Haunt (Bayonet Scars #6) (14 page)

Kids.

He probably thinks Piper isn’t his. Especially after that confession about Rig. No wonder he looks so upset. Standing there in the front doorway is the bombshell I had yet to drop. She’s so cute and small. Not small for her age, mind you. No, she’s tall, just like her dad and brother, but still tiny in comparison. Her red face is streaked with tears, and she has a stuffed dog squished to her chest.

CHAPTER 11

My boy.

Zander Wyatt Strand stands in front of the house now. Fuck. It feels damn good to touch him, to know he’s real. He’s taller than I expect—already several inches taller than Amber. He got broad shoulders, a square jaw, and a long, straight nose. He’s kind of gangly, not having yet gained his muscle mass. Looking at my boy is like looking at an old photograph of myself. A flash of anger courses through me at the idea of Amber spending every day looking at him, talking with him, and never reaching out to me. I have to remind myself of how fucked up I was back then. If I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t really get a handle on my shit until recently. I know she tried. She did. It doesn’t stop the irrational jealousy that courses through me at all the time she’s had with our boy that I’ve missed out on. Just about six months before we headed out to Brooklyn, I got clean once and for all.

Without even realizing what I’m doing, I head for Zander and wrap him in a tight hug. My brothers wouldn’t begrudge me this, but fuck if I’m not glad they’re nowhere around right now. It takes him a moment before my boy lifts his arms and hugs me back. And fuck if it’s not the best. His grip isn’t as tight on me as mine is on him, but that’s okay. I’m just a dude to him. He must know who I am, but it’s still not the same. I don’t know if I got that until now, but I do. The love I feel for my mom isn’t really less, but it’s certainly not the same as what I feel for my boy. If I feel this strongly about him now, I can only imagine how Amber must feel. Or how Grady feels about Chey. He’s had eighteen years of that kid, and I know damn well how protective he is. Now that she’s off at school in the city, he stalks around in a mood if he hasn’t seen her in a while. It’s like no matter how much time he’s had with her, it’s never enough. I envy him that—those years with her that I didn’t get with my boy.

It’s my fault.

Sucking in a deep, cathartic breath, I let my eyes fall closed and savor the moment. Fourteen years that I’ve squandered on shit that brought me nothing but trouble and grief. Just when I’m letting myself feel all kinds of self-pity and shit, a loud, high-pitched scream comes from inside the house. It sounds like a small child. Zander stiffens in my arms and pull away. I let him go and brace myself for it—that moment when my fears become reality.

Amber has kids—as in plural—not just the one we have together. I try like hell, but fail miserably, at keeping my emotions in check. Amber Wallace—my woman, my fucking old lady—slept with Rig. I’ve hated that guy for so damn long that I didn’t realize I could possibly hate him more than I did the night he suggested he’d been fucking my pregnant old lady. But then she laid that bomb on me, like I’m supposed to just flip a goddamn switch and hate her or something.

If it weren’t for Zander coming out when he did, busting my balls for yelling at his mom, I might be halfway there. I could never hit her, but fuck if I didn’t want to hit something and see blood. So many questions swirled in my mind, like wanting to know exactly when it started between them. Wanting to know how and why. It’s the whys that will keep me up at night, I think. After everything Rig did to us back then, why would she let him into her bed? I’m spiraling and I know it, but I don’t have the power to stop myself. Zander pulled me out of it once, but this time, I don’t think even my boy can stop me from completely imploding.

Amber has at least one more kid with someone else. She wanted, more than anything, to make me leave right before Zander came out. Telling me about Rig was only important if . . . I can’t bring myself to say it, but the thoughts are flying through my brain at a mile a minute. Rig fucked my old lady, planted his fucking kid in her belly, and probably played daddy to my son, too. If I weren’t such a pussy, I’d probably take my own piece to my ear and call it a goddamn day. I did this. I let this happen. I let that fucker into her life and then left her with him. I left my boy to deal with him, and it’s my fault that when Rig’s back was against the wall, he took my boy. I made that choice when I chose all that bullshit over my woman. I made her a killer, and that, above everything else, is what I won’t ever be able to forgive myself for.

I snap back to the present when Zander and Amber rush toward the noise. The door swings open and blows my entire world apart. Standing in the doorway is the most pissed-off-looking tiny human I think I’ve ever seen. He’s got a stuffed dog clutched to his chest. Chubby little fingers dig into the dog’s neck as he holds it protectively. I eye his face to try to figure out what I’m looking at, but all I see is angry kid. His face is wet with tears, his bottom lip is jutted out, and he’s glaring at his big brother. With the most defiant little expression, he says, “Bad!” Then he looks around, and his face falls on Amber and all of the anger slides right off of his face as he runs to her. She scoops him into her arms, and it’s only now that I see it—the truth. His eyes are the same distinct blue-green color that looks similar to what I see every day in the mirror.

Amber turns to face me with red cheeks. She’s flustered. The nervousness in her eyes is amplified, and she’s hopping from foot to foot. She’s jittery and her jaw ticks, a sure sign she’s gearing up for a fight.

“How old is he?”

Her brow furrows and she purses her lips. “Almost two.”

“Tell me, baby,” I whisper. I stare into her eyes, desperate to tell her how badly I need to hear it. We were fucking like crazy a few years back, but if I let myself believe he’s mine only to find out it’s not true, I’m going to lose my shit. All this stuff with my boy and my old lady is heavy enough without adding this to the mix. I can’t let myself want this kid to be mine until I know he really is. Amber still doesn’t speak. My arm stretches out, and I glide my fingers over her cheek. She takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly.

