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My bro and I got along for the most part, except when it came to Harley. He liked her for some reason, and she didn’t even have boobs.
“Good. Where is the letter, Jackson?”
I ignored Mom’s question, replying, “She can’t jump as high as me off the swings. How is that provoking her?”
“Do not play innocent, young man. You pick on her every chance you get.”
“That’s cuz she’s asking for it every time she opens her mouth on her stupid face.”
“Jackson!”
“What?!” I tore off my ear buds. “You act like it’s always me. It’s not. She starts it half the time. My nuts are probably broken with how many times she’s kicked them, but does anyone care about my balls? Nope!”
“Jackson Pierce, you cannot talk like that! You’re grounded!”
“I’m already grounded!”
“Then you’re grounded some more!”
I wasn’t allowed to cuss, but when you heard something all the time, it was kind of hard not to repeat it. Harley’s mouth was worse than mine though. We grew up around a family full of foul-mouthed bikers, and it was just how they talked.
Plus, my dad wasn’t any better. My parents grew up in the system pretty much their whole life, meaning they’d seen some shit. I didn’t believe in the mushy girly crap my mom made me watch with her, but my parents were real life soulmates. They’d known each other since they were kids, they were all each other had. My dad worked his ass off to give her the life she deserved.
They deserved.
He was my role model, my hero, a man to be respected. I never had to ask for anything, no one did. He made sure of it.
Which was one of the reasons my mom took her role as a stay-at-home mom so seriously, making me act, think, and talk older than I really was. Jagger and I were smart, and I could do anything and everything before Harley Jameson ever could. Of course, I never let her live it down.
Our families were close because of Harley’s Uncle Noah. Her old man’s younger brother was like my old man’s firstborn. He wasn’t my biological brother, but you wouldn’t ever think that. Noah was always there for me, and I knew I could count on him.
No matter what.
My dad took on the role of being a father figure to Noah since he was fifteen years old. Replacing his piece of shit dad, who wasn’t a good man.
Or a good father.
He met Noah in the emergency room, when he was the on-call doctor during his residency at Dosher Memorial. Noah’s mother was a drunk, and his old man was an asshole Prez of a 1% MC club, which meant the Jameson brothers—her dad and uncle—used to be trouble with a capital T.
My dad took Noah under his wing, always seeing things in people most would run away from. But not my dad, he was someone to look up to.
In everything.
We’d heard the story hundreds of times, and still every time I heard it, I couldn’t imagine Harley’s grandmother, Diane, being anything but the loving, caring woman she was now. I guess back in the day that wasn’t the case.
Now all this was a long ass time ago, before any of us were born.
I never understood how dumbass Harley could have such a badass family and she was…
Not.
I reminded her of that when I tried to make her cry. It got her all peeved, and I loved every second of it. It made up for all the times I couldn’t get her to shed a tear. And trust me, I tried.
A lot.
The Gremlin was made of freaking stone. I couldn’t for the life of me get her to break down. Even the time she broke her leg because of me.
A couple years back, I dared her to jump off the roof of the clubhouse into the pool. She was six and I was seven at the time, and I didn’t think she’d actually do it.
