by Drew Elyse
“Sketch,” Stone called as I continued my retreat.
“What?” I was seriously fucking done with this shit.
“Church. Tomorrow. Gotta have a sit down about the situation with those fuckin’ threats.”
Right. Good. As long as he wasn’t going to start—
“And watch yourself with that girl,” he continued. “I know you’re pissed, brother, but I don’t get the impression shit’s been easy for her.”
What hadn’t been easy for her?
The concern came bubbling up first, but I pushed it back. Maybe shit hadn’t been a cakewalk for her, maybe she’d had to work hard to get by, but it didn’t matter. That was her fucking choice. She could have stayed. I’d have done anything to make her stay. She could’ve been here with me the whole fucking time and not one thing would have had to be hard for her. I would have taken care of it all.
Her choice.
I looked at my brothers. “I plan to stay the hell away from her, so you don’t have to worry about it. And while we’re discussin’ it, I don’t appreciate the fucking preaching. I respect the fuck out of you both, but I don’t tell you how to live your lives, how about the same courtesy?”
Neither of them looked thrilled, but Stone gave in. “Fair enough.”
And that was my cue to get out of there.
I rounded the corner to the stairs, fixing to get myself good and plastered in my room. I didn’t make it there, though. Standing in the hall was a little girl.
Great. Wonderful. Who was fucking the mom while this little girl just wandered aimlessly through the house?
Sometimes living with my brothers was a fuckin’ nightmare.
I walked down the hall toward her and as I approached, she moved one little hand that had been rubbing her eyes and looked up at me.
Everything stopped.
For one long moment, I wasn’t at the farmhouse. I wasn’t twenty-five, a Disciple, or a tattoo artist. I was six years old at the clubhouse with my uncle, Gunner, and my entire life was about to change…
I loved when Uncle Gunner brought me to the clubhouse. The guys were nice and fun. Mom and Dad were always fighting when they weren’t at work. That afternoon, they were fighting about the fact that Dad hadn’t actually been working when he was gone. They always started yelling. Dad would talk about someone named Ellen, then Mom would throw things. I learned at school you’re not supposed to throw things. I don’t know why Mom always did. She should know better.
When I told Uncle Gunner about their fighting, he got kind of scary. He didn’t yell or anything the way Dad would, though. He sat me down and made me memorize his phone number. I had to promise I would call him if they started fighting again.
When I heard Dad say Ellen’s name that afternoon, I kept my promise. Uncle Gunner said he would be there to pick me up in fifteen minutes.
Dad didn’t try to stop me when I left the trailer. Uncle Gunner’s motorcycle was loud enough to hear inside. Dad never tried to tell Uncle Gunner what to do the way he did with everyone else. That was because Uncle Gunner was awesome and huge, and he was a Disciple. You didn’t mess with the Disciples; that’s what Uncle Gunner told me.
One day, I was going to be just like him. I was going to be big and strong and ride a Fat Boy. And I was going to be a Disciple, too.
I was hanging out in the living room of the clubhouse playing a racing game against Uncle Gunner on the PlayStation 2 when Indian came in. He was giving a girl a piggyback ride, but I could only see her legs. She had on pink shoes with little flowers on them. They weren’t dirty like mine. She probably didn’t play outside much.
“Hey, little man. Didn’t know you’d be stopping by today,” Indian said. Uncle Gunner told me they called him Indian because he road an Indian Motorcycle instead of a Harley like most of the guys did. Indian was his road name, just like Gunner was my uncle’s. If I became a Disciple, I would have a road name someday, too.
“Hi,” I said back, but I was looking at his shoulder. I could see the top of the girl’s head behind him, but she wouldn’t look up. I wondered why she was hiding.
“Works out great that you’re here,” he went on. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” He turned his head and spoke over his shoulder, but I could hear him. “Hop down, Firefly.”
I watched the legs with the pink shoes tighten around his waist.
Indian knelt down and kept talking to the girl holding onto him. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be shy.”
