I decide to give the situation a few more days. That way, Needy can get comfortable in her new setup before I force the issue with Bronco. Besides, I have this fucking party to worry about first.
On edge, I sense Bambi might cause trouble. Or, worse, my mom could take a stand against the whores in my life. Topanga can’t handle fighting at her party.
“They ain’t coming,” Rooster announces after grabbing himself a beer and filling a bowl with pork egg rolls.
“Who?” Lowell asks despite seeming more interested in why Dunning is eyeballing Monroe.
“My woman and kids.”
“By kids, do you mean DeAnna, too?” Topanga asks in an overly excited voice.
“She might be pregnant, so no punching her for a while.”
Monroe and Pixie share a smile before my woman whispers to Needy about why they’re grinning. Anders just grunts and eyeballs the egg rolls. Pixie must realize her giant needs food because she begins piling crap on a platter for him. Not a plate. No, a massive fucking platter!
“I wish I could eat that much,” I tell Monroe as she dances around the living room.
“You can. Just puke it up afterward, so you don’t get tubby, future hubby.”
I realize Monroe’s not dancing as much as baiting her brother into attacking. I have no idea how this game started, but they’ve been playing a rather aggressive form of tag since their basketball match earlier in the week. I suspect that’s why she’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt rather than a dress. Easier to run and wrestle that way.
“How often do these kinds of parties happen?” Needy asks Monroe while the three of us stand near the back door.
“The community parties are monthly,” I answer when Monroe just shrugs. “Smaller parties are weekly. People like to socialize in the Woodlands.”
“But I don’t have to do this, right? I hated that crap with Francis. Dressing up and smiling at a lot is the lamest use of my time,” Needy mutters, revealing a rage that makes me wonder how she put up with her forced-hubby for so long. Then, I catch her smiling at Monroe and accept how people will tolerate a lot of shit to protect those they love. “I admit the food is much better at this party. The music, too. I kid you not, Francis listened to Yanni.”
Monroe and I shudder in unison and then share a grin at how we’re twins. Then, before I can distract Monroe from scanning the room for her brother, Bronco shows up and asks to speak to me alone.
“Club business,” he says when Monroe and Needy wear matching frowns.
I give Monroe’s ass a loving pat before following Bronco away from the family room. When we end up in a hallway, I glance back at Monroe, who looks worried. Her concern makes my heart warm and my dick hard.
No one’s ever loved me like Monroe does. If Bronco announced he was never retiring or even if he was handing power to Wyatt, I’d be okay. Years ago, I’d have bailed, raging at how I failed and could never live up to my father’s legacy. With Monroe at my side, though, nothing can break me. I’ll just step back from any disappointment, adjust, and move on.
“We need to clear the air,” Bronco tells me.
“Sure.”
“I came to realize that you might believe the slow-go process of changing presidents is a slight against you.”
“Well, yeah, why wouldn’t anyone think you were blue balling out of concern that I couldn’t do the job?”
“Because I said that wasn’t the reason.”
“But you’re my uncle, and you don’t like it when I cry. So, yeah, you’re going to lie.”
My wording inspires an eye roll from Bronco. “Fine. I get that. Lana mentioned how you might see things that way. Then, Monroe said something about messing with your feelings.”
I glance back at where Monroe pretends to be listening to Rooster, but I know she’s really focused on inching closer to eavesdrop on my conversation.
“Look, I get how you feel,” Bronco mutters when I can’t stop looking at Monroe. “It wasn’t that long ago when I was acting like a fool over Lana, unable to pay attention to anything else.”
“Why are you talking as if that behavior is past tense?”
“I’ve adjusted,” Bronco grumbles, hating how I challenge him yet also loving the pushback.
“Because of my great respect for you, I won’t correct you on that.”
“Funny, but I need you to ignore Monroe as she slinks this direction.”
“I’m able to focus on you both.”
“Conor,” Bronco says in a softer voice, “I need to take things slow because of me, not you.”
Focusing on him, I nod. “You’re not ready to retire.”
“I might be. I don’t know. When retiring is a year off, the plan seems fine. Then, I get closer to that moment, and my chest hurts. The club is the core of my entire adult life. Stepping back means I’m not me, and I don’t know how to be anyone else.”
I recall what Monroe said about Bronco wanting to act like an old man without being an old man. I glance in her direction and find her inching close while Rooster follows. My uncle doesn’t seem to notice—or care—that she isn’t listening. He just wants to finish his story.
“I have plans,” Bronco continues. “Things I want to do with Lana and the girls. Summer is moving to Boston for college soon. I need more flexibility. It’s all good in my head. Then, I think of stepping back, and my chest hurts again. That’s not you.”
Studying my uncle, I see him as a flesh-and-blood man rather than the unbreakable president I grew up admiring. Bronco, like his sisters, grew up rough and abused. They built a nice life, but they’ll never outrun their pasts.
I imagine Bronco wanting to be just a husband, father, and friend. No more club burdens on his shoulders. Yet, he’s also giving up the shield he built around himself to keep his past at bay. It’s the same reason my mom is always moving around, jogging, gardening, and starting shit. She fears the quiet. Maybe that’s why Bambi is so lenient about her adult children and grandson living in her house. The Parrish kids grew up and gained power, but the quiet will always take them back to their shitty shack house, crazy mother, and violent father.
When I imagine Bronco dealing with his crap, I’m not in such a hurry to become president. Why can’t I wait and let him ease into this new life? I’m not even thirty. I have plenty of time to run shit and prove myself. As a kid, I always knew Uncle Bronco would help me out. Why shouldn’t I do the same for him now?
“I’m good with how you want to do things,” I say, truly feeling the words for the first time. “Going slow is better for me as long as it’s not because you think I’m a disappointment.”
Bronco’s expression warms. “For years, I’ve waited for you to turn into Wheels,” he says, and I feel my stomach churn with the idea that I can’t live up to my father’s memory. “But you’re never going to be him. That’s why I know I can trust you with the club. Though I loved that man like a brother, he didn’t have the heart to lead.”
I let myself really see my father in my head, something I try to avoid. Grief crippled too many people in the Woodlands after he died. I didn’t want to suffer that weakness, so I avoided reminiscing. But the image of him laughing on the front steps of our house nearly knocks me back. He always felt a little out of reach. I figured that came from me being a kid. However, I never felt any closer to entering his bubble when I grew up. Billy Jessup refused to let people linger in his heart, not even his wife, kid, and best friends.