“Peeing?” I scrub both hands down my face to regain a semblance of composure. How embarrassing is this?

  The same screech echoes ominously as another person enters the facilities and gasps at the sight of Gunz—tattoos, muscles, well-worn jeans, bald head, goatee—the whole biker package.

  “This is for women,” the newcomer chastises.

  “No shit,” comes from my visitor.

  “We’re in a jail and you’re in here creeping on women.”

  The omnipotent sound of Gunz’s boots scrape beyond my door. I catch a flash of skin out of the corner of my eye as he faces the lady with a bad smoker’s rasp. His hand cuffs over the top of my stall. Trimmed nails attached to long, strong fingers and a skull ring relax there. Like a weak fool, I stare in wonder at them as I dab the remaining tears from my cheeks with toilet paper.

  “No, ma’am. There is no creepin’ to be had. I’m here with my old lady, takin’ care of her before we go see our son. You gotta problem with that?”

  I swallow hard as his words echo through the space. Here with his old lady. Seeing our son.

  “Oh. Um. Sorry. No. No, problem.” The woman coughs to cover her discomfort.

  “Good.” The fingers draped over my stall double-tap the metal before they disappear, and he moves toward the exit. “Now, I’m gonna step out so you can do your business. Then, I’m gonna come back when you’re finished. ’Cause, like I said, I’m here to take care of my woman.”

  My… woman.

  Good God.

  The stall beside mine creeks open. “Sure. Thanks,” comes from the woman.

  Gunz pushes the outside door and the white noise from the waiting room filters in. “I’ll be back in a minute, babe, unless you wanna get your tears dried up and meet me outside. Don’t think we want another jail visit tonight.”

  Right.

  Right.

  Of course, he’s right.

  We don’t need him getting into trouble for my emotional mess.

  I spread my jean-clad thighs and drop the paper in the toilet, then watch in blank fascination as the water in the bowl soaks in, turning it transparent. I breathe in and out, letting oxygen saturate my lungs just as the water does the paper. The tension in my shoulders dissipates on a harsh exhale. “Yes. Sorry. I’ll… finish up.”

  “Take your time and don’t apologize. You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feelin’.”

  Is he real? I just can’t with this.

  As the door comes to a close, I slap my cheeks for good measure as the woman peeing in the space beside me thumps the wall between us. “You’ve got yourself a good man.”

  I do, don’t I?

  Gunz may not be mine, but he is one of the good ones… for Adam’s sake at the very least. Let’s hope this visit goes well today.

  “Thanks,” I reply as I right myself, flush the commode with renewed strength, and get on with this damn thing.

  We’re here.

  Adam has a father now and we’re about to blow this bitch wide open. There is no going back. Only forward.

  As Tom Hanks says, “There’s no crying in baseball.”

  Game on.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  GUNZ

  Kit sits her fine ass on the stationary stool in our booth as we wait on Adam to arrive.

  Fuck, I’m nervous.

  I stuff both hands into my front pockets and chew the inside of my lip. I had to empty these pockets before we came inside, or I’d have a Dum Dum hitching a ride in my mouth by now.

  It’s been years since I’ve been inside a room like this. Sure, it’s common for brothers to be in and out of jail. I visited a few of them in my youth when they had a higher propensity of gettin’ caught. Mostly Blimp and his hornball ways. We’re smarter now. With age comes wisdom. Plus, money talks. Don’t believe anybody who tells you any different.

  Not wantin’ to crowd Kit when I know she’s nervous, I stand behind her and keep my distance. There’s not much space to do that, but I’m tryin’. It’s the least I can do after I found her cryin’ in the bathroom. She hasn’t said much since. I’m all right by that as long as she doesn’t ask me to take a hike.

  A line of stools flank either side of plexiglass, and old-school payphones hang on hooks to use for communication. The lighting’s dim. Too dim. A guard takes his post beside the steel door we passed through as another does the same on the convict side. The bigger of the two is with the criminals. His back’s propped against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he waits for men to enter.

  Sweat tickles down the nape of my neck before it soaks into the collar of my shirt. I ball my hands into fists inside my pockets and clench my teeth to calm the hell down.