The legs let go and Indian stood back up. The girl kept hiding behind him, her body showing a bit between his legs.
Uncle Gunner went over to Indian’s side and crouched down. “Hey there, honey. Don’t you want to meet my nephew?” Her blonde hair shifted around. It was curly, and it looked like it was bouncing. “He’s nice, I promise.”
She peeked out just a little.
She was pretty. Really pretty. The prettiest girl I’d ever seen. She looked like a princess—no, an angel. Her eyes were the same color as the sky and her hair was bright, like sunshine.
“She’s beautiful,” I whispered on accident.
Uncle Gunner was standing by me again. I didn’t even notice until he laughed. I looked up at him. “She’s definitely that, kiddo,” he said.
I didn’t say anything. She was still looking at me, not hiding again. I liked being able to see her. I didn’t want her to hide.
Uncle Gunner crouched down next to me, looking at her. He put his arm around my shoulders. “This is my nephew, Gabe,” he said to her. He looked at me, and said, “This is Indian’s daughter, Ashlynn. We call her Ash.”
Ashlynn.
“Hi,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t scare her. Why did she seem afraid of me? I didn’t want her to be.
She gave me a little wave, and said, “Hi.”
“Why don’t you go over and get to know him?” Indian asked her and she grabbed onto his pants tighter.
I really wanted her to come out all the way. “Do you like to draw?” I asked.
She looked up at Indian. He nodded, then she did, too.
I ran over to my backpack. It was a super cool Harley one Uncle Gunner got me for starting first grade. I wished the motorcycle on it was a Fat Boy like I wanted instead of the Dyna Wide Glide, but it was still awesome. Inside, I had a bunch of stuff for drawing—paper, colored pencils, crayons, markers. I loved to draw. It was my favorite.
I was putting all of my stuff onto the table when she said, “You have lots of colors.” She wasn’t behind Indian anymore. She was standing next to him. She didn’t come closer than that, though.
“You can use them all,” I told her.
She came over and sat by me. She was even prettier up close.
We colored for a while, then Indian said, “I have to go talk to Pres. You okay for a bit, Firefly?” I looked at Ashlynn while she nodded. “You’ll take care of my girl, right, Gabe?”
“Right,” I said, looking at Indian.
“Good.”
Yeah, good. I would take care of Ashlynn. I wanted to. She was pretty and nice. I wanted her to be around me more.
“You wanna be my best friend?” I asked.
She looked at me. I thought she might not say anything because she was shy. She smiled and nodded. “Okay.”
I smiled, too. We could be best friends until we got older. Then, we could get married. I could be a Disciple like Uncle Gunner. I could always protect her, just like I told Indian I would.
Pulling myself from the memories, I focused on the little girl in front of me. Man, she really did remind me of Ash at that age. Same curly blonde hair above blue eyes, though hers were a bit darker than Ash’s. It was a total mind-fuck, especially since Ash was somewhere in the house for the first time in years.
“I’m thirsty,” the little girl said in a sleepy voice.
Getting a hold of myself, I knelt down in front of her. I smiled, trying to look as non-threatening as a six-foot-two biker covered in tattoos could. “What’s your
name, little princess?”
Her smile got huge at the nickname. “Emmaline, but you can call me pwincess if you want.”
Damn, she was pretty fuckin’ cute. “Princess, I’m Sketch.”
“Setch,” she repeated back at me. Almost.
“Where’s your mom, little princess?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe outside?”
Well, wasn’t that fuckin’ perfect? I got to be babysitter because someone couldn’t keep it in their pants.
“You just need some water?” I asked. Emmaline nodded. Fuck it. Kid was thirsty, and it wasn’t her fault she was wandering around alone. “Then, let’s get you some.”
I set the bottle of scotch on the ground. No need to be escorting a kid around with a full bottle in my hand. Before I could stand up, Emmaline reached her arms out to me with a little pout. It flashed me back to the woman with the butterfly tattoo the other night. Her pout had done shit nothing to me, but this little girl had me reaching out to pick her up. Maybe the only difference was Emmaline was actually a little girl and could pull off the pout, but it seemed bigger than that. Somehow, this girl already had me wrapped around her finger and I would probably never see her again.
