Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Nope. He got him for his last birthday, and he’s named after the guy that works in the rental office.” The look on Stiff’s face makes me laugh. “The human Mr. Larson has a name plaque on his desk, and Logan sounded it out while I was in there paying rent one month. It stuck with him.”
“Smart kid. Does he know yet? About your sister I mean?”
“No. I keep wondering if I’m doing the right thing, but I want to wait until the case is settled. I think it’ll be easier to explain if I can talk him through what’s happening. He’s smart, but he’s still only four.” I spoon out enough grounds for both of us. Normally I wouldn’t drink caffeine so late, but since I don’t have to work in the morning I’ll make an exception. “Do you have kids?”
“Nah. Who would want to stick around and have kids with a guy like me?”
I almost laugh, but when I look over, I find him checking out Logan’s drawings on the fridge, with no sign that he was fishing for a compliment. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Huh? No. Shit, don’t look at me like that. I know who I am and who I’m not.”
Impatient, I pour our coffee while the machine is still dripping, and a couple drops sizzle on the warming plate before I can get the pot back in place. “That’s ridiculous. Milk? Sugar?”
“Black’s fine.” He takes the mug that has the Regional Health logo on it and takes a seat at my little round table.
I pour a good amount of milk in mine. “Sure, if you want an ulcer.”
“Honey, look at me. You think it’s an ulcer that’s gonna do me in?” Stiff holds his arms open, mug in one hand, gesturing vaguely at himself.
“I think tall, dark and dangerous isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I’ve been to your little biker bar, remember? There are plenty of people who seem to like it.” I must be going crazy, because I reach out and brush my fingers over the spot under his chin where the black hair in his beard swirls into white. “And chicks dig scars, right?”
His hand snaps out and grabs mine and for a moment our eyes are locked. Then he lets go with a scoff. “We’ll see.”
“I always thought I was going to have a bunch of kids,” I admit, sitting across from him. “But I don’t see it happening. I’ll be thirty in a couple years, and I barely have time to work and take care of Logan. It’s not so bad. Maybe when I’m fifty I’ll meet a good guy and we can get an RV and travel the country with our dogs.”
“What about Logan’s dad?”
“I told you guys. He’s not in the picture.”
He keeps pushing. “His choice? Or yours?”
“I… Does it matter?”
Stiff puts down his coffee and fixes me with a serious look. “Logan isn’t yours, is he?”
“Of course he is.” I lean in, staring right back. “I might not’ve carried him in my stomach, but I’ve raised that little boy since before he took his first steps. He’s mine in every way that counts and the only person on this planet that had any right to this discussion died on Friday.”
He nods, like he just found a missing puzzle piece. “Relax, I’m not here to challenge you. That kid’s fucking lucky to have someone that loves him enough to make him their whole fucking life. I just didn’t like the feeling that we were getting pulled into this situation without having all the information.”
“What do you mean?”
“That picture you sent. That was Georgia wasn’t it? With some guy at The Burnout?”
“Yeah. From five years ago maybe? I found it with Logan’s photos. Come here, I’ll show you.” I grab my mug and head to the living room, where Logan’s treasures are still spread out on the coffee table. I sit down on the couch with my leg under my butt and pick up the original.
Stiff takes it from me, sitting down close enough that our legs touch. He points at the man with Georgia. “This is Ice. He was in the Sons about that time, so it makes sense.”
Having a name to put to the face is exciting. “Is he still? Can I talk to him? When I saw the picture I thought that maybe that was why she told Logan to find your club. Or maybe the bar? If they were still in touch, he might—”
“Ice died almost four years ago.”
“What? No…” The flicker of hope sputters in my chest. “How? What happened?”
I don’t even know if he notices himself doing it, but Stiff’s hand goes to the scar on his throat when I ask. His fingers rub over the ropy line where it dips beneath his collar. I reach out and put my hand on his arm, wanting to comfort him even if I don’t know exactly why.