Page 17 of Reaper and Abby

“You have to go back to the club. Something happened.”

I gritted my teeth. “Abby, I’m here to apologize.” I pulled up a chair next to her. “I didn’t know about Callan and I never gave you a chance to explain.”

She didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were glued on the wall. Fuck if I knew which picture had her attention.

More silence followed.

“Are you not going to speak to me?” I finally asked. Annoyed. Frustrated. I wanted to have a conversation. Work things out. To end this coldness that had grown in my marriage.

“Everything is always on your terms Kade. You pick when you want to be part of the family. You pick when we talk.” She looked at me this time. “Reaper says andwe all do.” She stood up. “I’m going to sleep with Hannah.”

“No you ain’t.” I stood up, standing directly in her path. “I’ll handle Hannah. You don’t want me to stay in our bedroom. That’s fine. I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom.”

She just stared at me. “Well, good luck trying to get Hannah to sleep.”

With that said. She left.

* * *

I knocked twice on Hannah’s door. Waited a few minutes and then walked in. She was sitting on the bed. A old black and white classic movie playing on the television.

“You’re meant to be asleep, Hannah.”

She threw me a dirty look. “I’m fourteen, dad, not four.”

I crossed my arms. I could handle this two ways, demand for her to go to bed or I could. . . be a dad and not a president.

Hannah had a massive journal on her lap, and I glanced at it. “Are you writing?”

She flipped it over. “No.”

Do I press her? “You used to write letters to me. You’re a talented writer.”

“They were prison letters, dad.”

“Yeah. But yours were different. Eve sent me lists of things she wanted approved for your mother to buy and Tyson didn’t write to me once.” I laid back against her headboards. I couldn’t stop the prideful grin capturing my face. “My daughter the writer.”

“It’s a few chapters, it’s nothing.” She rolled her eyes, a blush covering her cheeks.

“Or it could be your career.”

“I doubt that.” She twisted on the bed. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Being home? Is there something wrong with the club?”

No. Something was wrong with my family. They had learned to live without me in it. I saw it across Hannah’s face. She really didn’t understand why I was home. Fucking hell Wilson. You’ve really fucked up.

“You, your sister, brother and your mom are everything to me.” My voice cracked. Fuck. Man up. I wasn’t about to let my daughter see me being a pussy.

“The club is everything to you, dad, and that’s okay. We understand.” She placed her small hand on my knee. “We still love you and Tyson. He might be angry. But we understand.”

I felt a flood of emotions, from rage to pure depression. My eyes went to the black and white classic film. I felt like I was out-dated, just like this film. My family didn’t need me.

“Do you know why I call you and Eve, my millionaire babies?” I asked her. “When I got the call from the hospital, telling me your mom went into early labor. I panicked. I was a town over and I rode, like a fucking madman to get to the hospital.” I sighed. “Blue and red lights followed me the whole way. I wasn’t pulling over. When I got to the hospital. I saw the cops were local, not high way parole. So I paid them whatever they wanted.”

She smiled. “You paid a million dollars to them! Just to be with mom?”

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