As I carried her back the way I came, Emmaline got good and comfortable in my arms. Her little head moved around to take in the new vantage point before giving me a good, long look.
“How old are you, little princess?” I asked.
“Three, but my birthday is real soon.”
Three, nearly four—close to the same age Ash had been that first day we met. Shit, I really needed to stop going there.
Stone and Roadrunner were still in the kitchen and both smiled at Emmaline in my arms.
“What’re you doing out of bed, baby girl?” Roadrunner asked.
So, they knew whose kid this was. But “out of bed”? That didn’t make any sense. Unless they just made up one of the beds while Mom got her rocks off or something.
“Thirsty,” Emmaline explained.
Stone immediately turned around to the cabinets for a cup. Roadrunner came over and grabbed hold of Emmaline. I wasn’t even going to think about why I felt bereft as he took her from me. Not touching that with a ten-foot pole.
“Where’s your mom?” Roadrunner asked, as if I were too fucking dense to think of that question.
“I think she might’a gone outside,” Emmaline replied.
Stone handed over a pink sippy cup he’d filled with water. Emmaline took it with a smile and started drinking. I was busy staring at the cup. Why the hell was that thing in our kitchen? Did her mom bring it with?
“Let’s get you back in bed,” Roadrunner said as he headed out of the room with her.
I just stared after them, totally fucking lost. Something wasn’t adding up. If that bottle of Lagavulin weren’t still sealed shut, I’d have thought I was three sheets to the wind already.
Stone must have noticed my confusion because he cleared his throat. Once he had my attention, he spoke. “She’s Ash’s.” I just kept looking at him. “Emmy,” he said, nodding in the direction Roadrunner went, “she’s Ash’s.”
Emmy. I liked that…
She’s Ash’s.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Those words finally took on meaning in my head. Emmaline—Emmy, was Ash’s daughter. Ash had a fucking daughter. Ash…
“Three, but my birthday is real soon.”
Ash had a three-nearly-four-year-old daughter.
Ash left me almost five years ago.
I’d stopped doing the math on it, stopped tracking how long it had been since she had left me. I did the math then, though. Four years, seven months. Emmy was nearly four, plus nine months of pregnancy.
Fuck.
No.
She wouldn’t.
I tore out of the kitchen and flew through the hallway where I’d found Emmy, past the stairs, and out to the back deck.
Ash was there, standing in the middle of the yard, facing away from me. She looked different, the silhouette of her body more curved than I remembered and her curly blonde hair falling farther down her back. Still, I would have known it was her anywhere.
All around and in front of her, little sparks of light flashed and died away. Fireflies. She was watching them flicker around the yard.
Indian had called Ash firefly since before I knew her. He used to say it was because her smiles weren’t constant given how introverted she was, but when one came out, it was like a light shining out of her.
He wasn’t exaggerating. Not one fucking bit.
For a moment, the image of her transfixed me. I wanted to break out my sketchpad and commit the sight to paper so I would never lose it. I wanted to ink it into my own skin so it would always be with me.
Then, I remembered Emmy.
The rage returned, burning underneath my skin. Storming across the yard, I clenched my hands at my sides. I couldn’t touch her. I couldn’t be responsible for what might happen if I did.
Just as I got close, Ash looked over her shoulder at me and jumped at the sight. Whether that was because I was not who she was expecting or my fury was clear on my face, I didn’t know. Didn’t really fucking care.
“Is she mine?” I demanded.
“What?”
My heart was beating triple time in my chest. The shock to my system at seeing Ash’s beautiful face again was almost enough to break through the cloud of anger, but not quite.
“Emmy,” I explained. “Is. She. Mine?”
