Page 64 of Domino
“She’s a mermaid,” Ashley corrects me.
I laugh softly. “Right. My bad. You’ll have to forgive my ignorance about all things Disney.”
“I’ll forgive you for now. But if you’re going to hang out with Cole, we’re going to have to educate you on the finer points of things like the Little Mermaid and 101 Dalmatians.”
“Can’t we educate Cole on the finer points of Halloween and the Texas Chainsaw Massacre? Or what about Sorority Row Bloodbath?”
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” she says and laughs.
“Oh, come on. He’s a growing boy. What’s better for a well-rounded education than sex, blood, and decapitations?”
She plants a quick kiss on my cheek. “So not happening. Not ever.”
“Never say never.”
“Never.”
We spent a night in with pizza and Disney movies. Not my usual cup of tea, but the kid seemed to enjoy them a lot, so it’s all good. I also got to spend some time with her friend Missy and her husband, Mark. Good people. I’m glad to see that Ash has some people like that around her. I’m sure it’s made the transition from the bullshit she put up with out in Georgia with her ex-boyfriend, to living a life free and happy out here in California a lot easier.
Ashley fixes me with a pointed stare. “Now that we’ve gotten the deflection portion of the evening out of the way, tell me what’s bothering you.”
“What makes you think something’s bothering me? Other than a singing fish, anyway.”
She frowns, getting that small furrow between her eyebrows she tends to get when she’s displeased with something. It’s adorable and makes me laugh.
“I know you, Max. I can tell when something’s weighing heavily on you. And right now, I’d say there’s something that weighs the same as a thousand ele-funs sitting on your shoulders,” she says, drawing a small laugh from me.
“I can’t pull anything over on you, can I?”
“Nothing.”
“I feel sorry for Cole. That kid’s going to have no fun when he grows up.”
“Deflecting.”
“But I’m so cute when I do it,” I say.
“You’re not that cute. Now, spill it.”
I let out a long breath and ponder my words. On the one hand, I know I shouldn’t be telling her any of this. The last thing I should be doing is pulling her into club business. Especially when that club business has to do with drugs, gunfights, and killing. On the other hand, I want to tell her. I want to be open and completely transparent with her about everything. I feel like I owe her that.
At the same time, I fear what she’ll think of me. This isn’t a fog of war issue, like the killing of the two Afghani children. This isn’t a chaotic situation where split-second decisions have to be made. Joining the MC and getting myself entangled in all of the club’s dealings was a conscious decision. It was a choice I made. One I continue to make every day I wake up and put on my kutte.
Will she think I’m a monster? Will she think I’m a horrible person? And will the revelations about my life inside the MC put the final nail in the coffin and make her turn away from me? It’s a thought that sends a genuine spike of pain shooting through my heart. It’s not something I want to even consider.
But I know I have to. If I want to have something more with Ashley, if I want us to build a life and a future together, she needs to know everything there is about me. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I should give her the chance to see me, warts and all, and let her make an informed decision about our future path. If there is one.
I owe her that.
And so, I do. I tell her everything, beginning with the shootout at the hunting lodge and the killing of Zavala’s men, to the drive-by at the clubhouse, to the op Cosmo and I are running tomorrow. Through my story, she doesn’t say a word, she just looks at me with wide eyes and concern on her face. And when I’m done, she sits back on the couch, but I notice that her grip on my hand hasn’t loosened one bit. I want to believe that means something. That it’s significant.
“When Missy told me you were a biker, and you belonged to some biker club thing—”
“Just club. Or MC,” I correct her.
She slaps my hand and laughs. “Don’t interrupt me. It’s rude.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
