Page 1 of Crow's Haven
Chapter 1
Crow
Ain’t nothing better than that first hit of scalding coffee in the morning. I’m standing at the stove, watching bacon sizzle. The coffee in my mug is black and hot enough to burn a hole through my tongue. Gotta haul my ass up early, move double-time if I wanna be ready when my twins come barreling outta bed.
It’s Saturday. Which means I’m hitching up the sidecar and we’re hitting the clubhouse. My boys love the clubhouse—it might not sound like the kinda place you’d wanna take kids, but during the day it’s family friendly.
When breakfast is almost ready, I stalk to the bottom of the steps and bark, “Wake up, sleepyheads! I got a surprise planned for ya today.”
From upstairs, I hear the faint shuffle of little feet dragging through carpet.
I go back to remove their pancakes from the skillet. The stairs creak as Chase appears first, hovering in the doorway. He tips back his head and yawns so wide I can see his tonsils. His hair is sticking up every which way, like he spent the night wrestling wild animals in his sleep. He’s barefooted and rocking black pajama bottoms along with an old t-shirt with our club’s logo on it.
Scout follows, a few minutes later, wearing the black long johns he slept in last night. His hair’s a wild mess too. He is only wearing one sock, but he’s carrying the other in one hand. I watch him climb up into the chair and cram his foot into it inone go. I’ve already got their plates and orange juice set up at the table. These two are hyperactive hell raisers during the day to be so groggy when they first wake up. Their eyes are half closed, and their little mouths are hanging open. I just shake my head because they didn’t get that shit from me. I wake up raring to go in the morning.
Still, I can’t help the smile that eats up my face. These two are the toughest little outlaws in my whole damn world.
I slide their pancakes in front of them.
“Hey, Sprocket,” I say to Scout. “Hey, Throttle,” I tell Chase, nodding at each of them.
“Sprocket!” Chase protests, pointing at Scout. “I want to be Sprocket. You can be Throttle!”
“Nope,” Scout says, waving a piece of bacon in the air. “I’m Sprocket because I’m older and cooler. Throttle is a lame nickname.”
“Older by like five minutes,” Chase complains. “Five minutes don’t make you cooler, bro.”
They turn to each other, eyes bright, and start bickering because any old excuse will do for these two. I let them argue, because it’s waking them up.
It don’t matter because tomorrow, one’ll be Roadking, and the other Chopper or whatever the hell suits our fancy. They’re intent on trying out every club name I can think of. It’s a game we play. They love pretending to be brothers in an MC. And I’m the bastard responsible for making sure every day is the best one of their little lives. I’m rocking this single dad shit right out of the ballpark most days.
I dig into my breakfast, because I’m fucking starving. Before I know it, Scout’s out of his chair and trying to reach the juice jug on the counter. I come to my feet just in time to keep him from touching the still hot stove. I catch his elbow before he makes another in a long line of bad decisions and pull him back.
“Slow down, Sprocket,” I say, giving him my best growl. “The stove’s still hot. You want somethin’, you ask. Don’t go clawin’ around like you’re stealin’ the last drumstick at a biker cookout.”
Scout’s eyes go wide, but he nods, murmuring, “Sorry, Dad.”
Chase, who’s always trying to one-up his older-by-five-minutes brother, is already climbing the lower cabinet handles, the same way he does the rock wall at the local playground. I step over and scoop him up before he can hoist himself onto the counter.
“That goes for you too, Throttle,” I say, ruffling his hair. “The only climbing we’re doing today is onto the clubhouse picnic tables.”
He grins, “We’re going to the clubhouse?”
“Yeah, if we can make it out of the house this morning without mishap, like last weekend.”
Scout is already back in his chair, munching on the rest of his bacon. He stops long enough to swallow and say, “Didn’t mean to turn over that plant stand. I was running too fast and couldn’t stop in time.”
I wave away his words. “It was an accident. We don’t hold grudges in this family. Life’s too short for that shit.” Jerking my chin at him, I say, “Want more juice?”
He nods, grinning at me, and stuffs his mouth with bacon.
I pull their juice glasses over and fill them up again. Then slide another piece of bacon onto each of their plates. “Eat up. We’ve got lots of fun things to do today,” I say, nodding at the boys.
Scout snatches his glass and takes a slow sip, fully alert now. Chase takes his too but immediately tips it back and nearly spills the whole thing down his front just before it gets to his mouth. I reach out and catch the glass just in time.
“Whoa there, Throttle,” I laugh, wiping the dribble off his chin. “Drink it like you’re fueling up for a long ride, not like you’re a rocket launching into space.”
Scout pokes at his eggs with his fork, until the yolk begins leaking out onto his plate. “What’s that fun thing you said we’re doing, Dad?” he asks.
