“What the hell crawled up your ass?” Renee demanded the next morning while we discussed the driving test she would be taking at some point. She wanted to do it soon, while I didn’t.
I scowled at her as I settled against the kitchen counter and took a gulp of coffee. Ignoring her question, I said, “I’m just saying that you’re gonna need a hell of a lot more practice before you go for your licence.”
She placed her hand on her hip and threw me a glare. “I’ve almost clocked up my hours. I’m a good driver. When are you going to admit that instead of being an asshole to me about how I need to get more practice in?”
I raked my fingers through my hair. “I never said you weren’t a good dri—”
“Yes, you did! Well, you insinuated it when you said I needed more hours up before you’d let me go for my test. And a head’s up, I don’t need your permission to sit my damn test. You’re not my father.”
Fucking hell. Renee knew how to fucking wound. Something she’d learnt from her mother. I gathered the shred of patience I had left for this conversation. If it had been anyone other than my niece, I would have lost my cool long ago. “I know I’m not your father,” I grit out. “But I’m the only father figure you’ve known, so you’ll listen when I’ve got something to say. You are a good driver, Renee, but the thousands of hours experience I have driving gives me a better perspective on this. I don’t want you out there on the roads with all the dickheads who don’t give a shit about you, your safety or your fucking life, until you’ve clocked up some more hours. And I don’t give a fuck if the government says you only need a hundred and twenty hours, I say you need more. You’re fucking precious to me and I’ll guard your life with everything I have, so that means this argument is over. I win.”
She stared at me in stunned silence.
I drank some more coffee and barked, “What?” Jesus, I swore if she kept pushing me, testing me, I really would lose my shit. It had been a rough night of little sleep after I’d left Tatum’s and I didn’t have the patience I usually did with her.
“That is maybe one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.” Her voice cracked and it looked like tears were pooling in her eyes. “I’m sorry I said that thing about you not being my dad. You mightn’t be my father but you practically raised me and I love you for it.” She broke down at that point, confusing the hell out of me. Where had that come from? Renee wasn’t one to cry easily.
I pulled her into my arms. “Fuck, kiddo, I know.” I was fucking useless when it came to this shit. It was a good thing I had no kids of my own because I’d fail them when it came to dealing with emotions. When she moved out of my embrace, I said, “What’s going on, Renee?”
She wiped the tears from her face. “Nothing. I’m just being stupid.”
When she tried to walk away, I grabbed her arm. “Don’t ever say that. You’re not stupid and nothing you feel is stupid.” I hated her reluctance to open up, but I hated more that Marilyn and I had taught her that. Because we had. Kids learnt from example. I knew that better than anyone, and the example we’d set was to shut down and avoid feelings.
Tears tracked down her cheeks again. Blinking through them and sniffling, she managed to get out, “It’s everything. Mum, life, your club, Dustin… it’s too much. I don’t know how to deal with it anymore.”
Fuck.
I scrubbed my hand over my face. Her words hit me in the gut. They rang true for me, too. Our fucked-up family and my club problems weighed me down like a tonne of bricks on my shoulders most days. The last few weeks had been a reprieve almost. The weight had felt bearable for some reason, but the heaviness had returned overnight. It caused my mood that morning and my lack of patience with Renee.
“I’m going to fix this, Renee.”
She stared at me as if she didn’t quite believe me. However, she nodded and said softly, “I hope so.”
It was the quiet desperation I heard in her voice that made me swear to myself that I would make good on my promise. No fucking way would I chance Renee living in the same darkness her mother did.
26
Tatum
“Scars” by Papa Roach
I exited the car park and headed towards the front door of the club. The warmth of the late September day spread across my back as I walked and inhaled the spring scent I loved. It was my favourite time of year. Right before the heat of summer. It could have been worse, I guessed. I could have lived in Queensland.
“Tatum, wait up,” Posey called out from behind.
I slowed and gave her a smile when she caught up. “Hey, girl, why are you here so early?” She wasn’t due at work for a few more hours.
“I had a hair appointment nearby. Didn’t want to make the drive home to then just come back.”
I eyed her long dark hair. “Looking good.” I took in her glow. “It’s good to see you looking so happy.”
She smiled. “Yeah, life is better and I have you to thank for that. Thank you for caring when so many wouldn’t have.” The genuine gratitude was clear in her voice.
“I’m glad.” This kind of exchange was awkward for me. It wasn’t often that anyone bothered to thank me for anything. Not even Billy half the time.
Thankfully, we were interrupted when Duvall joined us. Posey quickly excused herself, clearly nervous about being near him.
He watched her go. “She’s not a bad kid. Just got mixed up with the wrong guy.”