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Mark’s deadly glare lingered on me until Montana cleared his throat and tried again, “Come on, Mark. Call this shit.”

I tore my gaze back to the place they’d originally been gathered at the other end of the diner, unable to look at any of them.

“Enough.” Mark simply said.

The bells sounded against the glass a few moments later.

“He’s one of them…” I repeated, more an awkward realization than a question.

“He is.” Daisy quietly answered, causing me to suck in a breath and confront the sound.

“Sorry, I thought I was alone.” I sniffed, only to startle at the sound of motorcycles being fired up.

“It’s okay. You’re not wrong, though. He’s an outlaw. A Steel Disciple. C.C, and all the rest of them lost causes.”

“How–? Why would my husband befriend a criminal?” I wasn’t sure I believed it.

I knew Cole had a past, but these bikers weren’t old history.

“He was trying to help him. I saw them with you on Sunday mornings, I saw him on Friday evenings, too.”

I nodded absently, “Pat was involved with the meetings for alcoholics and addicts.”

Daisy didn’t seem surprised, her head continually bobbing, “He was a good man.”

“How did you know… about the meetings?” I felt bad as soon as I asked, “I’m sorry. That’s not my business.”

“My sister is Chef’s wife.” Daisy dryly admitted, “The methed out fool that gave his Sunday performance the other day.”

“Meth?” I whispered the word like I expected something bad to happen just from us talking about it.

She dipped her head again, “Darla drinks to survive him. It’s like when she’s drunk she doesn’t notice what a bastard he really is. He doesn't give a good damn about her or those kids.”

It was hard to dispute. I’d never seen a man behave the way Chef had. The fury he’d beat that woman with… I’d seen bar room brawls that didn’t hold a candle.

“How long have they been together?”

Daisy snorted and shook her head, “Since they were kids. High School.”

I sighed, hating to hear it.

“They’ll never change, ten years from now my sister will wonder why her sons imitate his worthless ways,” Daisy grumbled, watching the taillights fade.

I took another breath, unwilling to comment on her kin’s struggles.

“Of course, you know what they say about kids deserving parents.” Daisy snuffed a laugh in her throat and looked away.

“No. What do they say?” I absently pressed, only for my cheeks to warm when I realized how much of a gossip monger I probably sounded.

Daisy smiled, “All children deserve parents. On the other hand, a person’s ability to reproduce isn't a sign children should be made to suffer for it. Not everyone should be entrusted with God’s most precious gifts.”

“I can’t argue that,” I tipped my head, having heard of a few such cases over the years.

“There isn’t any sense talking about it in Darla’s case. There is only one thing that will ever get my sister out of his grimy clutches. And well, that isn’t happening because we both know, only the good get called home early. That son of a bitch will live forever. She’ll die an abused woman, and her kids will be left to navigate their fucked-up, criminally-indoctrinated views of the world.”

I shook my head, unable to fathom such a legacy. Pat may have died young, but he led a good example for our boys. Sure, Victor was incarcerated, but everyone made mistakes once in a while. He’d straighten up with time. He had to.

“I’m Daisy by the way. Daisy Robbins. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself at church.”