Page 4

I’m in my favorite recliner in the common room, eyes closed, dozing a little after spending entirely too long fixing Willa’s front door. With a bread knife for a screwdriver. Willa may be an independent woman and all but holy shit, how she made it this far with a bread knife screwdriver and a cork bottom espadrille hammer, I have no idea.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Maggot!”

“Who the fuck are you calling maggot?” I growl, eyes flying open.

I press my calves into the soft fabric of the recliner to get the foot rest down. I’m trying my hardest to not make it look like I’m reverse cow girling this chair but shit, there ain’t no way to look dignified getting out of a recliner at my age.

“You, dickwad!” Pops huffs. “Now, I know you went to Stevie Nicks’ place. How did it go? Did you get a date?” He wags his brows.

“Who’s dating?” Marx says, stomping on the room.

“Not your father,” Pops cackles and I wonder whether punching him in the dick would be a good move.

“Dad?” Marx asks, raising his brow.

I hate when he pulls that move, but dammit, he got that from me so I only have myself to blame.

Letting out a sigh, I sit my ass back down in the recliner. “I went to Willa’s, accidentally kicked in her door, then spent the next two hours rehanging it and apologizing my ass off.” Pops has gone an unhealthy shade of red and I wave at him to let his laughter out before he keels over.

“Jesus, old man.” Marx mutters.

“Hey, enough of the old,” I grumble, but damn, if I don’t feel it.

I was 19 when I knocked up Marx’s bitch of a mother. I stayed with her because I figured that’s what I was meant to do. Make her my Ol Lady, all that shit. She was older than me, but definitely not wiser. She had a crap ton of baggage and I didn’t or couldn’t understand what she needed. Looking back it was a match made in hell. It was the best for everyone involved when she up and left. Forty years on and apart from the short time I was with Rhodie’s mom, the woman who taught me how to love a woman and be a father, the rest of my life has been wrong woman after wrong woman. My last relationship lasted four years before we drifted apart and she decided to leave me on the side of the road while she went to explore the world. I ain’t mad about it. My boys needed me and now I got two granddaughters keeping me on my toes and another baby on the way.

Marx rubs his beard, gaze darting between me and Pops. “Son, I’ve already asked for his help. And as you can see, he’s offering sweet FA.” I wave at Pops who appears to have melted onto the recliner next to me in fits of giggles.

“Shit, I ain’t laughed that long and loud since the Big Littles accidentally shot Jules in the dick with a potato cannon.”

“A fucking what?” Marx barks but Pops just waves him away as if that shit is a common occurrence. Probably because it is.

“Look, from the read I got on Stevie -”

“Willa.” I growl.

“Yeah, yeah. She’s all witchy like Stevie Nicks. She’s a cool broad.”

“Don’t call her that, either.”

Pops whistles, rolling his eyes to Marx who’s standing like a gargoyle watching this shit. “Dramatic much?”

I move to get up, “Look, if you’re not gonna help -”

“Yeah, yeah, sit your diabetic ass down. I’m gonna help. But you gotta chill out.” Pops leans back, phone in his hand with the largest font size it can be set to. I may be pushing 60, but at least my messages can’t be read from the goddamn moon.

I stare at him, wondering what the hell has become of my life. How did I go from single, spending my time helping the prospects and younger brothers find their way in the MC, loving on my granddaughters and all the Ol Ladies the club has managed to collect, to this? One chance meeting with a gorgeous, tough, younger woman and I’m a mess.

“Trust me. Willa ain’t gonna be easy to woo.”

“You don’t think?” My brow rises.

“Hell no, did you see how high that woman’s walls are? They’re like all the way up.”

I let out a breath. He’s not wrong. I know I haven’t even scratched the surface of what Willa has been through. There’s only one way a woman becomes hyper independent and as good with weapons as Willa.

“So, how do I get past those walls?”

“If it were me?” Marx cuts Pops off, “I’d take it slow. Get to know her. That’s what I did.” He blows out a breath, “After I messed it up. It was fucking hard and I hated having to take things so slow when all I wanted to do was claim her, make her mine, but it’s worth it. Lovely trusts me with more than just her safety, she trusts me with her heart.”