Page 33 of 23 Hours

“Can you let me go to talk to him—Gunz?”

Right.

Shit.

I release Kit and glue my ass to the wall, to keep my hands to my damn self. She delivers a faint, albeit sweet smile over her shoulder before she picks up the phone. Adam’s already seated on his stool, receiver ready.

Their voices are low as they speak, yet Adam keeps looking at me and back to his mother every few seconds. He nods the same as I do when Kit says something that has his throat bobbing and eyes watering a second time. My kid fidgets, and his mom plays it calm. Not the bundle of nerves I expect her to be.

When they’re through, she waves for me to take her seat, and I go without question. Her hand brushes across my shoulder before she retakes my place against the wall to give me a chance to…

Fuck.

“Hey.” Adam’s voice is rough through the phone, like he swallowed a bowl of gravel… like mine.

“Hey.”

“So, you’re my—”

“Father. Dad… Gunz. M-my name’s Gunz.”I sound like a complete moron, fumbling over words. Speakin’ too damn fast. Not breathing.

I pinch the top of my thigh to reel in these stupid nerves.

“And you’re a biker.”

Guess Kit filled in a lot during their brief talk. Wonder what else she told him.

“I am,” I confirm.

“Mom tell you I ride?”

I smile with pride. “She did.”

Adam’s lip kicks up at the corner. “Not a Harley.”

“That’s all right. Not everyone can have good taste in bikes.” I wink, so he knows I’m just givin’ him hell. Unlike many of my brothers, I don’t care what you ride between your legs as long as you ride. Though, I’m not sayin’ I don’t think plastic bikes are bitch bikes… ’Cause they are.

He snickers, shaking his head in amusement. “She found you, huh?”

“She did.”

“You didn’t know about me, did you?”

Great.Way to jump straight into the hard stuff, kid.

“No.” I’m honest. “Wish I had. Wanna know you now if that’s something you’d want.”

Adam pauses to digest my words. It feels like a lifetime before he speaks again, his tone somber. “Not sure what Mom told you, but I’m… a difficult person. I fuck up. I’m not perfect. My da…” Adam clears his throat and rocks back for a second before finishing his thought. “Her ex-husband didn’t like me much.”

Fuck that bastard for makin’ him feel unloved. That sad sack of skin deserves to be worm food as far as I’m concerned. If he didn’t have kids and an old lady, I’d call someone up to take him out. He’s lucky I’m nice. A real mensch.

“His loss.”

Adam cringes and scrubs the top of his head, messing up his hair. “You seem like a… um… a decent guy, sure, maybe… but do yourself a favor and forget she contacted you. This isn’t worth the trouble. You’ve got your own life. I… I’m… Listen, it was nice to meet you. But it’s not—”

Nope. Hell no. Hell fucking no. We’re not doing this. He’s not puttin’ me in the same goddamn category with the pissant he once called daddy. I am not like him, and I will never be like him. Adam is not a burden. He isn’t a mistake. This self-preservation mode he’s projecting, I get. Still, I’m not gonna let him think he isn’t important. Not for any second of any day, ever.

“You are worth it, and I sure as fuck ain’t goin’ anywhere,” I declare with the strongest conviction I can push through the phone when I’d rather hug him. “When you get outta here, I plan to see you and get to know you. On your terms, of course. Ya hearin’ me?” I jab a finger at the glass separating us, hitting it hard enough to get my point across. “You’re my kid.” I point to my chest. “What you’ve done or haven’t doesn’t change shit. You. Me. We’re blood. You’re mine. I ain’t going any-fucking-where. Yeah?”

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