And she nods. She fucking nods, and I swear to Christ there’s a small smile playing at her lips. She’s practically shaking with her silent omission. Her voice is strained and low when she speaks, and it hits me right in the gut. “I tried to call you. I wanted you to know, but you wouldn’t take my call. So I just . . .”

My hand wraps itself around the back of her neck, and I pull her to me, placing a kiss on her forehead. I squeeze my eyes shut in an effort to stop myself from crying like a bitch. I’m careful not to get too close to her. I don’t want to squish our boy.

When I pull away, I see Zander is standing beside us. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and he stares at my bike to his left. “Her name’s Piper,” he says.

Our little boy isn’t a boy after all. She’s a girl. A tiny little girl with a temper like her momma and blue-green eyes like her daddy. She’s fucking perfect.

“She’s wearing blue,” I say in defense. I thought parents color-coded their kids and shit. I feel like an asshole. What kind of father doesn’t know his own child? What kind of dad doesn’t know he has a daughter?

The kind that’s a fuckup.

“Are you mad?” The question comes from Zander. It takes me aback. I stare at him for a long moment before I realize that this is a part of parenting I’ve missed out on. Answering those kinds of questions that you don’t know how. I’ve seen it with Grady through the years, wondering if I’d make the same choices he has. I always come out realizing that I don’t know what the fuck I’d do. Because back then, fantasizing about having Baby Z and Mugs back in my life was just that—a fucking fantasy. The only thing I had was the what-ifs.

“No,” I say. It’s too complicated to explain to a kid.

Amber shuffles and clears her throat, saying, “I don’t lie to him. Tell him the truth.”

“It is the truth.” I stare her down for a long minute before stepping away and walking to my boy. For being so tall and with such broad shoulders, right now he looks so much younger than his fourteen years. I don’t know how I’m going to explain the situation to him, or if he’d even understand, but I can’t fuck Amber over with this. She tells me to be honest with him, so I’ll do it and hope for the best.

Fuck, I hate this shit.

“Hey,” I say to get his attention, but he doesn’t look at me. Irritation swells in me, but I fight hard to bite it back. “Dude, come on.” The change in tone from father to club president gets his attention. His eyes are watery and a little red in the center. Fuck. No wonder he didn’t want to look at me.

“I’m pissed,” I say. He stares at me with shock all over his face. Shit. He looks so much like I did when I was his age. “Because I fucked up. No kid should grow up without their dad. I’m pissed because I was a goddamn idiot and should have fought for you and your mom. I was into a lot of bad shit until recently, and it cost me my son. That fucking hurts. Finding out I got a little girl—a baby I fucking begged your mom for—that tears me up. But I’m not pissed at her. That shit’s on me. You don’t take a woman like your mom and fuck her over. Not ever.”

Zander stands so still, eyeing me warily. He probably only heard about half of what I said, if even. But Amber heard, and that’s enough for now.

“Are you going to leave?”

Fuck. I just want to hug the kid and not let go of him. I used to think about what he’d be like when he was born, or if he’d be into sports or cars like I was. I spent so much time wondering what my boy would be like, but not any of those dreams, no matter how big or grand, live up to even a fraction of the reality of having this kid stand in front of me and asking me a question like that. This is the reason I got clean—so I could have and remember moments like this. I just didn’t know I’d ever get them.

“Nope. Never. I’m going to be so far up your ass, you’re going to think I’m toilet paper.”

Zander laughs like I’m joking, but he’s got a goofy smile on his face, and fuck if it isn’t the best thing I’ve seen all day.

“Good,” Amber says from behind me. “It’s almost dinnertime.”

CHAPTER 12

In this moment, everything is perfect. My family—my old lady and my beautiful, perfect kids—are sitting around Thumper’s old wooden kitchen table. I’m leaning back in my chair, just chilling as I watch the three of them interact. Amber pulls me into conversation every now and then, and Zander is quiet as hell, but he keeps staring at me like I’ve got two heads or something. I want to talk to him, but when I try, I just fucking freeze up and can’t. Piper is in her high chair and talking her little baby ass off in a language that Amber pretends to speak, but she can’t possibly. Her conversational skills are about as solid as mine are when I’m fucked-up—nothing makes any sense.

Amber’s eyes shift to mine and she tries—and fails—to subtlety nod her head in Zander’s direction. My eyes widen and I shrug my shoulders. The woman’s got to give me some help here. I don’t know how to be a dad. Fuck.

“Do you like movies?” I ask Zander. His eyes shoot to mine immediately, but he doesn’t speak. He just nods his head. I suck in an unsteady breath and stand.

“Are you leaving?” His face pales, and his eyes bounce from me to his mom. His brows draw together, and his knuckles are white as he grips his fork like his life depends on it.

“Just getting another beer,” I say and give him my best smile. I probably look like a serial killer or something. Fuck. This is probably easier when they’re babies and don’t know how awkward and weird their parents are. I just want the kid to like me.

Amber signals she wants a beer, so I head out to the garage and grab two cold ones from the fridge. Once I have them in my hands, I give myself a minute before heading back in there. I’m not this uncertain fuck who gets nervous around people who can’t kill me before I can kill them. But this is different. Zander isn’t a prospect—he’s my son. I can’t force him to respect me, and he’s not going to kiss my ass and pretend he likes me. My cut won’t buy me shit with my kid, and it’s fucking me up thinking that who I am underneath the patch isn’t enough to be a good dad for whatever time I have before he’s too grown to want me around.

Back in the kitchen, Amber is leaning across the table, saying something to Zander that I can barely hear. I move closer but not too close to be seen. My boy keeps a stiff upper lip as she talks, offering only an occasional verbal response.