Shift (The Disciples' Daughters #2) (14 page)

The next day was spent almost entirely back at Sailor’s Grave. I went in hours before my first appointment to start going over operations information with Carson. It wasn’t entirely unfamiliar territory. He’d taught me most of it when I was an apprentice in case I ever wanted to leave and open my own place. Carson wouldn’t have been upset about that. It was part of the gig. I just never felt like there was a reason to leave. I wasn’t relocating with the club being in Hoffman, so it was a moot point.

I also used that time to restart and scrap a few more sketches of the tattoo I was designing for myself. Every time I drew it, the design seemed flat, dull, lifeless. I didn’t want to put anything on my skin, or anyone else’s, that could be described that way. And I didn’t want to do that with this particular tattoo.

Most of my day was blocked out for a large piece I was doing for one of my long-standing clients. It was a design I was incredibly proud of, one I’d labored over hour after hour until I could say that. Carson said it was some of the best drawing he’d ever seen me do, a statement not made lightly. Some people get into tattooing because they want to put ink in skin specifically, I got into it because it was the form of art I’d chosen. Drawing was my strong suit.

I was setting up my station when the bell above the door went. I glanced that way to see Ethan coming in and waved him over.

“How’s it goin’?” I greeted, grabbing his hand and slapping his back.

“It’s good, man. Got the call from your club’s shop this morning that my bike will be done tomorrow,” he said as he sat and began removing his prosthetic leg.

Ethan was stationed in Afghanistan, Army. His unit was ambushed. Only three of them made it out. Ethan took a hunk of shrapnel to the right leg. By the time it was extracted, the wound was infected. They were forced to amputate below the knee.

He had a motorcycle before he enlisted and rode every chance he could when he was on leave. He’d managed to learn to ride again with his prosthetic, but he was struggling with the rear wheel break. His bike had a standard toe lever on the right side, but he wasn’t getting enough tactile input to feel solid operating it. I’d hooked him up with the club’s garage to modify the break system for him. We also started talking about club life—a life he seemed to be considering for himself.

After he leaned his prosthesis against the side of the chair, he pulled up the leg of his shorts to reveal the outline I’d already put down on his thigh. The tattoo was a tribute to his fallen brothers. When we’d sat down to discuss the design, he told me he wanted it on his right leg, so he would never forget what he’d lost physically was not so great as the sacrifice they had made.

That was why I’d given everything I had for this tattoo.

The final design was a haunting image, one that shook me to look at. The focal point was the classic image of a battlefield cross. The helmet, gun, and boots were all going to be filled in with full saturation color and black. Around it, in a grayscale pattern of the American flag, were silhouettes of the men in his unit who were lost that day. Each silhouette I had drawn from pouring over photos Ethan brought in. I had spent hours and hours making sure each one was as exact and recognizable as possible.

“It’s healed up well,” I commented as I looked over the outline. “I was worried some of the cross might not be ready to take on again. From the looks of this, we might be able to lay in everything today, if you want to sit for it all. Then we’ll just have one touch-up appointment once it’s all healed.”

“I’m all for it if you’ve got the time,” he answered.

“I kept the books open so I would.”

I got to work. We talked intermittently, but I focused on the work in front of me. During one of the breaks I took to rest my hand and give Ethan a breather, I checked my phone. Stone had sent a picture. Emmy was smiling huge with a marker in her hand. In front of her was Stone’s arm covered in squiggly lines between his tattoos.

He’d written, “Looks like you’ve got some competition coming up.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Emmy looked so fuckin’ proud of her work.

“What’s up?” Ethan asked.

Like the fucking sap she was making me, I turned the picture of Emmy his way. “My little girl. Apparently, she’s gonna take after me.”

“She’s cute. Didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“I didn’t either.”

I spent a good chunk of the time I was working telling him the whole damn thing.

When I was done, he whistled. “You got a mess on your hands.”

“Probably.”

“She worth it?”

“Absolutely.”

“Glad for you then.”

By the time I got out of there in the evening, I was fucking sore. My back was tight, my shoulder ached, and I had to shake my hand out for a good ten minutes before I could get on my bike.

