Marcel slaps his gut. “I bet it was sooner than that.”
“Whatever.” Murphy pushes his hand away.
Marcel approaches his sister with laughter in his eyes. “Let me see what you brought. Just in case you’ve got instruments of torture in there.”
Heidi huffs and pulls a bottle of light green sauce out. “It’s creamy jalapeño.”
Marcel hooks his arm around her neck without looking at the bottle. “I’m just messing with you, lil’ sis.”
“A decade or so turned it into a funny story.” Murphy rubs his stomach. “Sort of.”
“Ugh.” Heidi shoves the bag in Murphy’s hands and turns to unbuckle Alexa from her seat.
“Daddy!” Alexa chirps, reaching for Murphy.
“No hellos for your favorite uncle?” Marcel teases.
Alexa scrunches her face, her gaze bouncing between her father and her uncle. She blows an exasperated noise and turns to Heidi.
Laughing, Heidi lifts her daughter. “Let’s go see the chickens.”
“They’ve been naughty, so they’re locked in their pen,” I warn them.
Marcel and I hang back while everyone else goes to see the chickens. I can’t stop thinking of what I will now forever refer to as “Heidi’s hot sauce story.” The bond the three of them share runs deep. But the longer Marcel holds onto the truth about Rock being his father, the more damage it will cause when Heidi and Murphy finally find out.
I have to help him end this.
I’m a lawyer. I persuade people to agree with my position using just my words all the time.
Still feeling high from my courtroom victory, I curl my arms around his waist and hug him tight. “You know, with them here, maybe tonight’s a good night to finally tell them the truth.”
He glances down at me with a puzzled expression drawing his eyebrows down.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” I warn.
His gaze returns to Heidi and pain washes over his face. “Not tonight. We’re having a good time. I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Marcel, I understand why you’re struggling with this. I do. But there will never be—”
“Rock should really be here, don’t you think?” he says quickly.
“So, call him. He’s ten minutes away. I’m sure he’d come right now if you told him you were finally going to get this out in the open.”
He shakes his head. “Carter’s here.” His voice hardens as he strengthens his argument. “What am I supposed to do, tell him to go home? That’s not cool.”
With that excuse, he pulls away from me and jogs over to the chicken coop. He picks Alexa up and growls monster noises, drawing high-pitched giggles out of her.
Damn. My lawyering skills failed me. Marcel’s too stubborn.
For the first time in a long time, my persuasive words aren’t enough.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Teller
The dark sky doesn’t hint at what a good day it is. Grinder’s finally getting released from prison.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
Irritation rolls off Rock’s shoulders. I’m working his last nerve this morning. That’s nothing new. Only thing different today is that I’m not taking the usual pleasure in it.
“No, too many people will probably make him twitchy.” He lifts his chin. “Let me ease him into life on this side before he gets here and everyone’s in his face.”
Part of me wants to argue I’m the one who should be there to pick Grinder up. I’m the one who visited him for years when Rock wasn’t able to go. But he’s the president. It’s his call.
I glance at the clubhouse. “We kept it small-ish. Just family. Trinity’s been working on the menu for a week.”
He huffs a laugh. “Have a feeling he’ll be surprised to see her.”
“You worried Grinder won’t be pleased about the changes?”
“No.” Rock’s stare and voice turn distant. “This is what he always wanted the club to be.”
“Think he’ll be surprised you haven’t killed me yet?”
I’m kidding, but Rock’s expression turns troubled.
“Don’t turn those pity eyes on me, Prez,” I warn. “I was only joking.”
“Pity eyes, my ass,” he grumbles, shouldering past me to head for his SUV.
Big, fat, lazy snowflakes drift toward the ground.
“Watch the roads,” I warn. “If you’re going the back way, highway departments probably haven’t salted them yet.”
He stops and turns slightly. “Are you giving me driving advice? Who taught you how to ride?”
I shrug. “Sucks that it’s such a shit day for him to get out.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t give a fuck about the weather. Freedom’s the only thing on his mind today.”
“Amen to that.” I catch up to him at the SUV. My fingers curl around the edge of the door, stopping Rock from closing it.
He turns his head and raises an eyebrow. “You realize I’m in a hurry, right?”
“Yeah.” I lean on the door harder. “Ah, is there any chance…does Grinder know? About us?”
His gaze scans the area over my shoulder before returning to my face. “You make it sound like a secret affair.”
I snort. “That might be less complicated.”
“Jesus,” he mutters. “No, I don’t have any reason to think he knows. Unless you told him on one of your visits?”
“No fucking way.” The corner of his right eye twitches—a sign I’ve hurt or maybe surprised him? “I mean, I wouldn’t bring that up there…or with anyone before I talk to…you know who.”
His gaze slides away. Guilt? Something else? Whatever it is, Rock will never admit it. I release the door. “Go get him, Prez. Bring Grinder home. It’s been a long time.”
“See you soon.”
He climbs into his SUV and throws me a quick wave as he drives away. Then I head inside the clubhouse. My gaze scans the room, seeking one person. A pale beam of sunlight filters through the window, landing on Charlotte, illuminating her red hair in its glow. Appropriate.
She turns. Her dark red lips curve into a smile. She raises her hand, giving me a slight wave.
Sparky blocks my path and shoves a blunt in front of my face. “Emotional Palm Tree. Helps you release all those inner demons,” he promises with a doofy smile.
“I’ve got better ways to release my demons, bro.”
“Sex is the only other way.” He palms his crotch and mimics an explosion bursting through his fingers. “The union of—”
“Yeah. Got it. Get out of my way.” I straighten my arm, pushing him to the side, and continue toward Charlotte. More people move and my sister comes into view, her hands flailing in the air to punctuate their animated conversation. The corners of my mouth slide up. Then guilt creeps along the back of my throat. The regret clinging to me from my brief talk with Rock, or the same guilt that’s been following me for almost a year now?