I always figured that because my father’s childhood was so horrific, something so dark and life-changing that it sent his life in a new trajectory, making him spend the next few decades traveling all over the world doing odd, criminal jobs, that it had sort of made it impossible for him to take shit too seriously, to get too worked up over anything.
“What the fucking shite, Valen?” he grumbled at me in that accent of his that was a little bit all over the place, and impossible to pin down.
“Dad…” I started.
“Look like yer hurting good,” he said as I took slow, careful steps inward. “A good arse-whooping was what ya had coming,” he added. “The fuck is the point of me creating a family for ya when ya take the first opportunity to show ‘em you don’t trust ‘em with your shite?”
“It’s not like that,” I assured him, feeling a bone-deep guilt that anyone thought I didn’t trust them.
“What’s it like then?” he asked, pinning me with a hard look.
“I didn’t want anyone knowing the ugly shit I’d been forced to do when I first left home,” I told him.
“And ya thought I’d be the one to judge? After what I’ve done?” he asked.
He had a point and he knew it.
Many of the men and women and around the club had come from rough backgrounds, had done and endured unspeakable shit.
They wouldn’t have judged.
It was my own insecurities that made me worry so much.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Finn said, coming in from the kitchen with an actual bowl of popcorn and dropping down on the couch, shooting me a shit-eating grin as he brought some popcorn to his lips.
“Yer day will come too, kid,” my father said, shooting Finn a raised brow. “Yer old man can chap your arse with just one of those looks of his. Now you,” he said, turning back to me. “Ya owe yer mother an apology. Imagine that involves flowers and shite.”
“I plan to say sorry to Mom,” I assured him. “As soon as I can get on my bike again,” I added, hobbling over toward the closest chair, and lowering myself down on the arm.
“Where’s yer girl?” he asked, making my gaze lift. “Ya really gonna try to say she ain’t yours? After all this shite?” he asked, waving a hand toward my battered body.
“No. She’s mine. She always was. I just forgot for a while,” I added.
“Dense. Like yer old man,” he said, smirking. “Alright. I’ll leave Fallon to chew yer arse out now. Gotta go tell yer mother that I saw ya and yer alright.”
“Dad,” I called, making him turn back.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For chewing ya out?” he asked, smirking.
“For giving a shit,” I said, shrugging. I knew that, for my father, learning to love had been a long road.
“Love ya, kid. Even when yer a fucking pain in the arse. Speaking of pains in the arses,” he said, shaking his head. “Ya might want to reach out to Jax. Ward said he got word ya made it back to town and didn’t stop in. He’s pissed.”
Ross Ward was a part of my father’s horrible childhood. Two young boys stuck in an impossible situation and needing to learn to survive and figure out how to escape.
Even though they didn’t see each other for decades after, my father had held that friendship close to his chest. When he eventually decided to “retire” in Navesink Bank, he joined the Henchmen and renewed his friendship with Ward like they hadn’t lost any time at all.
That meant that Jax and I had been practically raised as brothers. But, like with everyone else, I’d lost touch with him when I’d left town. It never occurred to me that he’d be pissed that I didn’t let him know myself that I was back.
Jax Ward had gotten himself the title of a pain in the arse a while back when Niro was fighting for him at the underground club. And Jax went and fucked with our club by pitting Niro against a member of the rival club that Danny used to be the president of. And everyone knew that the end result was going to only make the war between the clubs worse.
It also ended with Niro being forbidden from fighting at the club anymore. Or for us to spend our money there. To teach Jax a lesson.
It was a whole fucking thing.
And Jax Ward hadn’t exactly been a club favorite since that day.
But my father, clearly, still thought of him like a second son. Which meant I did have to make good on that too.
I was mending a lot of fucking bridges I never should have burned.
“I’ll add that to my list,” I agreed.
“Bring that firecracker of yours to protect ya,” he suggested, giving my shoulder a hard slap, then a squeeze before making his way out.