Dante passed the spatula to Heath so Heath could babysit the immense pan of eggs, and then poured me a coffee. He handed it over with a smile. “Here ya go, Dad.”
“What’s the occasion?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at the breakfast spread.
“Just felt like it,” Dante said with a shrug. “Can’t a man treat his club?”
“No complaints here,” I said, leaning against the counter with my coffee in hand. As I watched the morning hustle and bustle around me, I was struck, as I often was, with a sudden burst of gratitude. I was so lucky to have these people in my corner. My foundation.
My phone buzzed in my jeans pocket. I expected something from one of the Elkin Lake guys—we had a church meeting planned today, just for the presidents and vices, but we hadn’t worked out the details yet. But the number on my lock screen immediately made my mood sour.
It was an unfamiliar number, but the content of the message – good morning, gorgeous, I miss you, when can I see you – made it obvious who it was. Stefan. No matter how many times I blocked him, he’d end up with a new number and get right back to texting me like nothing had happened. He was constantly calling and texting, even though I never responded. I hardly even knew the guy! I’d made the mistake of hooking up with him at Stallions months ago, and he hadn’t left me alone since.
“Who is it?” Dante asked, peering curiously at me.
I realized then I was glaring at my phone like I wanted to set it alight. Instead, I just closed the message and stuffed my phone back into my pocket.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “How are those eggs coming along? I’m hungry!”
Dante recognized the deflection for what it was; he gave me a sideways glance but let it slide. The guys were starting to get suspicious, though. They’d noticed how often my phone was buzzing, and I wasn’t great about hiding my reaction when Stefan texted me. I was getting really fucking sick of it. But it wasn’t anything more than an annoyance—eventually he’d get sick of my lack of reaction and move on. So far, though, no matter how much I iced him out, he just kept messaging and messaging.
Whatever. I had bigger things to worry about—such as ensuring Heath didn’t burn down the Crew Motel when he inevitably forgot about the toast. And hopefully, getting back to the everyday craziness of the club would push the dream about Priest from my mind.
2
Priest
I leaned against my granite counter as the percolator bubbled on the gas stove, a familiar, quiet sound that always soothed me. The warm morning sun slanted into my cabin, setting the room aglow. I always woke up early, and today was no different. When I was living in the clubhouse, the early morning was often my only cherished moment of solace before the rest of the club members woke up and began filling the clubhouse with their cheerful noise. Now, though, I could take as much time in the kitchen as I wanted, starting my day slowly before I strolled over to the clubhouse to join the chaos.
I gazed out the back window, over the narrow back porch and across the undeveloped Hell’s Ankhor Crew land. It was a gorgeous, quiet morning, and I opened the window to let the chilly morning air in, and to hear the familiar chirping of the birds outside.
After Ankh had passed, I’d thought I’d never find happiness again. And yet, somehow, as time had gone by and my brothers had helped me heal, I’d found something almost like contentment again. I had Ankhor Works, and now Stella’s; the growth of the club meant we had a nearly unshakeable foundation, and of course I had my son, Raven.
But.
There was always a but, wasn’t there?
I sighed and turned away from the window as the percolator finished brewing the coffee. I couldn’t deny the twinge of loneliness in my chest as I puttered around the cabin.
With a mug of coffee in hand, I leaned against the counter and sighed, gazing at the fridge. The door of the fancy stainless steel appliance was already nearly covered in photos—Jonah and Raven had gathered pictures from all the members, plastering them on the fridge before I moved in. The photos were a retrospective of the club, from its foundation to the construction of the cabin itself: