Whiskey Neat (The Uncertain Saints MC Book 1)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  I found him, too.

  He was sitting in the stairwell just outside the floor’s doors.

  He was sitting there staring blankly at the wall, and I smiled as I took a seat at his side.

  Reaching into my pockets, I pulled out two cigars, handing one to him before lifting the liter out of my pocket.

  “You did good, old man.” I said. “She’s beautiful.”

  “What can I say?” He replied. “I make pretty babies.”

  “I’m not pretty.” I informed him.

  He snorted.

  “You were. You were actually the prettiest out of them all. You had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen, and eyes so wide and expressive.” He shook his head. “My girls are adorable…but you Sam. I was proud as shit of you. I was so young and dumb, and there you were, making me become a man, wanting the world and stars for you.” He swallowed. “And I fucked up with you.”

  “You did what you could.” I amended. “And I understand, and would have done the same thing had I been in the same positon.”

  He made a humming sound in the back of his throat.

  “You don’t think I would have?” I asked him, lighting my cigar and handing him the liter.

  He lit his, too, taking a short puff before letting it out.

  “I don’t know what you would have done, son. All I know, is that I’m glad you’ll never have to experience it.” He said solemnly.

  “I got a service dog.” I said. “He’s supposed to help me when he can feel an attack coming on. And I’m taking my meds. My head’s getting clearer every day. I feel like I can fucking breathe again.”

  The door’s above our stairs opened and a woman’s nasally voice said, “Does it smell like smoke to you?”

  Dad snorted and stood, then started to make his way up the stairs.

  I followed him, laughing under my breath when my father passed them, calm as could be and cigar in his mouth, not a care in the world.

  I nodded at them, imitating my father, earning the same glare that my father had received as he passed as well.

  “Nice,” I said.

  Dad shrugged.

  “Stopped trying to please everyone a really long time ago.” He said. “Don’t give a fuck if she gets pissy or not.”

  My phone chimed and I pulled it out of my pocket, laughing at Shiloh’s text.

  I showed it to my dad, and his face lit up with a smile.

  “My two girls.” He said. “Send that to me, will ya?”

  I nodded, tapping some buttons and sending it to him.

  His phone pinged, but he didn’t take it out of his pocket.

  We sat in silence then, smoking our cigars, and didn’t say another word for long minutes.

  “You know,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “I love you, right?”

  I turned to my father then, letting everything I felt about him shine in my eyes.

  “I love you too.” I said. “And I couldn’t ask for a better father and grandfather for my children. Just wish I would have told you sooner.”

  He slammed his hand down on my back.

  “Where do you think you got your stubbornness from, son?”

  I tossed him a grin, then threw my arm around him, too.

  And for the first time in a very long time, my father and me were good.

  ***

  1 year later

  I looked at the pictures we’d gathered over the years, but my most favorite, the one that stopped me in my tracks each and every time I looked at it, was the one with my whole family in it.

  Sebastian and his kids. Shiloh and her kids. Me and my kids. My dad and my little sister.

  All of us were standing in a circle, kids being held in arms or on hips, or even on the floor playing at our feet.

  All of the adults were in a dep discussion about the merits of bacon, and someone had snapped the picture of us all arguing.

  There was love in the picture, as well as laugher.

  What wasn’t in the picture, though, was hate.

  There was no room for that anymore, and I found that I quite liked it that way.

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  Almost as if in slow motion, I see Ice standing there. My prez continues to hold the door open as he nods his head to someone who must be standing just out of sight. As my heart starts pounding away in my chest, and my forehead breaks out into a sweat from my oncoming anxiety attack, a flip-flop covered foot with pink painted toenails appears, followed by a trim leg in a tight pair of jeans, which is attached to a shapely pair of hips.

  My eyes keep traveling upward over her abdomen, which is hidden by her T-shirt, and then up some more to her breasts that are definitely not hidden by the same shirt. No, her shirt is hugging her ample chest in a way that gets little hammer below the belt stirring in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

  I blink once, twice, but I can’t shake my reaction to her. She’s beautiful and unlike the usual women I go for. She’s shapely but tone with wild hair, though not in a trashy way, and she has a nervous smile that makes me want to give her a hug and tell her everything will be okay.

  Holy shit, now I want to be warm and fuzzy and hug people?

  The medications are fucking with me. Never has a woman gotten me so twisted in an instant. It’s the accident. It’s the changes. It’s anything and everything but her. Regardless, with my club brother and Evan present, I know I have to focus on not chasing her away or fucking her in front of them. I don’t know which I want to do more.

  Since I don’t want to seem like a complete asshole to my new roommate, I make my eyes move off her mouthwatering breasts, up over her face, until I reach her eyes.

  It sounds cliché, but I think time fucking stops … or maybe the world. I sort of feel like the floor beneath my chair is shifting sideways, and I’m about to fall out of my chair like a flaming idiot.

  I’m not trying to sound like some Shakespearian pussy-boy, but her rich brown eyes shine at me in such a way I swear they are as bright as pennies … only prettier. They are the most gorgeous eyes I have ever seen, and I have the irrational urge to see them against my sheets, along with all that wild, sexy, curly brown hair she has.

  It’s not as long as I usually like it, but the way her curls fall around her face makes me wonder what they would look like after I fucked her into the mattress good and hard for a few hours straight.

  I’m still lost in her beautiful brown eyes as she comes through my doorway then stops dead cold. I snap out of my daydream to realize she’s standing right in front of me … and I have to crane my head back to keep my eyes trained on hers, which won’t stop staring at me.

  The sensation that flows through me is worse than having ice cold water poured on you when you’re asleep. It is more than a shock; it is a hit to the very manhood I didn’t think I had left. Now I’m obliterated completely.

  All by a curvy, little woman who is looking at me with a mixture of hope and dread.

  I never understood the phrase “love to hate” until just now. Everything about the foxy woman in front of me lights up every caveman instinct I never knew I had, and I’m half a man who can’t do a damn thing about it now.