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She hugs the cape to her chest, then eyes my roses, reaching for them with tiny fingers.
Rock picks her up, bouncing her gently in his arms until she squees with delight.
“Is this the dress?” he asks me, running his fingers over the red and black checked flannel. He brings her closer and I hold out the flowers for Grace to inspect.
“I was going for warmth over authenticity,” I explain. “Chance’s shirt matches. They’ll be so cute together.” I set the roses on the bed so I can fix the frilly lace at the collar of Grace’s dress and tug one ankle of her black leggings into place. “Where are your socks?” I ask her.
She squirms until Rock sets her down, then runs out of our room.
Laughing, Rock walks over to the doorway to watch her. A few seconds later, Grace returns, dragging her cape with one hand and clutching the socks in her other, arm raised triumphantly.
“Good job.” Rock picks her up again and she grins at me over his shoulder.
I hold out my hand and she plops the socks against my palm. “We’ll put them on downstairs.”
“Okay!” she chirps.
“Go ahead, Rock.” I turn, searching for my overnight bag. “I want to make sure I have everything. Grace’s stuff is all packed downstairs.”
I swear it feels like we’re going away for a week rather than an overnight stay at the Empire clubhouse.
“I’m going to put these in water,” Rock says, grabbing the flowers.
“Thank you.”
I shoot a text to Trinity asking if she needs me to bring a curling iron to the clubhouse. When I don’t get a response right away, I grab one and shove it into an outside pocket of my backpack—just in case.
Downstairs, Rock’s at the kitchen counter, scowling at his phone. The flowers are high on the counter where Grace can’t reach them, in a purple vase. I stop to rub the petals between my fingers, admiring the deep purples and oranges.
I set our bags on the bench by the front door. Grace is sitting on her cape in the middle of the living room floor, playing with the little stuffed doll Charlotte gave her yesterday.
Rock’s furiously tapping out a text to someone.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“No. Knucklehead thinks he doesn’t have to go to the party tonight.” He curses under his breath. “I don’t know what part ofeveryone needs to be therewas so hard for him to understand.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t laugh. Even with their relationship out in the open, Rock and Teller continue to butt heads with each other from time to time. While I still think it’s normal behavior as they get adjusted to their new roles, it drives Rock nuts. They’re both headstrong men. Gee, what are the odds they’d clash once in a while? They’re alike in so many ways, especially in the stubbornness department.
“Maybe he’s worried about Charlotte,” I suggest.
He stares at the ceiling for a few seconds. “I understand that, but I can’t order everyone else to be there and then give him a pass. Bricks also expressed some annoyance about it, yesterday. If I had to tell him to suck it up, then the same has to go for Marcel, too.”
“I understand.” I run my tongue over my bottom lip, considering if I should even offer this suggestion. “Have you thought about having Wrath be the one to deal with Teller in an MC capacity? He’s good at laying down the law. Then you two can just work on your father-son relationship.”And if Teller gives him lip, Wrath will snap him like a twig.I don’t say that part out loud, though.
“Wrath might break his neck if he throws attitude at him.” Rock’s mouth curves into a feral grin. “But yeah, discipline is supposed to be his role, anyway.”
I duck my head and laugh. “At least until Teller works through this ‘pushing-Dad’s-buttons’ phase he’s going through.”
“You think that’s what it is?” he asks.
“Some of it, yes. I think he’s also worried about Charlotte and the babies. First-time dad stress.” I pause and try to word this next part carefully. “I understand you’re trying not to show favoritism toward him now that the club knows he’s your son, but don’t go too far the other way and be too hard on him, either.”
“Too hard on him,” he repeats in a grudging tone.
“And don’t forget he’s babysitting for us tonight,” I remind him.
“I know. That’s why I said he doesn’t have to stay at the party too long. But I need him to show his face.” Rock holds up his phone in his fist. “Now he’s saying he ‘feels like skipping it.’ As if it was optional. Fucker.”
