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At least his doubts about whether he should have come or not melted away with Aubrey in his arms. This really was why he was here.
Aubrey pulled back and framed his face with small hands. “I love you, Uncle Tiger,” she said, so earnestly he had no problem reading her lips.
“I love you, too,” he told her, wiping away her tears with his beer napkin. He’d left the bottle on the nearest table at her approach. “I’m really sorry about your mom.”
The tight-lipped older woman had caught up with Aubrey. Rose, Nicole’s mother. The one who’d written the note and sent him the obit.
From the way she was hovering, Tiger expected Aubrey had been staying with her and Bill in Florida until things settled down. He hoped Colt had sense enough to let that become a permanent relocation.
Skye’s hand was on his shoulder, drawing his attention to her screen. She’d turned on the mic, so Aubrey’s words swirled across it. “Grandma and Grandpa took me to Disney, to the Animal Kingdom, and I saw tigers, like you. And an elephant, like Hermione.” She traced her fingers over the suit coat where the ink was. Her nose wrinkled a little, a smile in her wet eyes. He glanced at Skye’s screen.
“You smell like aftershave. It’s nice, but weird. Different from how you usually smell.”
She didn’t ask about coming to the garage. Even the indirect reference to it had her shifting nervously, glancing up at her grandmother.
He doubted his place would ever ring with her laughter again. He wouldn’t see her standing next to Maryshka, learning how to handle a wrench or repair an engine. He regretted that, but he got it. He considered it a precious miracle she didn’t associate him with the trauma of her mother’s death. More words appeared on Skye’s screen.
"Maybe you can come down to Florida sometime and go to Animal Kingdom with me. Grandpa says if I live there, they’ll get a pass. I can go every day if I want.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That would be cool.” His throat was thick, probably making his voice hoarse. He swallowed and looked up. “If it’s okay with your Grandma Rose.”
Her look was all sorrow, her shoulders stooped with it. When she spoke, the mic didn’t pick it up, probably because she was soft-spoken and standing behind Aubrey. White noise in the clubhouse had swallowed the words. But Skye typed fast. When she held it up so he could see, the thickness in his throat increased.
You will always be welcome in our home.
He rose to his feet, keeping his hand on Aubrey’s shoulder. Rose had watched the exchange. Slowly, she touched her ear, a question.
“They say it might come back,” he said. “I don’t know.”
Rose gripped his hand with one covered by cool paper-thin skin, her fingers slightly trembling. Her behavior toward him said how much Nicole had shared with her mother about his role—or lack thereof—with the club. Plus the efforts he’d made to sever that cord entirely, with no other survivable option.
But Nicole hadn’t survived it.
He supposed his stiff body language, the obvious desire not to be here, how he wasn’t standing with Colt, reinforced that estrangement. If seeing him in that state helped reassure Rose he was her ally and Aubrey’s, he was glad for it. He could handle feeling like a dirty bomb had been detonated inside him, stabbing his heart and gut with nails.
Skye had the phone’s mic positioned close to Aubrey again. She wanted him to come look at the cupcakes on the buffet. With a nod to Rose, he followed her there.
Seeing the familiar foods was like seeing the bikes. Evidence of a world and family he’d once had. Sondra’s Better-than-BJ fried chicken. It even had a card with that written on it. When Aubrey asked who BJ was, Breaker answered, his gruff voice picked up on Skye’s discreetly held phone.
“BJ stands for Bobby Joe. Better than Bobby Joe fried chicken. Just a saying, kid.”
Breaker met Tiger’s gaze with a pained grin, an expression that quickly shuttered when he realized who he was tossing that look toward.
Tiger shifted his attention back to the bar. The pound cake garnished with fresh strawberries would have come from Rex’s old lady, Maggie. She had a green thumb deeper than the hills of Ireland.
Family was family, whether the Cleavers or the Sopranos. Even a serial killer probably went home for funerals and weddings. Stood at a buffet deciding whether he’d have his aunt’s apple pie or his mom’s peach cobbler, then decided to overstuff himself so as not to offend either.
He needed to get the fuck out of his head. He’d started the day with a low-level throbbing headache, and the extra-strength OTCs he’d popped with the beer didn’t seem to be keeping it down. The doc had warned him to watch out for the ones that escalated, but not much he could do about it for this.
Aubrey hadn’t taken a cupcake, so he asked her if she wanted one. “I just wanted you to see them. Momma made good cupcakes, too.” Sadness filled her eyes before she seemed to push it away and made a brave face. “You should have one. You look thin.”
The imitation of Nicole’s motherly side startled him. Rose met his gaze, unspoken pain in hers. Though the last thing his throbbing temples wanted was an injection of sugar, he had Aubrey pick him out just the right cupcake.
When he had it cradled in a napkin in his hand, Rose was approached by other well-wishers, so she drew Audrey into their midst. Tiger watched them offer their comfort to Nicole’s mother and daughter. Saw Aubrey nod, respond, but her gaze was staring through them.
She didn’t need to be here. But he couldn’t do anything about that, either.
Skye was still at his side, her light fragrance in his nose, the incidental brush of her body against his side. He’d put his hand on her lower back a few times, letting her know he wasn’t wandering away, either. Just because his head was fucked about all this didn’t mean he’d abandon his responsibility to watch out for her.
