He didn’t move. Just sat there, clutching that necklace. His fist shook once, then lowered to his knee. I didn’t have to hear his words to know her death hurt his soul. My Reaper recognized his sorrow, not as deep as what I felt for my mother, but shared, nonetheless.
There was no point in calling him out on it. Each of us grieved our own way and in our time. Diesel would do the same.
His chin lifted, grateful when I left his wound alone, returning to Thunder.
“She had a son.”
“A son? Named Thunder?”
“Yes.” I pointed to the necklace. “She gave it to Anita for safekeeping. For her child.”
Diesel didn’t seem happy. “You sayin’ this boy is mine?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t,” he began, rising to his feet. “Shit. You’re sure?”
“Anita was there when Rosa gave birth. There’s no question. You’re his father.”
The truth took a few seconds to sink in.
Diesel’s shoulders squared back, and he faced me. “Where is he?”
“In Nevada. I own a tattoo shop. Anita and Thunder live with me above it.”
“Is he safe?”
“Yes—”
“You don’t understand,” he blurted in a rush. “Someone is gonna take him. Someone could—”
My Reaper sensed pain related to another son.
“He’s safe,” I promised. “Left him with his mother less than two nights ago.”
He opened his mouth to ask another question when I beat him to it.
“My club, Royal Bastards Tonopah chapter, we watch out for him and Anita.”
That little bit of information made sense, and his body lost some of the tension. Diesel grabbed his chest, nodding as he sank into his chair. “Good.”
“Thunder. He’s special,” I began, unsure how to explain my wonderful boy, how extraordinary he was in every way.
Diesel lifted a brow. “Special?”
“He’s an amazing kid. Smart. Loving. Generous. Obedient. All that you could ask for in a child. You need to meet him.”
Diesel stared, the only movement a small muscle that ticked a couple of times in his jaw.
“My boy—Thunder—he deserves to know who his father is. To find out that the man who helped bring him into this world isn’t a bad man.”
“Your boy?” Diesel asked like the phrase bothered him.
“Yes,” I emphasized, “but there’s enough room in his heart for the two of us. No doubt about that.”
I hated to say those words, to speak them into the air because admitting Thunder could accept us both meant I may not always be the only man Thunder looked up to and admired. Selfish. But I couldn’t help the desire to be number one in his life. I loved him that deeply, that completely. Thunder was my son, whether he had my blood in his veins or not.
To share him meant putting aside my bullshit and understanding that a boy needed strong men to help him grow into the adult he’d become.