  Fuck.

  It’s about time.

  I swallow thickly as the first tatted-up man enters in a jumpsuit and finds his family.

  Fuck.

  It’s not every day you meet your son. Your flesh and blood.

  Three more find their spots. The woman in the booth beside us does jazz hands when her scrawny boy in sweats waves at her through the window. I try hard not to smile and fail. They’re excited to see each other, that much is evident.

  In saunters a big, scary motherfucker who takes up half the aisle as he makes bedroom eyes at what I assume is his old lady on the far end. Her tits heave out of her low-cut tank top as she blows kisses to him from her seat.

  Then the atmosphere changes.

  The air thins.

  Kit notices Adam half a beat before I do. Her body goes taut, and she blows out a low breath as he steps into his side of the booth.

  Adam’s eyes, the same color and shape as mine, meet his mother in hello then tilt to examine me like I’m an organism inside a Petri dish. They falter, as does his poker-faced expression when he realizes who I am.

  Smart kid.

  Tears well in my eyes.

  They swim in his too as his mouth opens and closes in disbelief.

  I tip my head in greeting and swear my heart nearly explodes when a lone tear begins its trek down my son’s cheek before he swipes it away with the back of his hand just as quickly as it appears.

  Kit tugs on my pant leg, and I finally break eye contact with Adam to look at her. She’s smiling, despite the blotchy flush to her cheeks from breaking down in the bathroom.

  Gorgeous.

  Unable to control myself, I tilt her head back and bend to drop a kiss on her forehead.

  “Best. Day. Of. My. Life,” I whisper to her hairline.

  She sighs a wispy, delighted sound that shoots straight to my groin.

  I groan lowly in response.

  My lips still attached to her warmth, ’cause I can’t seem to let go. She touches the side of my face with gentle fingertips. I close my eyes and feel her there, smell her.

  “I’m gonna talk to our son.”

  I nod.

  Our son. My son.

  Fuck.

  A frog lodges itself in my throat, makin’ it hard to breathe.

  I’m a pussy. I get it. I’m a goddamn pussy. I’d planned what I wanted to say to Adam on the ride here. Down to the speech about gettin’ his shit together and how I wanna help him do that.

  Now look at me. I’m a mess.

  If Big saw me now, he’d give me shit for goin’ soft. Then again, maybe not. He’s got a daughter now. Things change when you become a parent.

  “You can speak to him when I’m through, okay?” Kit traces my jawline in the barest of touches. My lips tremble against her forehead.

  I nod again, once, knowin’ I can’t speak. Adam’s watching us. Bet he thinks I’m a sorry fuck for a father, actin’ this way with a woman I barely know.

  “Can you let me go to talk to him—Gunz?”

  Right.

  Shit.

  I release Kit and glue my ass to the wall, to keep my hands to my damn self. She delivers a faint, albeit sweet smile over her shoulder before she picks up the phone. Adam’s already seated on his stool, receiver ready.

  Their voices are low as they speak, yet Adam keeps looking at me and back to his mother every few seconds. He nods the same as I do when Kit says something that has his throat bobbing and eyes watering a second time. My kid fidgets, and his mom plays it calm. Not the bundle of nerves I expect her to be.

  When they’re through, she waves for me to take her seat, and I go without question. Her hand brushes across my shoulder before she retakes my place against the wall to give me a chance to…

  Fuck.

  “Hey.” Adam’s voice is rough through the phone, like he swallowed a bowl of gravel… like mine.

  “Hey.”

  “So, you’re my—”

  “Father. Dad… Gunz. M-my name’s Gunz.” I sound like a complete moron, fumbling over words. Speakin’ too damn fast. Not breathing.

  I pinch the top of my thigh to reel in these stupid nerves.

  “And you’re a biker.”

  Guess Kit filled in a lot during their brief talk. Wonder what else she told him.

  “I am,” I confirm.

  “Mom tell you I ride?”

  I smile with pride. “She did.”

  Adam’s lip kicks up at the corner. “Not a Harley.”

