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Dressed in a clean pair of my own clothes Gunz found in the garage—purple leggings and an obnoxious Grateful Dead t-shirt—I rub my distended, full belly in circles as we sit around the kitchen table. Not just the two of us, Adam, too. Like a bunch of hens, they can’t stop clucking—trading one story for the next. It’s as if I’m invisible. Well, that’s not entirely true. My foot happens to be resting in Gunz’s lap. He also happens to be massaging it as he carries on with our boy. The hot biker squeezes my big toe whenever Adam discloses something he likes, communicating without words how much he’s enjoying our uninterrupted family time. It’s too damn sweet. I can’t stop smiling.
Leaning over his plate, elbows on the table, Adam shovels a second piece of cheesecake into his mouth. I had a slice earlier. It was perfection—rich and gut-busting. Where Adam fits an extra slice, I do not know. In his hollow leg? Sheesh.
When Gunz said the Sacred Sisters would drop food by tonight, he underplayed it to the nth degree. The number of groceries I helped him put away was insane. The bags filled the entire kitchen floor. Literally. Not plastic bags, either. Larger mesh totes with sturdy handles. After we finished, the man did something no man has ever done for me before and made me shower while he cooked. In those bags was an ungodly amount of women’s stuff—From razors to lotion to expensive shampoo from a salon. So, I did as the man of the house instructed and spent an obscene amount of time practicing self-care as he fried me pickles.
Pickles, y’all.
Yes. You heard right.
Fried freaking pickles.
My favorite.
He remembered.
I got teary that he cared enough to request them. We hugged. I sobbed. Then that was that. Case closed. No more tears from this gal tonight.
“Love?” Gunz pinches my big toe affectionately.
“Yes?”
“You good?” Arching a brow, the hot man looks at me, reading every cue my body gives off.
“I’m great,” I reply truthfully.
“You want some tea?” His blue orbs swap from me to the open doorway of the kitchen.
“Maybe before bed.” After they’ve gotten their fill of father-son bonding time. Not that they can’t have more later. Any day, for that matter. But this is a first. Pivotal. To me, at least. Another sacred memory I’ll lock away to unwrap again and again as the years pass.
Satisfied with my answer, Gunz nods once, then winks, wearing the sexiest smirk before carrying on with Adam about the club’s automotive shop he’s been working at.
“How’s it goin’ for ya?” Gunz asks.
Adam shrugs his indifference. “I like it fine.”
“But it’s not yourthing?” comes from his father, as a set of talented fingers knead my arch. I bite back a pleasured groan.
“Truth. Not really.” Adam swallows an enormous bite of cheesecake and washes it down with half a glass of milk. “But I am learnin’ a lot from Tripper and Deke.” Like a Neanderthal, he swipes the remnants of liquid from his mouth with the back of his hand and discards it on the top of his jeans.
Keeping my expression neutral and my motherly opinions to myself, I ignore Adam’s choice of napkin in favor of listening to them chat. At least he does his own laundry.
“Did you talk to Big about doin’ somethin’ else?” Gunz asks.
“No. This wasn’t even his idea. He didn’t want me liftin’ a finger, but I got bored sittin’ around doin’ nothin’. Bink musta saw how restless I was and talked to Deke. He was the one who offered me the job.”
That was kind of Bink. Remind me to thank her later, along with the other sisters, for packing up my apartment, settling Janie and Dom into their new home, getting Adam this job, and supplying all our groceries. It’s the least I can do. I should make a list. There are bound to be more things they’ve done I can’t remember right now.
“When I get back to work, you wanna work with me instead?” Gunz throws out as if it’s a normal, everyday, off-the-cuff offer.
Pressing my lips together, to not give anything away, my insides go hay-fucking-wire.
He just asked our son to work with him.
Holy… crap on a cracker.
“Seriously?” is the only word Adam forms as he looks to his father with round, expectant eyes—those of a kid. Shock and awe.
I can’t say it doesn’t hit me right where it should, because it does. My heart thuds against my breastbone as I watch their interaction unfold.
