Takes everything I have not to lift my arms in the air to signal that I just scored. But I can’t celebrate. I have yet to ask her out, and she has yet to say yes.
Chapter 12
Eli
Watching my daughter laugh is one of my favorite sights. Her head back, smile across her face, her entire body shakes with laughter. It’s a gift I never knew I wanted, and now I can’t imagine living without.
It still takes my breath away to say those words—my daughter. Emily. She’s here, in Kentucky, at my clubhouse, and I’m still in awe that she willingly spends time with me.
Little over a year ago, I never would have guessed she’d be here, much less an actual part of my life. I thought I had screwed up my relationship with her beyond repair years ago, but I didn’t, and now I get to watch her laugh. Whatever part of my soul I unknowingly sold for this was worth the cost of admission.
Emily sits on the top of the picnic table in the middle of the grass halfway between Dad’s house and the clubhouse. Beside her is Oz. His arm is wrapped around her, and while I can’t admit I’m thrilled she’s so attached to someone at the age of eighteen, I can admit that if she had to fall for somebody, I’m glad it’s Oz.
He’s a good man. Works hard. Adores my daughter. Treats her with respect, and gives her enough room to live life without him on her toes. Plus, being that he’s part of the club and I have seniority, I can threaten to rip his arms out of their sockets without having to worry about the police being called in for harassment.
“Do you feel old looking at them?”
I can’t keep the surprise off my face when Chevy’s mom, Nina, walks up the steps of Dad’s house and sits on the top step about a foot away from me. When my brother James died before Chevy’s birth, Nina did her best to avoid my family and the club. She only associated with us on a have-to basis. With all the shit that went down with Chevy this year, we’ve talked more, but most of that was fighting over what was best for her son—my nephew.
Chevy found a way to shut us both up, and I respect him for that. I also respect Nina for loving her son and standing by his side, and for coming here tonight for his graduation party. She’s not a fan of the club, but she’s a fan of her son, and it’s nice that both of us are waving the white flag. Giving peace a chance is a good change of pace. God knows I’m tired of complicated.
“Do they make me feel old?” I repeat the question she asked me, feeling it out. I study the group of teenagers ready to take on the world. It feels like yesterday when me, Oz’s parents, Emily’s mom, Meg, and my brother, James, filled that table. “Not old as much as nostalgic.”
“Nostalgic,” Nina murmurs as if weighing the word.
Nina’s a few years older than me, early forties, and she’s a five-four tiny beauty with a personality that’s the equivalent to gunpowder. Gasoline flows in my veins, so the two of us have been a deadly combination, especially with our wildly different ideas of how to raise Chevy. She wanted him away from the club, I wanted him in. He needed his family. To be honest, we needed him more.
“Nostalgic is better than saying I feel old,” she says.
I’ve always been able to appreciate why James was involved with Nina. She’s brave, independent, strong-willed and gorgeous. Long black hair, dark eyes and an olive complexion that makes her looks as if she’s forever been kissed by the sun.
The group by the table break into laughter again as Razor tells them a story, and I watch my daughter as she smiles in complete joy. I remember eighteen, being carefree with friends and being in love.
“ ‘When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, and with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste,’ ” I say, then drink from my longneck.
Nina offers me a side-eye. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” I could blame the beer, but this is my first one and I’ve been nursing it most of the evening. My daughter’s in town, and I want a crystal-clear memory of her every moment in my presence. I missed too many years of her life, and I’m determined not to miss any more.
“That sounded very Shakespearean,” she says.
The right side of my mouth tips up. “Do I look like Shakespeare to you?” Faded blue jeans, black T-shirt, hair shaved close to my head, and plugs in both ears. Maybe I could pass for Shakespeare’s twin brother who grew up in a motorcycle club and spent several years in prison.
Nina looks straight into my eyes, and I give her credit. There’s not many who will meet my stare, much less hold it.
“Play it off all you want, Eli, but that was Shakespeare.”
It was, and she’s looking at me with more respect than I deserve. “I did a lot of reading in prison.”
“Chevy said you earned your bachelor’s degree while you were incarcerated.”
She makes it sound like that was an act to be proud of. For me, self-forgiveness and prison aren’t on the same page. “There wasn’t much else to do.”
“You taught my son to own his choices, so I expect you to do the same. Earning your degree was admirable, and I respect you for that.” Nina returns her heavy gaze back to the open field, and our teens. “I’m thinking about going back to school. I don’t regret having Chevy, and I don’t regret the choices I made to survive, but I do regret not fighting harder to earn my degree.”
I roll the bottle of beer in my hands. “It’s not too late.”
“No,” she says in the most unconvincing tone I’ve heard from her. “It’s not.”
For eighteen years, this woman has been in my face and full of confidence in every word she spat at me. It’s weird to hear doubt fall from her lips.
“Nina,” I say, and wait for her to look at me. She finally does, and I wonder how my brother didn’t fall for those deep, dark eyes. She was his best friend, but he wasn’t in love with her, and that baffles me. “You’ve fought with me, my parents and this club to do what you thought was right for your son for years. Going to college after dealing with us will be a walk in the park.”
That grants me a sarcastic grin and the fire in her eyes that I’m used to seeing aimed in my direction. “As if you weren’t in my face just as much as I was in yours.”
“Never said I wasn’t. In the end, though, we raised a good kid.”
“We raised a great kid,” she corrects.
I tip my beer in her direction in agreement. I return to watching the teens, and I’m caught off guard when I spot Emily watching me. Her gaze flickers between me and Nina. I raise my eyebrows at my daughter. She only smiles at me before rejoining the conversation with her friends.
“Thank you,” Nina says. “For what you said about college…and for helping to raise my son.”
I’m usually a fast responder. Half the time I speak before I think a thing through, but this time, I’m stumped. I’m so used to fighting with Nina that I’m speechless. We drove each other nuts over the years. We didn’t realize until recently, though, we were pulling Chevy in two different directions. I apologized to Chevy for that, and from what I understand, Nina did, too.