  “That’s all right. Not everyone can have good taste in bikes.” I wink, so he knows I’m just givin’ him hell. Unlike many of my brothers, I don’t care what you ride between your legs as long as you ride. Though, I’m not sayin’ I don’t think plastic bikes are bitch bikes… ’Cause they are.

  He snickers, shaking his head in amusement. “She found you, huh?”

  “She did.”

  “You didn’t know about me, did you?”

  Great. Way to jump straight into the hard stuff, kid.

  “No.” I’m honest. “Wish I had. Wanna know you now if that’s something you’d want.”

  Adam pauses to digest my words. It feels like a lifetime before he speaks again, his tone somber. “Not sure what Mom told you, but I’m… a difficult person. I fuck up. I’m not perfect. My da…” Adam clears his throat and rocks back for a second before finishing his thought. “Her ex-husband didn’t like me much.”

  Fuck that bastard for makin’ him feel unloved. That sad sack of skin deserves to be worm food as far as I’m concerned. If he didn’t have kids and an old lady, I’d call someone up to take him out. He’s lucky I’m nice. A real mensch.

  “His loss.”

  Adam cringes and scrubs the top of his head, messing up his hair. “You seem like a… um… a decent guy, sure, maybe… but do yourself a favor and forget she contacted you. This isn’t worth the trouble. You’ve got your own life. I… I’m… Listen, it was nice to meet you. But it’s not—”

  Nope. Hell no. Hell fucking no. We’re not doing this. He’s not puttin’ me in the same goddamn category with the pissant he once called daddy. I am not like him, and I will never be like him. Adam is not a burden. He isn’t a mistake. This self-preservation mode he’s projecting, I get. Still, I’m not gonna let him think he isn’t important. Not for any second of any day, ever.

  “You are worth it, and I sure as fuck ain’t goin’ anywhere,” I declare with the strongest conviction I can push through the phone when I’d rather hug him. “When you get outta here, I plan to see you and get to know you. On your terms, of course. Ya hearin’ me?” I jab a finger at the glass separating us, hitting it hard enough to get my point across. “You’re my kid.” I point to my chest. “What you’ve done or haven’t doesn’t change shit. You. Me. We’re blood. You’re mine. I ain’t going any-fucking-where. Yeah?”

  Staring at his lap, Adam bobs his head along as if he heard everything but can’t speak.

  “There is no you and your mom anymore. There’s us… Me, you, and your mom.”

  More bobbing and a tug at the hem of his sweatshirt.

  “You gonna let that happen?”

  A single-shoulder half-shrug.

  “Mom says you got about a month left.”

  A firm nod.

  “I gotta leave on a run with my club this week, but I’ll be back by the time you get out. Can we agree you won’t kick me outta your life ‘til you’ve gotten to know me enough to decide that?”

  Truth? I wouldn’t let him do that anyhow. I can be a stubborn asshole when provoked.

  Adam’s head snaps up in panic, redness rimming his eyes, his bottom lip chewed half raw. “I’m not… That’s not…”

  I infuse gentleness into my tone to calm him down. “It’s cool. We’re good. Everything’s good, Adam. We’ll grab a beer and hang wherever you want.”

  “Sure.”

  A loud buzzer signals we’ve got a minute to wrap up goodbyes and my stomach turns over at the thought of leaving him. We didn’t get enough time. No wonder Kit hates coming here.

  I tap on the glass a second time. “Keep your nose clean in the meantime, yeah?”

  A round of absentminded nodding ensues. “I will.”

  “Good man.” Flattening my palm against the glass, I get up from the stool, unable to handle saying bye to my kid, not like this. Without a backward glance, I hand the phone to Kit and exit the area. There’s no way I can watch him walk back into jail.

  Needing the space to process shit, I weave through the benches and people waiting to see their family and hightail it outside where I can breathe easier. I cross the road, open the tailgate of my truck, and sit on it with my legs hanging over the edge.

  I can’t believe I’m a father.

  A real father.

  I have a kid who looks like me.

  And I just fucking met him.

  Not five minutes later, Kit joins me. She lays my keys, phone, and suckers beside my hip. Greedy for a fix, I rip open a Dum Dum and practically inhale it.