I’d had four more appointments after Ethan left, but his kicked my ass. It was so fucking worth it, though. The tat turned out better than I’d hoped. The visceral response Ethan had at seeing it completed told me all I’d needed to know about what he thought. Those moments, even though they killed, were what really made an impact. I’d do a hundred meaningless doodles on people if the trade off was even one piece that meant as much as Ethan’s did.

I was ready to crash when I got in, but I had something important to see to before I could.

Emmy was already in bed. I was a bit disappointed, but I’d expected as much. Still, I was sure she was going to be much easier to win over than her mother. I needed to focus in on the real fight.

Ash was in the kitchen, leaning over the sink while she washed dishes. For a moment, I just stood in the doorway and appreciated the view of her heart-shaped ass. She was wearing those tight, thin pants that were popular. Yoga pants? That sounded right. Whatever. Point was, they hugged her ass like a second skin, but I couldn’t see the line of her underwear, so I was imagining up all kinds of fucking wonderful explanations as to why that was.

I wanted to go up and grab a handful. If I were even somewhat closer to getting her to give up this whole we-aren’t-together thing, I would have.

Instead, I decided on a smarter move, even if it was a hell of a lot less fun.

I started with bringing my hands to her arm, just below her shoulder. She was wearing a tank top, so it was skin on skin. She jumped, her head flying around to look at me. I grinned at her.

“Hi, babe.”

I ran my hand down her arm, leaving it at her bent elbow to move to her waist. I brought my other hand up to settle opposite.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“I…I don’t know.”

I shrugged. “Why don’t you just focus on those dishes before you make even more of a mess?”

Her head snapped back around to see the bowl she had in her hands spilling water and bubbles all down the cabinets.

“Crap.”

She snatched a towel and started swiping up the water. She was frazzled, like I’d hoped to make her. If there was one thing to learn from my day of “pretending” with Ash, it was that she was fighting her own desires. That was a hard fight to win, I knew from experience. I didn’t need to convince her that we worked. I just had to overwhelm her enough to make her give up the fight.

While she straightened and got back to the sink full of dishes, I smoothed her hair away from her shoulder. I let my fingers run through the curls. Ash tried to ignore me, but it was fruitless. She loved having her hair played with. She used to drop hints or just all out ask me to do it for her. As I shifted the curls around, she shivered, unable to catch the movement.

“Sketch,” she warned, but there was a pleading edge to it. It was a plea for me to keep going.

Her defenses were crumbling already and that was all I was after. I stepped back, enjoying the way she turned to look as if she didn’t understand where I was going.

“I just wanted to ask if I could take Emmy on Saturday,” I stated.

“What?”

“Emmy. Saturday. I want to take her out for the day. I’ll be on her the whole time, and I’ll leave you my car and take Roadrunner’s truck so the car seat is there and secured properly,” I explained.

“Ugh…yeah. Sure.”

“Sweet. Thanks, babe.”

Because I had shit impulse control and couldn’t help myself, I leaned in closer and whispered, “By the way, those pants make your sweet ass look fantastic.”

Leaving her with that, I grabbed a container of leftover pizza from the fridge and took it up to my room to eat.

Day two, and I was already making progress. Ash could talk her big game all she wanted, there was no way I was going to lose.

The mind is a funny thing. For instance, mine was pondering how groundskeepers managed to keep all the grass so even. Not just the length, but the color and the thickness were all completely even. It was really nice, until I started thinking about it too much, then it started to seem unnatural.

Of course, this was a not-so-brilliant defense mechanism. It was much easier to focus on the grass than it was to face the objects sticking up from it.

It was Saturday. As promised, I’d let Sketch take Emmy for the day. He had her at the tattoo parlor where he worked—which gave me the answer as to whether he’d ended up pursuing tattooing after all. I hadn’t told Emmy until the day before and that had been a smart move. From the moment it was mentioned, she spoke of nothing else. It was all Sketch. How nice he was, how much fun they were going to have, how she couldn’t wait.

It shouldn't have irritated me, but it did. It totally did.

Why? It could pretty much be summed up in how that morning went.

I had Emmy in the kitchen eating her breakfast. It was the first time she wasn’t dropping Sketch’s name every five seconds since she’d woken up, and that was only because there was food going in. The reprieve wasn’t going to last.

