Page 7 of Nomad

“What are you gonna do when you get to Austin? You got any money besides the money I gave you?”

“Two dollars.”

“You got relatives who’ll help you?”

“Nobody.”

“Jesus Christ. You got job skills?”

“Not as such.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means I could work. I just haven’t yet.”

“High school?”

“Yeah. Graduated early.” When he stared at her, she said, “I’m good at school.”

“What about the…” he gestured toward her midsection, “father?”

She sneered. “He agrees with my daddy. Left to join the armed services. Don’t know which one. Don’t care. It’s not like I loved him.”

“Not like you loved him,” Cann said.

His mind immediately went back to a day when he wasn’t much older than Bud. The love of his life was standing in front of him looking worried about his reaction.

“I’m pregnant,” she’d said.

It took a few seconds for that to sink in, but when it did, he grabbed her up and spun round and round. He laughed. She giggled. Until they fell down in the grass and lay looking into each other’s eyes, making big plans for the future.

He knew he could take care of her and their baby even though he was too young to be starting a family by most people’s estimation. He’d already decided what he was going to do and had been doing the groundwork. He had plans to combine his internet skills with his love of vintage muscle cars. He was going to start a nationwide business matching available parts with people who needed them.

It had worked.

He wasn’t a billionaire, but he was making enough to take care of Molly and their little girl. He’d bought a stone house near Dripping Springs and the Sons of Sanctuary MC.

And life was good.

Until the day Molly hadn’t been able to start her car. She needed corn meal for catfish and thought to take Cannon’s truck instead. She moved the car seat, fastened the baby in, started the car and it had exploded. The car next to it, the one that wouldn’t start, exploded as well. The house caught on fire and, by the time Cann knew about it, there was nothing left but ash and a few standing stones.

He’d always been sure it was club related. Cann’s contribution to the club was mostly financial. They gave his business back office and warehouse support and he gave them a fair percentage. He belonged to Sons of Sanctuary because it was the kind of close knit, tribal community that everybody longs for. They would take care of his family if he couldn’t. They’d take care of his business if he couldn’t. And he’d do the same for them.

Cann had always supposed that whoever planted the explosives had mistaken his club function. In other words, they got him confused with somebody else. On a personal basis, he had no enemies.

His Molly. He worshiped her. They’d been together since they were fifteen and when he looked into the future, he only saw her face. Imagining life without her was impossible. The day his Molly died with their little girl he’d descended into hell and had been there ever since.

Most people who took the time to look in his face turned away feeling grateful that they were not that guy.It had been almost four years since he’d gone nomad. Every minute was a dull ache he couldn’t escape. Every mile brought more emptiness until he couldn’t really see the point of living at all.

Brant gave his permission and blessing when Cann asked to go nomad. Cannon Johns had changed the designation on his bottom rocker to nomad and taken to the road. Brant had told him that he was welcome back any hour of any day of forever.

Years later, Cann realized that demons couldn’t be outrun. They always kept pace. He wasn’t ever going to outrun the pain. He wasn’t ever going to outlive the pain. So he was going home to say goodbye to his friends and end it once and for all.

Bud had watched in fascination as Cann’s eyes glazed over. His thoughts had clearly taken him somewhere else.

He blinked twice and focused on the girl. “So you didn’t love each other. Maybe that’s a sweet mercy,” he said in a rough voice.

“Maybe.”

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