Ash went pale. “How did you—”
“She was out in the hall. Woke up and needed a drink. Funny thing is, she says she’s about to turn four. It’s been just about nine months more than that since you left. So, I’ll ask one last time. Is she my fucking daughter?” I roared.
Ash shrunk back, and answered in a small voice, “I don’t know.”
She…what? “You don’t know?”
Her eyes fell to the ground. “I would have told you if I knew for sure.”
She would have…
Holy. Fuck.
No. Not possible.
A ringing in my ears filled the silence in the yard. Emmy might not be mine. Ash didn’t know for sure who the father was. Ash…Ash slept with someone else. But the timeline…
She fucked someone else right after she left me.
I spent months—fuck, over a year—doing nothing but missing her, trying to find her. I didn’t touch another fucking woman until Ash had been gone for over eighteen months. But she…fuck.
How long did she even wait before letting some other guy in where only I had been?
A week? Two? Couldn’t have been that long if he might be Emmy’s father.
Fuck.
Ash still wasn’t looking at me and that was a really fucking good thing. I couldn’t see her face. Couldn’t see those eyes.
Without another fucking word, I left. I couldn’t be anywhere near her. I couldn’t handle the blow she just dealt.
I needed to get the fuck out of there. I needed the Lagavulin. No, fuck that—I needed something cheaper, something I could really toss back like there was no tomorrow. The scotch would have to wait.
I needed to make this night disappear.
Well, that went…about as well as I’d expected.
After a while, I made my way over to the deck and sat on the edge of a step that rose a foot above the grass. I heard a bike start up around the front of the house. Given the way the rider peeled out of there, I was guessing it was Gabe.
Strike that.
Sketch.
He was Sketch now.
He was probably going to stay at the clubhouse—anywhere to get away from Emmy and me.
No, probably just me.
The fire in his eyes hadn’t just been about anger. He’d been ready to claim Emmy. If I said she was his, he would have accepted it—accepted her—in a heartbeat. It wouldn’t have changed the fact that he was pissed at me for keeping her away all these years, but he would have e
mbraced the role of father. He was hurt.
Maybe you should just say she’s his, a voice in my head whispered.
Absolutely not. I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t lie and say Emmy was his when I wasn’t sure. That wasn’t fair to him. And anyway, even if I could convince myself that wasn’t a terrible thing to do, that ship had sailed.
I wished life had been different; wish the moment I found out I was pregnant, I could have been sure he was the father. I could have—would have—come back to Hoffman. He might have been upset, but back then, he would have welcomed me home with open arms. The pregnancy would have been a shock, but he always used to talk about the family we would have one day. Growing up, his parents hadn’t been great and I only had Dad. The club was an amazing family to us, but we always planned to make one of our own. Emmy might have come sooner than we’d planned, but Gabe would have been over the moon.
Emmy would have grown up with more than just me. She would have grown up with a father who adored her. She would have had the kind of love my dad gave me, and there is nothing in the world I could want more for her.
And I…I could’ve had Gabe.
But dwelling on “if onlys” wasn’t going to do a thing. That dream wasn’t real. Life had taken a very different turn and there was no changing that.
Besides, I was ignoring the reason I left in the first place. Being back, being surrounded by the Disciples caring for Emmy and I the way a family would, being near Gabe again—it was all distracting me from the bigger picture.
I didn’t leave because I was pregnant. I left because I couldn’t be with a Disciple anymore.
After Dad died, I saw with stark clarity what I had ignored for most of my life. Being a Disciple wasn’t just riding and brotherhood, it was danger. It was the kind of all-consuming, destructive danger that stole good men from the world. The club had already stolen one man I loved; I couldn’t watch another die too young.
It destroyed me to do it, but I knew I couldn’t convince Gabe to leave the Disciples. So, I left without him.
That decision was one I didn’t let myself dwell on often. I knew it was the gravest mistake I had ever made, and, God willing, I would never be in a position to make another like it. Still, I couldn’t imagine not making it. Even if I could do everything over, where would it leave me? Would I still have my daughter?