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The DJ leans around the barrier. “All right, TK. You’re up.”
My feet feel like they’re encased in blocks of cement as I step up onto the stage. Bright lights beam down from the ceiling, almost blinding the fuck out of me. As soon as I step up to the mic, someone in the crowd yells out something I can’t quite hear.
“Up next,” the DJ announces, “we have TK with “If I Can Turn Back Time” by Cher.”
Did that motherfucker say Cher?
“Dude, what the fuck?” I call out from behind the mic.
He just smiles and points to the screen where words start to scroll as the music cues up. When my eyes adjust to the bright lights, I can see Cora resting against the bar, arms crossed, staring a hole right through me.
Here goes nothin’, old man.Your grand gesture shit better work, because I’m about to embarrass the shit out of myself.
My mouth opens, and Cher’s apology song spills from my lips. Well, most of it does, anyway. I try like hell to follow along with the words, but they’re flying off the screen so fast, I miss most of them. Focusing on that, and trying to see if Cora’s watching me, becomes difficult.
“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself. This grand gesture is about to turn up to eleven.This is for you, Cora.Grabbing the mic from the stand, I belt out the words like I’m fucking Cher herself. I gyrate as I sing, my arms open as I add as much theatrics to my performance as possible.
The women in the audience hoot and holler with every swish of my hips, none of them caring that I’m single-handedly butchering the song. I finally get to the end, my heart pounding, and the room goes wild.
Grinning from ear to ear, I take a bow. As I’m bent forward, receiving my hard-earned accolades, I look toward the bar just in time to see Cora walking out the front door.
CORA
“Oh, wow!”Harrison cries, running toward a motorcycle with a sidecar painted to look like Scooby Doo’s Mystery Machine.
“You like Scooby Doo, little man?” the guy sitting in it asks.
Harrison scrunches up his nose. “What’s a Scooby Doo?”
The guy barks out a laugh that sounds like he’d just finished smoking seventeen packs of cigarettes in a row. When he settles down, he looks at me and grins. “Scoob’s not a thing anymore?”
I shrug. “I like him.”
Harrison sees another motorcycle he likes and starts after it. “Harrison, slow down,” I call out. “Wait for me.” Nodding to the man, I take off after my son. For someone with such short little legs, he sure can move. “Harrison!”
A large man, wearing faded jeans and a leather cut, steps out of nowhere and scoops Harrison up into his massive arms. The instant my eyes meet his, every drop of blood I possess drains from my body.
“Put my son down.”
Big Dick, the president of the Screwballs MC, stares down at the little boy in his arms. “You’re a handsome little fucker, aren’t ya?”
Harrison’s eyes grow wide. “You said a bad word.”
Big Dick throws his head back and laughs, then turns his attention to me. “Long time no see, Cora. Rachel told me about the boy, but I didn’t believe it. He’s got my eyes, doesn’t he?”
I inhale slowly, willing my racing heart to calm and my voice to remain even. “Put my son down.”
Harrison’s face changes from curious to worried. “Momma?”
“It’s okay, baby.”
Big Dick chuckles. “Your momma ever tell you about your daddy, son?”
“I don’t have a daddy.”
“You don’t?” Big Dick feigns surprise. “How’d you get here if you don’t have a daddy?”
“We walked.”
