fuck. But Storm was also my prez, which made it ten times worse. I hated looking weak in front of him. But, regardless of my own messed-up feelings, Storm would never judge or belittle me.
Sometimes there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I’d probably shed more tears than all the guys in the club put together. I’d never ask any of them if they’d ever cried. Nor would I admit how much I’d soaked my pillow over the years.
I’d always been more emotional than my brothers. Not the way Storm or Boxer dealt with shit, through anger and rage. More like Track, where we got quiet and spent more time in our bedroom than the others. Although I doubted Track whimpered in bed.
When I was a kid, Abuela would tell me in her broken English, “Hero, be tough.” She’d shake her fist in the air. “Tu es… you are mucho sensitive. Tu corazón es… your heart is mucho delicado.”
My heart was very delicate. What boy wanted to hear that shit? It hadn’t helped matters when Monica had told me the same thing.
Inhaling a cleansing breath, I prepared my fucking delicate heart to do what was needed. I raised my head, clearing my throat to get Storm’s attention. “Don’t let her come here again. Keep her safe. That’s all I ask.”
“I will.” He dragged a hand down his tense face.
“And I don’t want to hear about her. Just keep her safe.”
Storm considered me a long second, probably thinking I was an asshole.
He nodded his head, showing no emotion. “Yeah. Got it. Let’s go over the plan again. You’re sure we can depend on Ryder to get the picture to the enforcer?”
“Yeah. The dude is solid. He’ll get it done.” If he didn’t, the club was screwed. We only had one chance at taking out Rudy Dutra before he was extradited back to California. Time wasn’t on our side.
“No screw-ups. It needs to happen,” Storm muttered. “I need you out, man. Morrison only wants to deal with you. He keeps blowing off Raul.”
“Fuck. He’s such a pussy. Ever since he married the Remotti girl, his balls shriveled into raisins. What does Theo say about my release?” The Morrisons would be nothing without the Remotti family, based in Quebec since the late sixties. After Stephen married Alessio Remotti’s only daughter, it gave the Mafia family a foothold in central Canada. I didn’t understand the old-world ways of treating children as possessions. Marrying them off to grow an empire, like a fucking business transaction. It made my skin crawl.
Storm shrugged, tapping his thumbs on the table. “Thanksgiving. Maybe earlier. We’re trying to prove Sonny set you up.”
“Shit.” I clenched my teeth, even though I should be grateful. A month? It would feel like a lifetime.
I tried to ignore the hope blooming in my chest. Hope that maybe Tara and I could be together if I could get past my guilt over Monica. Hope for a future with my fiery redhead. I might fight this deep-rooted desire to be with Tara, believing I didn’t deserve her, but fuck if I didn’t want her more than my next breath.
“It’s the best he can do. I know it sucks. Just gotta be patient, man.”
“I’ll miss Boxer’s Black Friday event.” I hadn’t missed one of his fights since I joined the club. I felt like I was letting him down even though this wasn’t my fault. Well, not really. I should’ve stayed in Bastion instead of getting drunk in Winters.
“You don’t know that.”
“He needs me to help him train. To make weight.” For the last few years, I’d helped Boxer prepare for his matches. Being behind bars royally sucked.
“He has Ire.”
“Ire is training for it too. He can’t give Boxer what he needs like me.” I shifted in the chair, irritated as hell.Fucking Sonny, screwing with my life. I’d like to beat the shit out of him.
“First things first. Focus on Dutra.”
And Tara. She wasn’t ever far from my thoughts.
I nodded, exhaling a tense breath. “Right. Dutra.”
