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A palm I know to be Gunz’s, by touch alone, lays upon my shoulder. He leans in and kisses the back of my beanie, then shifts, and I hear him kiss Bink’s head too. They exchange muffled words as his hand slides up and kneads the base of my neck, a reminder he’s here and not going anywhere.
“Mom!” a voice I’d know anywhere calls above the raucous crowd of men and women, of bikes, and rock music pulsing from inside the clubhouse. “Mom!”
My boy’s here!
Having heard Adam, too, Bink releases me. I turn just in time to be swooped up by my son, all six feet of him. Wrapping both arms around Adam’s strong neck, he lifts me off the ground as if I weigh nothing. Spitting my empty sucker stick out, I pepper kisses across his cheek as tears of happiness rain down my face. I missed him. I missed him so much. He kisses me in return. The press of warm lips upon my cheek. Giving zero fucks how I look, or that I’m being a gross, icky mom in front of a parking lot full of bad boys in leather, he lets me love him. I accept the rare gift and kiss him until he begins to vibrate in full-body laughter at my ridiculousness. Heart full, I beam at his chuckles, at the way his chest quakes against mine, at his tangible joy. What an incredible feeling… a feeling I wasn’t sure I’d be lucky enough to experience again.
Not caring if he minds, I wipe the remnants of my tears on his t-shirt-clad shoulder. Adam says nothing. Nor does he mind me squeezing him hard enough my muscles begin to twinge. Actually, the jerk doesn’t seem to notice. My mom muscles are no match for his. He bulked up in jail. The hardness of his pecs and the roundness of his shoulders are evidence enough. He put on some weight. I open my mouth to comment as much but stop short when I realize he’s talking to his dad for the first time outside of jail. Face-to-face, no glass between them.
“How ya holdin’ up?” Gunz asks him as if he genuinely wants to know.
Our son’s arms lock tighter around my center. “Good. Now that she’s home safe.”
Awe. He was worried. Quite the change in our dynamics when I’m usually the one concerned about him and what shenanigans he’ll pull next.
Alone in our hotel room last night, Gunz explained that Big, his president, picked Adam up from jail upon his release. Then took him to gather his things and brought him back to the compound to keep him safe. What that meant I didn’t know, nor did I ask. I trust him. It was late, and we were exhausted from being on the road most of the day. Now that we’re here and Adam’s here, I’m suddenly more tired than I’ve been since I was cut from my restraints.
Yawning, I massage the bruises around my wrists over my son’s shoulders. Adam takes the cue that I want to be set back on my feet. I slide down his front and land softly on the ground. Doing what moms do, I cup his cheeks and paste on the best smile I can conjure, regardless of how puffy my face and eyes probably look. He shakes that adorable head, liquid shimmering in eyes that match his father’s. He looks tired. Like he hasn’t slept in ages. He tugs at the edge of my beanie.
“No more hair.” I shrug it off like it’s no biggy. It’ll grow back. It’s hair. It has already begun to.
Adam frowns, a deep pinch settling between his brows. Not liking this side of him, I pull a silly face. One of the many I’ve perfected over the years when he was sad, when his not-father abandoned us, or when he broke my trust, and I forgave him as mothers do.
The lighthearted effect works like a charm when Adam drones, “Mommm,” in the same youthful way he always has. A tear slips free and glides down the crease of his nose. I swipe the evidence away with my thumb and discard it on my shirt.
“I’m here. Now tell me all about your time at the compound.” Weak from little sustenance, I sway on my feet.
Ever my savior, Gunz catches me around the waist and pulls me flush against his side. If I had the mind to swoon, I would. He feels nice. Warm and… him. Safe.
I sigh softly to myself.
“How about we do dinner at the house tonight? We can talk then. Your mother needs sleep,” Gunz says.
Adam acquiesces with the simple tip of his head and the shyest smile. “Big gave me a room in the clubhouse. Either of you can stop by anytime.” He chews the corner of his lip nervously, like he’s unsure if this is good news or not.
Gunz grips my hip, forcing me to snuggle into his body. I turn into him just enough to rest my hand on his stomach, away from the injury. “He give you mine?” he asks our son.
Rocking back on his heels and stuffing both hands into his front jeans pockets, Adam nods. “Yeah. I hope that’s okay.”
“That’s what I told him to do, so it’s definitely okay.” Gunz reaches out to clasp Adam on the shoulder. It’s brief, but I watch our son’s eyes round in surprise at the simple gesture.
A father giving up his room for a son he barely knows. That’s something to digest at another time when I’ve got a solid twelve hours of sleep under my belt.
No longer wanting to hang in the clubhouse parking lot swarming with people, I keep my goodbyes to a minimum, to prevent unnecessary conversations. Adam pecks my cheek. I return the sentiment. A firm hand glues to the small of my back and guides me forth. Gunz and I wave to Bink, her giant of a man, and the group of women who’ve gathered as we slide past them, headed toward the rear of the compound, away from the chaos.
Focused on our mission, Gunz lifts his chin a handful of times to fellow bikers we encounter. Out of politeness, I offer closed-mouthed smiles. They chin lift to me as well. The comradery feels different, settling a new yet not unpleasant sensation in the center of my chest. I like it. I think.
It doesn’t take long to pass a row of bikes, the brick clubhouse, dog kennels, playground, and enter the rear of the estate, where all the single-story homes reside. Including his.
Just past the entrance, I yawn loudly, lose my balance on an imaginary rock, squawk like a chicken on my descent to the ground, and am caught by a quick-footed biker before I bite the dust, all in the same breath.
Gunz snickers, righting me. “Almost there, love.” He dusts off my side as if I’d dirtied it somehow. Thanks to him, I haven’t.
Taking his hand into mine, I carefully place one foot in front of the other. I yawn a second time, not at all embarrassed by my lack of grace. Nope. Not me. That never happened.
The yawn elicits another snicker from my handsome companion.
A third yawn appears just as Gunz’s front porch welcomes us.
