Not to mention, Dutch loved his big brother and Georgie was the shit.
The problem was, Carolyn was going to be there.
Carolyn was Georgie’s sister.
She was also Jagger’s ex and things had not ended copacetic with them, mostly because, for years, Carolyn had been snorting coke when she said she wasn’t.
And, oh yeah…
Begging money off him so she could do her blow and get herself into a hole with all the designer-gear shopping she was doing.
Jag didn’t give a shit about the Chanel.
But drugs were a no-go and the thought his money went to that pissed him off.
Huge.
But now she was family, in a way, and he had to suck it up and put up with her.
Like at dinner tomorrow night.
Sure, what time? he replied.
7:00 Dutch sent.
Jagger returned the “ok” hand gesture emoji which pretty much said it all with how enthusiastic he was about this dinner.
Then he stared at his phone, moved down two in his text list, and sent another one.
You open to have a drink at the Compound tonight?
That one, he sent to Hound.
What he was trying to figure out right then was why he sent it to Hound, and not to Dutch.
Dutch was his brother of the blood and of the patch. They were both Chaos.
As their father, Graham Black, had been Chaos.
And as Hound, their other father, was Chaos.
Jag and Dutch were close.
But he’d never wanted Dutch to know about Archie.
And Hound had never brought it up, but Jag knew he knew about her because of the note he’d passed.
He didn’t know.
But he knew.
And Jagger was totally okay with that.
But not Dutch.
And with that…
Why?
His phone binged and he got, Yep. Time?
Jag smiled.
Hound wasn’t a man of a lot of words.
Though he knew how to use them when he needed them.
What he was, was always there for Jag and Dutch.
Always.
Nine good with you? he asked.
See you then, Hound answered.
That made Jag feel better.
Then again, Hound always did.
* * * *
Shepherd “Hound” Ironside was already sitting at bar in the Compound of the Chaos MC when Jagger strolled in.
Hound was in his usual position when he sat a stool in the common room—hunched over a bottle of beer cradled in both hands.
But his eyes were on Jag.
“Yo,” Jag greeted.
“Yo,” Hound replied.
Jag passed Hound at the back to get to the end of the bar, and then he went behind it, because Hound was the only one in the common room, there wasn’t a Club prospect to serve them, so Jag had to get his own beer.
He did that, popped the cap, and then turned to stand opposite where Hound was sitting.
He took a drag from his beer and then leaned into his forearms on the bar, cradling his bottle the same way Hound was.
“You good?” Hound asked.
“Yup,” Jag answered.
Hound stared right at him.
Jag took another pull from his beer.
Hound spoke again.
“Right then, if you’re good, why am I here when I could be at home in a house where my kid is asleep, and my wife is pretty much always in the mood to fall on my dick?”
Jag flinched and reminded him, “Dude, you’re talking about my mom.”
“Yeah,” Hound agreed.
Even if it was totally gross, Jag couldn’t stop his chuckle.
“Jagger,” Hound said in a warning tone.
“Okay, there’s this girl,” Jag started.
Hound didn’t move, didn’t say a word.
He also didn’t take his gaze from Jagger’s.
He was there. He was interested. He was listening.
He was all Jagger’s in that moment.
Something about that made Jag feel great.
At the same time it totally fucked him up.
“I’ve known her for ten years,” he continued. “And the only things I know about her are, she has a dad and a brother, good taste in music, she dresses great, runs a store, her mom is dead, and today was the day I learned her first name.”
“Sounds to me like you’re takin’ things slow.”
Jag chuckled again before he handed that shit right back.
“You’d know all about slow, brother.”
Hound nodded his head once. “Yup, you don’t push a woman when important shit is at stake. Like her heart. Her emotions. Her loyalties. Her sons. And your brothers.”
Jag was no longer chuckling.
“Why’re you not pushin’ this woman?” Hound went on.
“Timing’s never been right,” Jag lied.
“Cut the shit.” Hound knew he was lying.
Jag sighed.
Then he gave it to him.
“We’re completely connected and we’re totally not.”
Hound’s brows drifted up. “Why’s that?”
Jag looked down at his bottle.
Then he looked at Hound.
“The first time I saw her, she was at her mother’s funeral, and I was sitting on Dad’s grave.”
Hound said nothing, just held Jag’s eyes.
“That’s how we’re connected, Hound,” Jagger pointed out.
“That’s an important connection, Jag. Now explain to me how you never knew her name until today.”
“We’d connect, it was always brief, and then we’d miss connections that were meant not to be brief.”
“This is the girl across the way.”
Jag straightened from the bar.
Christ.
Hound always had his finger on the pulse of his boys.
So it shouldn’t surprise Jag that, even over a decade since that note was passed, he remembered.
It still surprised him.
“Hound—” Jag began.
“And you dicked around for all this time, not learnin’ her name?”
“I don’t have what she has,” Jagger told him.
“What’s that?”
“Any time in with my dead dad.”
Hound got quiet.
“She needs me, Hound. She’s always needed me. And I’m an imposter,” Jagger told him.
That made Hound straighten from his hunch over the bar.
“You are the fuck not,” he returned.
“Today, she told me she’s got troubles. All this way down the line from her mom passing, she’s got trouble in her family. And she’s pissed at me because I wasn’t there when she needed me, and her family fell apart. I got nothing for her. I didn’t keep our family together. Mom did. You did. Dutch did. I…”
He trailed off because he didn’t know where he was going with that.
“You don’t have to have the answers, Jag. You just gotta be there to be a sounding board as she finds them. Or stand strong for her if she doesn’t.”
Jag took another drag from his beer.
But he didn’t say anything.
“Now, the thing she’s gonna help you with is figuring out why your ass was on Black’s grave and you don’t think you lost what she lost.”
Okay.
No.
They were not going there.
Jag didn’t share that.
He rolled his head on his neck and he felt three things pop.