  “That was a lot, wasn’t it?” she prompts, swaying back and forth, hands clasped behind her back.

  I shrug, not wanting to put my crap on her. “Yes and no.”

  “Well… what did you… You know?” She rocks back on her heels, a nervous gesture.

  “He’s mine. I’m gonna be there for him. He doesn’t think I should be. I don’t think he thinks he deserves it. It pisses me off that your ex did that to him. Parents have a way of doing numbers on us whether they mean to or not. Your ex, he screwed with Adam’s head.”

  Kit blinks in surprise. “He talked about that?”

  “He was trying to convince me to walk away.”

  “And you’re not,” Kit tests, as if she’s got something to worry about.

  “Not a chance.” I’d have to be good and dead before anyone could keep me from my kid, or Bink, or Leech, or my brothers. Even her.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “It’s the three of us now.” I gesture between us, so she gets it.

  That nose scrunches in adorable confusion. “It’s what?”

  Popping the Dum Dum from my mouth, I point it at Kit for emphasis. “You. Me. Him.” Then I return the sweetness and crunch down on the last bit of sugar, breaking it into shards.

  “You live on a compound with your biker brothers, Gunz. You have a family already. A teenager and her baby live in your house. They depend on you. There isn’t anything close to an us.”

  Yes, there is. I think I already made that clear.

  “If you think that, then you’re crazy.”

  Kit heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Gunz—”

  Shaking my head hard, I chuck my empty sucker stick to the ground. “Nope. We’re not doin’ this, Kit. Not now. I’ve gotta get back and pack for a run. While Adam handles his jail time, I gotta handle my club business, and you’ve gotta live your life. That’s reality. But you’re my family, too. He is my kid. You’re his mother. There is an us. When I get back, I’ll be the first to show you what that means.”

  The fierce lady comes forth and tucks both arms across her chest, no longer the picture of unease. “Then we do what in the meantime?”

  “As I said… You do your shit. I do mine. We can text.”

  “Right. Okay.” Her lips purse into a thin line as she looks anywhere but me.

  Here goes that overthinking, staring-into-space bullshit women do. The kind that has her convinced I’m bailing. That I’m some asshole who talks the talk but doesn’t plan to walk the walk. With her history, I understand the hesitance. That doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate it.

  “Don’t give me that look,” I scold harsher than I intend, ’cause I’d rather her focus on me, not the red Toyota parked across the street.

  Kit rolls her hot-as-sin eyes, and I swear to Christ, I pop a semi from the defiance alone. “What look is that?” she sasses, still staring into the great unknown of female bullshittery. Trust me, I know it well. Bink, Beth, and even Janie put me through this every damn week. The difference is, I’m not usually the subject of their hormonal mind fucks. I’m their outlet for ‘em.

  “That one.” I two-finger point at her now scowling expression. “Let me make this clear before you continue to overanalyze everything. I am not going away.”

  “Okay.” She turns her nose up at me like I’m the biggest liar on the face of the planet. It’s equally infuriating and a major turn-on.

  To keep a lid on things, I focus on my frustration, not my boner, and throw both hands up in exasperation. “Good God, woman, I’m not.”

  “I said, okay.”

  Women are such pains in the ass.

  “No. Your face says you don’t believe me.” I remain cool. I’m the goddamn Dalai Lama.

  The spitfire doesn’t back down. She stares straight into my eyes, straight into my soul. I swear I feel her poking around in there, doin’ Lord knows what to the junk drawers. “It doesn’t matter what I believe, Gunz. This isn’t about my feelings or my thoughts. This is about Adam. Now that you’ve met him, I just don’t want you jerking him around. He’s been through enough.”

  “I know.” Still, I’m patient when all I wanna do is yell, Of course, I fuckin’ know that!

  “I love him. He’s all I got.”

  “I know you do, and you’ve got me, too.”

  “Okay,” she deadpans.

  Enough. I’m done.

  My stupid cock concurs when it bucks against my fly, hopin’ to get some fresh air. If it wouldn’t draw attention, I’d punch the thing into submission. He’s screwing with my head and our situation.