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“Why stay in Florida, Star?” he demanded, his voice booming in the stillness of my cabin. “You’ve got family, Sunny and Arizona, your stepmother, all back in Tucson.”
My love for my siblings and stepmother notwithstanding, I stood my ground. “This is my life now, Dad,” I countered, feeling the old tug of familial duty clashing with my chosen path. “The Hell on Heelz, they’re my family too.”
“Your mom lost her way, lost her life because of this club.”
“I wonder who killed her?” The argument that started was fiery, a clash of wills between two strong personalities, each with their own vision of what family and duty meant.
“Star, we’ve been over this too many times,” he started as we rehashed old wounds.
But as the initial storm of grievances passed, we settled into the heart of the matter. Riptide and his intentions.
Dad’s demeanor shifted when we broached the subject of Riptide. “So, this biker’s got your heart,” he mused, his tone a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “What does he really want, Star?”
I hesitated, knowing the depth of my feelings for Riptide but also understanding my father’s need to protect me, to ensure I wasn’t walking into a situation lightly. After all, he dealt with my relationship with Marco before who wanted more than my love. “Riptide loves me, dad,” I said, my voice steady with conviction. “He’s shown me time and again.”
Dad looked at me, his expression softening, the hard lines of his face relaxing into a resigned sort of acceptance. “If this boy’s serious about you, about joining our families,” he began, his voice gruff but not unkind.
“Boy?” I started. “He’s a man. And we’re the same age. I’m a flipping adult.” I didn’t dare to curse in front of him.
Dad completely ignored my rant. “He’ll need to prove it, to me, to the clubs, to everyone. He’ll need to make an honest woman out of you.”
“An honest woman? What’s that supposed to mean?” I whined.
“It’s a saying. Means he’ll do the right thing. Marry you.”
The revelation from my father that marriage was his condition for a truce between the Hell on Heelz and the Seville Slayers not only added a complex layer to an already intricate situation. It was downright insulting.
“Dad, marriage can’t be a bargaining chip,” I argued, my hands clenched at my sides, frustration boiling within me. “Riptide and I, our relationship, it’s real, not some strategy to be negotiated.”
My dad’s expression was unreadable, his years of leading the Asphalt Gods MC etched in the lines of his face. “Star, you know how this world works,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “It’s not just about love. It’s about alliances, strength, and the future of our clubs.”
I paced the small confines of my cabin. The walls seeming to close in. “Riptide hasn’t proposed, dad,” I admitted, more to myself than to him. “I don’t even know if that’s what he wants, or if he’s ready for that step.”
“If this biker is serious about you, about bringing our clubs together, he’ll step up,” he stated.
The idea of Riptide proposing, of us officially uniting our lives and by extension our clubs, was both thrilling and terrifying. I loved him, more than I’d thought possible, but the notion of our relationship being used as a linchpin for a club alliance was daunting.
As dad expressed his disbelief at the notion of Riptide inviting him all the way from Arizona without the intention of formalizing our relationship. “He had me come all the way here just for y’all to play house?” His voice was spiked with astonishment.
I shook my head, frustration mounting. “That’s not how things work anymore,” I retorted, realizing the gap of generations and ideologies between us was wide. “We don’t live in a world where a marriage has to seal a deal or validate a relationship anymore.”
Dad’s insistence on marriage as a cornerstone for the truce between our clubs felt archaic, a remnant of old biker traditions clashing with the present’s complexities. “If you’re here to pressure us into marriage to seal some club deal, then maybe it was a mistake for you to come,” I said, my voice rising.
The unspoken frustrations of years colliding with the current turmoil hardened dad’s face. He set his jaw stubbornly, just like me. “If that’s how you see it, Star,” he growled, his disappointment evident. Without another word, he stormed out, leaving me alone in the simmering silence of my cabin.
The door slammed shut with a finality that echoed through the small space, a loud reminder of not just the club politics we were navigating, but the personal stuff. Things had been strained with my dad after I said I wanted to leave Tucson to live with my mother’s family in Florida for high school, and I never came back.
Standing there, amid the remnants of our heated talk, I felt a weary sense of isolation. The gap between my father’s expectations and my own desires wasn’t insurmountable. They were the same. They had nothing to do with the harsh realities of our biker world. But the fact remained, Riptide hadn’t asked me to marry him, and I didn’t expect him to because my dad demanded it.
That night I pondered the difficult path ahead, the delicate balance between love, duty, and the fierce independence that had always defined me. Dad’s visit, intended to bridge the distance between our worlds, had instead underscored the challenges we faced in reconciling our past with the future I hoped to build with Riptide.
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I resolved to have an honest conversation with my biker, to uncover the depths of our desires and the potential of our future together. The concept of matrimony, once a distant thought, now loomed as a pivotal point in our journey and the possibility of a united front against the challenges we faced.
Amidst the silence of the night, the idea of walking down a path that led to an altar and an alliance felt like a beautiful prospect. With Riptide by my side, I believed we could navigate the complexities of our world, forging a new era for the Hell on Heelz and the Slayers together.
Chapter 19
Riptide
