and I had built our business up to its current level without anyone but the bank to tell us what to do. But it was time to move the conversation off of me. “Who holds the gavel at HMC now?”
He pulled back but didn’t disconnect our hands. “You’re interested in that shit?”
His reaction caught me off guard. Why couldn’t I be as curious about his life as he was about mine? “Well, sure. I may not have been around for a long time but I still remember how the club works! So who’s the president now?”
“Trey.” He paused, probably because at shock my face must have shown. When I’d left, Stephen, who had just been starting to call himself ‘Trey’, had still been in high school. “I know, right? That little fucker grew up into a pretty good guy and took the presidency couple years back. Got the club out of the illegal shit and into some pretty sweet arenas.” Stan also seemed proud, but then he always had been proud to call himself a Hellion, of having grown up in the club.
And I hadn’t missed how Stan was careful to let me know the HMC’s former methods of generating cash through prostitution, drugs and guns had been eradicated.
“Need for you to watch the language, Stan,” I cautioned. “My son’s next door and I try to keep the swearing to a minimum.”
He turned to look at the interconnecting door that was closed but through which I could hear the booms and bangs of whatever game J.R. was playing. “Did I say anything the kid hasn’t already heard, much less said or thought?”
I couldn’t help my smile at his logic. “Probably not, but I’m hoping to keep it to a minimum at least until he’s in college.”
Stan shrugged before using his other palm to cover our joined hands. “Sounds like a good plan. So you’re raising him on your own?”
I dropped my eyes, afraid of what he might see in them as I answered. “Yeah. His dad…hasn’t been in the picture.” I gave a rueful chuckle, “I guess we’re just your typical American family of two.”
“Must’ve been hard, babe.”
It was my turn to shrug. “Sometimes. But all in all, he’s a good kid so I’ve had it easier than some of the other single mothers.”
J.R. took that moment to burst through the connecting door. “Mom! They have free Wi-Fi! I need the keys to get my headset out of the glove box.” He stopped and I saw his eyes drop to the hand pile on the table before he glanced at me, finally turning to Stan. “Oh, hello. Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”
I pulled my hand back and stood. “J.R. this is my good friend, Mr. Bastian. Stan, this is my son, J.R.” And honest to god, I chose the chicken-shit way out again by turning to retrieve the keys from my purse, unwilling or unable to watch my son meet his father for the first time.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bastian,” I heard from behind me, my stomach in knots as I took my time.
“A pleasure, J.R.,” came the deep grumble. “What’s the game?”
“Red Rover VI,” was the reply.
“What level are you on? The last time I played, I lost it on seven.” I turned back to see if Stan was serious. He played video games?
“Yeah, seven was a bitc…erm, really hard but I’ve made it to nine.” I noted J.R.’s posture matched his voice in that he was completely relaxed, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Snagging my keys, I started back to the table. “Is that your motorcycle outside?”
“The Harley? Yeah, that’s me. You into bikes?”
“Rabidly but my mom hates ‘em, don’t you, Mom?” My boy’s face was wreathed in a teasing grin that he directed my way. I glanced at Stan and almost stumbled to realize the resemblance between them.
My boy was almost a carbon-copy of this father.
“True,” I managed to utter as I handed J.R. the keys. “Get your headset but make sure to lock the car up after you’re done.”
“Thanks!” he yelled
He pulled back but didn’t disconnect our hands. “You’re interested in that shit?”
His reaction caught me off guard. Why couldn’t I be as curious about his life as he was about mine? “Well, sure. I may not have been around for a long time but I still remember how the club works! So who’s the president now?”
“Trey.” He paused, probably because at shock my face must have shown. When I’d left, Stephen, who had just been starting to call himself ‘Trey’, had still been in high school. “I know, right? That little fucker grew up into a pretty good guy and took the presidency couple years back. Got the club out of the illegal shit and into some pretty sweet arenas.” Stan also seemed proud, but then he always had been proud to call himself a Hellion, of having grown up in the club.
And I hadn’t missed how Stan was careful to let me know the HMC’s former methods of generating cash through prostitution, drugs and guns had been eradicated.
“Need for you to watch the language, Stan,” I cautioned. “My son’s next door and I try to keep the swearing to a minimum.”
He turned to look at the interconnecting door that was closed but through which I could hear the booms and bangs of whatever game J.R. was playing. “Did I say anything the kid hasn’t already heard, much less said or thought?”
I couldn’t help my smile at his logic. “Probably not, but I’m hoping to keep it to a minimum at least until he’s in college.”
Stan shrugged before using his other palm to cover our joined hands. “Sounds like a good plan. So you’re raising him on your own?”
I dropped my eyes, afraid of what he might see in them as I answered. “Yeah. His dad…hasn’t been in the picture.” I gave a rueful chuckle, “I guess we’re just your typical American family of two.”
“Must’ve been hard, babe.”
It was my turn to shrug. “Sometimes. But all in all, he’s a good kid so I’ve had it easier than some of the other single mothers.”
J.R. took that moment to burst through the connecting door. “Mom! They have free Wi-Fi! I need the keys to get my headset out of the glove box.” He stopped and I saw his eyes drop to the hand pile on the table before he glanced at me, finally turning to Stan. “Oh, hello. Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”
I pulled my hand back and stood. “J.R. this is my good friend, Mr. Bastian. Stan, this is my son, J.R.” And honest to god, I chose the chicken-shit way out again by turning to retrieve the keys from my purse, unwilling or unable to watch my son meet his father for the first time.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bastian,” I heard from behind me, my stomach in knots as I took my time.
“A pleasure, J.R.,” came the deep grumble. “What’s the game?”
“Red Rover VI,” was the reply.
“What level are you on? The last time I played, I lost it on seven.” I turned back to see if Stan was serious. He played video games?
“Yeah, seven was a bitc…erm, really hard but I’ve made it to nine.” I noted J.R.’s posture matched his voice in that he was completely relaxed, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Snagging my keys, I started back to the table. “Is that your motorcycle outside?”
“The Harley? Yeah, that’s me. You into bikes?”
“Rabidly but my mom hates ‘em, don’t you, Mom?” My boy’s face was wreathed in a teasing grin that he directed my way. I glanced at Stan and almost stumbled to realize the resemblance between them.
My boy was almost a carbon-copy of this father.
“True,” I managed to utter as I handed J.R. the keys. “Get your headset but make sure to lock the car up after you’re done.”
“Thanks!” he yelled
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