We got as far as me taking her bowl to the sink before it started again.

“When is Sketch gonna be up? I’m so excited. What do you think we gonna do, Momma?”

“I don’t know what you are going to do,”
I’d said to correct her.

“I can’t wait! I hope he’s up soon.”

“I’m sure he will be, baby.”

“He’s the bestest. Right, Momma?”

“Yeah, honey. He’s the best.”

Then, I’d nearly swallowed my tongue when I’d heard,
“Am I?”

“Sketch!”
she’d cheered.

“How’s my favorite girl? Excited?”

“Yes!”

I didn’t want to, but I had to smile. Nothing got to me like Emmy’s happiness. I’d move heaven and earth—or force myself to deal with being near Sketch—to make her smile that way.

There was no avoiding it, so I made myself look his way. Sketch’s eyes were on me, and they looked satisfied. Whether I was saying it to placate my daughter or not, he was taking that statement as a boon. That smirk was on his face every time he looked at me as he grabbed a quick cup of coffee and some toast. It was the last thing he gave me as the two of them left.

I was still seeing it in my head.

Well, I had been anyway, until I started focusing on the grass.

I’d only walked the path I was on twice before—once escorted by a bevy of bikers, Gabe’s hand holding mine the whole time, the other around dawn on the day I left Hoffman. Still, I knew my way. It was burned into my memory to the point that I could never forget.

Gauge was my guard for the day while Cami and Levi were with Tank. I hated having to call Stone to see who could come with me, but this was something I needed to do while Emmy was taken care of. Gauge insisted it wasn’t a bother, but I was sure he’d say that even if it were. I’d felt even worse when I asked if I could have some space. He’d understood, agreeing to stay back, but saying he would be just a few yards away. It was too risky for him to be farther than that.

He’d stopped a few steps ago, leaving me to walk the remaining distance alone. The closer I got, the less the grass was able to distract me. I started studying it closely, looking at the individual blades, trying to find a stray weed or under-grown patch. At least, I did until I saw a leaf on the ground.

It drew my eyes up, looking at but not really seeing the tree just a few feet ahead. Beside it, just far enough away to keep it safe from the roots, was the headstone.

The Disciples had paid good money to get that plot, one removed from the more crowded areas of the cemetery, and with the beautiful tree next to it. They had done it, in part, I believe, for me, so I would have something nice to see when I visited.

I forced my lead feet to carry me the remaining distance. Making it, I sat—more like slumped—down in front of the granite slab. Across, it was engraved:
Joel “Indian” Thomas. Devoted Father, Beloved Friend. Ride On, Brother. October 7th, 1967 - July 16th, 2011.

They’d even engraved the Disciples’ patch into the stone. He would have liked that.

I couldn’t stop the tears. I didn’t try.

“Hi, Daddy.”

With shaking hands, I placed the flowers and sealed picture down in front of the headstone.

“I’m not sure how you’d feel about the flowers. I got the manliest ones I could find. I don’t know if any flowers are really manly, but I tried,” I spoke out my erratic thoughts. I’d found dahlias in a very dark purple, almost black. If a flower could work for my dad, that would be it.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited. I’ve thought about you every day. I wish you were still here.”

I tried to breathe through the pain, but it didn’t seem to help.

“I brought a picture of your granddaughter. Emmaline. Little Emmy. She’s so beautiful, Dad. God, I wish you could have known her. I wish you could be here to watch her grow up with me. You would love her so much, and she’d adore you. She’s turning four soon. She looks just like me, but she’s so different. She’s so outgoing and talkative. She loves to dress up like a princess and sing and dance. She loves to be the center of attention. You wouldn’t believe how she is with the brothers. She’s got them all wrapped around her little finger. Even Daz is suddenly the awesome uncle.

“I wish you were here for her. I wish you were here for me. I don’t know what to do and you always knew. You always had the advice I needed. You would have stopped me from taking off after we lost you. But you aren’t here. You weren’t there then. It’s just me, talking to a stone, wishing you hadn’t left me, just like it was four years ago.

“Why were you so committed to the fight with Barton? Why did you take that risk when you knew I needed you? I don’t understand it. Why would you ever risk leaving me?”

I was close to shouting, so I forced myself to calm down.

“They haven’t stopped him, not yet. Now, he’s threatening me. Emmy and I had to come back here, where the club could protect us. Being back is so hard. I feel the hole you left, all the time. Being at the clubhouse, around the brothers, seeing that patch on each of their backs—it all reminds me of you.

“And there’s Gabe. I don’t know what to do with him, Daddy. I’m still scared. I lost you because of club business. You thought it was worth laying down your life for the Disciples. What if he eventually feels the same? I couldn’t take it.

“And…I don’t know if there’s something after this. I don’t know if you can actually hear me at all, if you still watch out for me. If you do, you know about Emmy. You know she might not be his. He says he wants us both. I want to believe him, but he keeps saying he knows she’s his daughter. What if he’s wrong? What if some day he figures out he’s wrong and he can’t love her the same? I can’t take that chance. I can’t.

“But god, Daddy. I want to. I’ve missed him so much. I still love him. I think I’ll always love him. And I want Emmy to have that love. I want her to have a dad, to know the love you gave me. I want it all, but I know I shouldn’t take it.

“I want to think you’d understand, but I somehow think you’d be rooting for him. You always liked that I fell for Gabe, knowing he wanted to be a Disciple, too. You’d be plenty happy with him now, if that’s true. He swore he was going to win me and I’m scared he might be right. I can’t even explain it. He isn’t fighting with me and trying to make me give in. He’s…I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like he’s trying to tease me into breaking.

“He hasn’t said a thing about winning me back since we fought about it, but he’s always there. Whenever we’re both at the farmhouse, he finds ways to get close to me. He’ll find reasons to touch me, to talk to me. He’ll sneak things from our past into conversations, forcing me to remember. Yesterday, someone put sunflowers in the kitchen. He won’t admit it. I think he might have even made someone else do it so he could say he didn’t without lying. No one will own up to it, but it had to be him. Only the two of you knew how much I loved the sunflowers he used to give me. It’s little things like that, trying to make me remember how good we were.

“He doesn’t get it. I never forgot how good we were. I never could. Emmy and I could leave when this trouble blows over and I could never see him again, but I would never forget how much I love him.”

I sat there, wishing I didn’t feel as alone as I did. I wished I could somehow feel whether Dad was with me.

“I don’t know what to do, and you were always the one who told me. I’m terrified I’ll make the wrong choice for me, or Emmy, or both of us. I’m terrified of leaving Gabe again, but I’m terrified of letting him back in and losing him the way I lost you.”

For a long time, I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t know what else to say. Dad was gone. He’d been gone a long time now. So long, I was hardly the same person anymore. When he left, I was still a teenager. I might have been out of high school, but it still felt like I was a kid who wasn’t ready to take on the world. That Ash was gone. I was a mother, I’d learned hard and fast what surviving on your own meant. I felt like it had been a million years since I was the Ash my father left behind…like I’d lived a whole life without him.

Sometimes, I wasn’t entirely sure I even knew the Ash I was now. My life had been so centered around Emmy since I first learned she was coming, I’d lost myself on the way. I was “Mom”. I worked, I came home, I took care of Emmy. I did what I needed to around our little apartment after she went to bed and then I crashed. That had been my life for so long, I’d forgotten what it was like to just relax until I was back in Hoffman.

After a while, I started talking again. I had no idea if there was some way he could hear me, but I told my dad all about raising Emmy. I told him all the funny stories I wished he’d been there for. I shared my stories with the wind, the grass, the stone bearing my father’s name. I hoped, with all my heart, he could hear it. Despite everything, I hoped he knew I had my beautiful daughter and I was happy.

When I was wrung dry of emotions and the stories had all been told, I pushed my stiff body off the ground. I placed my hand atop the headstone and promised, “I’ll come back soon. When she’s ready, I’ll bring Emmy with me.” I lifted my fingers to my lips, kissed them, and placed my hand back on the rough stone. “I love you, Daddy. Until next time.”

Then, I turned and walked back to Gauge, feeling both lighter and more weighed down by confusion than ever before.