Page 55 of Knot My MC
“You can never be too careful,” he says.
After rolling their pants, Jag and Crow plunge their feet in without hesitation. Some geese fly overhead and honk to one another while a soft breeze rolls over the pond. The water ripples around my ankles, and I swing my feet back and forth, watching the way the liquid breaks around me.
“He loved to bring me here to fish.” I turn and unzip the backpack, extracting the cigar and lighter. I sense them watching me as I prep it. This is as close to a funeral as I can get. Dad wouldn’t want a traditional one anyway. Aside from me and the MC, fishing and smoking cigars were some of his favorite things.
“I can’t picture you with a worm in your hand.” Crow takes the cigar from me and holds his hand out for the lighter. I place Dad’s zippo in his hand with a warning look. “I’ll be careful.”
I believe him. Sighing, I grab the bottle of whiskey and unscrew the cap while the lighter flicks to life. I take a shot and swallow it without reacting. I swallow another before passing it to Knox. His fingers graze over mine, and my stomach flutters and warms in response to his touch, or maybe it’s the alcohol.
“I never used worms,” I finally say. “He laughed at me, but I only ever used corn.”
“Did it work?” Knox grimaces after his shot and hands Jag the bottle.
“Not really. I didn’t catch much, but I was more interested in spending time with him than getting fish.” I glance around. There’s a weeping willow to our left, a mature tree with long wispy branches that skim over the surface.
Crow nudges me. “I’ve never been fishing.”
“You’re not missing much.” I take the cigar and puff at it, letting the smoke coat my mouth. Dad’s favorite cigars smell like an old library and leather. Unappealing to some, but to me it’s like coming home. Releasing the smoke through my nose, I hold it out for Knox and take the bottle he’s handing to me. I give the alcohol to Crow.
“This is a catch and release pond.”
“What’s the point of fishing if you can’t keep them?” Jag asks.
I lift a shoulder. “It’s an experience. The city is so far away, all you can hear are the birds and insects.”
“And the bees.” Crow flinches away from one and swats his hand at it. “Fucker.”
Laughing, I shake my head and lean forward to dip my fingers into the water. “It’ll leave you alone once it realizes you’re not a flower.” I flick the water from my hands and dry them on my shorts.
“Do I look like a damn flower?” He hands me the bottle and I set it aside for now.
I’m not looking to get wasted. I only wanted to take the edge off.
“You are kind of pretty,” Knox says as he exhales.
“Get fucked.” Crow runs his hand through his long black strands. Knox isn’t wrong. Crow is handsome. His skin would make models jealous and that charming smile of his has always made my knees a little weak. His eyes lift to meet mine. “Do you have something to say?”
I bite my lip and glance away. “I never understood why he liked Axel,” I say, changing the subject.
“Did he actually like him?” Knox hands me the cigar.
“It seemed like it. There were a few times when I thought maybe he hated the guy as much as I do, but they were always together.” I wrap my lips around the cigar, careful not to wet the paper. Nothing is worse than a soggy cigar.
He would have told me if he didn’t like Axel, right?
“Kiren was the VP. He had to be around Axel.”
I shoot twin streams of smoke from my nose. “Maybe.”
“I remember this one story,” Jag says as he leans back, “when Kiren was really young, like nineteen. I guess he had broken into the Stop ’n Shop to get some beer, but he was already wasted and ended up falling asleep at the coolers.”
“He wasn’t too proud of that one.” I grin, trying to picture the wild and crazy Kiren.
“I bet not.” Knox chuckles, and we fall into a comfortable conversation, me telling stories from growing up with Dad, and them telling the rumors they heard within Hell Hounds. Dad made a name for himself, but no one hated him quite like they did Axel. That man is his own brand of vile, but I try not to think about him as I remember Dad.
“I’m going to miss you.” I stare across the water and the guys are smart enough to know I’m not talking to them. “Say hi to Mom for me.”
Silence stretches between us, somehow soothing and exactly what I need. We pass the cigar around until it’s gone. The man across the pond leaves, tossing a wave in our direction. Knox lifts his hand in response, and I watch the truck take off with my heart in my throat.
