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Then there’s the other elephant in the room—why do I have to continue to put my dreams on hold? Mom falling back on her pride instead of leaning into the family Dad provided us is on her, not me. Maybe I was willing to write it off as grief years ago, but the longer this has gone on the more I wonder if there isn’t a whole lot more to Mom’s insistence not to help.
She’s become a bitter woman. Honestly, she was never overly warm and fuzzy, but she wasn’t like this. Maybe giving into her and allowing her to manipulate me and push away the club has done even more harm than I realized.
I don’t think she’s physically abused the girls, but I wouldn’t be surprised about some psychological warfare going on. And with teenage girls I’m not sure which would be worse. But it’s not really a matter of better or worse is it?
Emma and Miley deserve better. Fuck, I deserve better.
Now it’s time to really step up and be the brother I should have been years ago—to both my sisters and the club. It’s time to be the man who deserves my woman’s forgiveness and time for being able to share in her dreams.
Because they’re mine too.
Not being a man used to nervousness, it’s jarring to walk up to the front door of Mom’s house and not want to enter. Granted, there have been plenty of times when I didn’t want to face her because I knew it was going to be a heavy burden, but this is different.
Her words are going to be cutting.
Her ire is going to be burning.
I’m going to have to put my foot down in a way that I never have before and then hope for the best as the dust settles around us.
Am I ready to do that? Hell no, but I’m also not ready to walk away from Emery while continuing to put myself last and allow misery to exist in my life when it doesn’t have to. Yeah, it’s time to fucking step up.
Before I can stop myself I open the door and step into the house that hasn’t been my home in over ten years. The moment I could move to the clubhouse, I did. It was freedom I was after then.
Since I had already spent some time working on a rig, though much shorter stints, I didn’t want to come back to land and be forced into some cookie cutter existence that I was outgrowing. I wanted to be able to spend time with my club brothers and blow off some steam.
Then Dad died and shit changed. The feeling of the house I grew up in not being a home became stronger every time I walked inside. Sure, I forced myself to come around more often when I was on leave, but that was for the girls. I wasn’t going to abandon them when they needed me.
Fuck. I really should have been around more often for them. I know my club kept an eye on them, even if mom would have blown a gasket and never approved. Still, I should have been there to chase off boys and make sure they knew their worth wasn’t found in the heart eyes of some asshole who was only thinking with their dick.
Hopefully that won’t bite me on the ass later.
“Mom,” I call out into the still of the house since the girls are at school today.
I’m so damn proud of them. They’re much better in school than I ever was.
“I’ll be right out,” she calls back to me from the back side of the house where the laundry room is located.
When she enters the living room, where I’m wary about sitting, she has a basket in her hands that needs to be folded. I almost cringe because with these three females in the house, I am not interested in being close to their laundry at all.
No fucking thank you.
“Kade,” there’s a coolness in Mom’s voice that has me wanting to turn tail and run away. But I can’t. This is a conversation that is long overdue. “Why are you here? I would have thought you have plenty to keep you busy with that little club of yours,” those words are delivered with sneered derision that has my hackles instantly rising.
“Fucking hell, Mom,” I grunt. “Can’t you try to show the club some respect? Dad was a member. Being a patched brother of the DSMC is part of his legacy and one I wasn’t going to turn my back on,” I try to explain what she already knows.
The way her eyes harden tells me that she doesn’t want to hear any of it. Of course she doesn’t. I’m not even sure why I tried.
“That club,” she spits the word, “ruined my life and took your father’s life.”
“No,” I seethe, “Dad’s death had nothing to do with the club and you know it. The club could have helped you and stood by you while you grieved. Hell, the club grieved the death of a brother as well. You walked away when they could have helped you and when they needed you as well.”
“I’ll never give that fucking sorry excuse of a place my time or presence ever again,” the words come through her gritted teeth, and I find myself baffled.
Dad’s death was an accident. One that couldn’t have been avoided.
“This isn’t why I came to talk to you.” I shake my head because I know talking about the club isn’t going to get me anywhere.
I hate that my sisters didn’t grow up with the club having their back in the way I was able to. If I’m in town, I take them for family days and the club tries to keep an eye on them, but it’s not the same as when I was growing up. Mom has isolated the girls from the family they could have had.
