“What’s up?” he asked after Mack cut his engine. Fox knocked his kickstand in place, hiking a leg over the seat. He walked the few feet toward Keyes, removing the distance between them. Fox gave him the same hand slap that he and Dev shared.
“Checkin’ on you. Everybody’s busier today. See you are too. That’s a good thing.”
Keyes gave him a firm nod and reached past Fox to fist bump Mack.
“Yeah, heard about the news coverin’ the dismissal.”
“Cocksuckers.” Mack looked up like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “No offense. Just sayin’, reporters sure shagged their fat asses out to cover the raid but can’t say a damn word when the fuckin’ shit clears. Fuck ’em.” Mack spit disgustedly on the ground.
Keyes gave his own nod to show no offense taken. That was light compared to what his brothers normally said in unguarded moments. Fox pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Keyes. By the size and weight, this was another sizable bonus, meaning the sale must have been big. He lifted his shirt and made quick work of tucking it in his jeans. Normally the cash exchanges came privately at the club, but it had been at least a month since he’d darkened the doorway of the clubhouse. His old man was a permanent fixture there, and the nearing end of his life hadn’t humbled him. He was a surly, hateful asshole. He made everybody uncomfortable when he started in on Keyes, and that usually happened within seconds of him walking over the club’s threshold.
“You cool?” Fox asked. “Everybody’s askin’ about you.”
For some reason, he highly doubted that. At best, he saw himself the ridiculed wallflower of the club—ridiculed by his father and an introvert of his own choosing—only paid attention to when they needed his monthly cut of the profits or his brute force or merely another body to increase their sheer numbers when they needed to intimidate…
Wait. Whoa. Okay. Wait. No. He needed to stop that line of thinking. That was Alec’s fairness and sense of justice coming out in him. Keyes didn’t think that way about the club or his brothers. His brothers were his family. They had tight bonds between them. Whatever happened, Keyes knew his place was with his brothers.
“Yeah, I’m good. Spendin’ time waitin’ this shit out.” His hands went to his hips as he met Fox’s eyes, refusing to look away as he asked, “Am I shirkin’ my responsibility?”
“Not at all, brother. We’re just makin’ sure you’re good,” Mack answered instead, his voice deep and gravelly, but filled with concern.
“Got busy as fuck,” he replied, gesturing with an awkward half body turn toward the full parking lot.
“Son, we’re here for another reason too.”
Keyes’s gut twisted at the use of the word son and the hands at his waist closed to fists.
“Your old man’s gone into hospice. He’s moved back to his place. Got some prospects over there, and they cleaned up that shithole,” Fox said, eyes still on him, likely gauging his reaction as he spoke. “He’s been there a little over a week, but he’s goin’ down fast. They’re sayin’ it won’t be long now. They’re tryin’ to keep him comfortable.”
“He ain’t been comfortable in months,” Mack added and sent another loogie barreling toward the ground in his obvious disgust. Keyes just wasn’t sure what made Mack so upset, his old man’s pain level, the cancer, or just the whole experience. He chose the last one. Mack and his father had been best friends for well over thirty years. It had to be painful to watch his friend’s deterioration, and Keyes cut his gaze back to Fox.
“Dev was supposed to keep you updated, but he told me today he hasn’t said shit. He says you don’t wanna know. But, Keyes, if you’re gonna say goodbye, it’s probably gettin’ time,” Fox said, his head cocked, his gaze staying trained on Keyes, and he used Keyes’s whole name.
“How long do you suppose he’s got?” he finally asked. His buddy had hit the nail on the head. Keyes was completely devoid of emotion in this situation. There was nothing there—no pain, no hate, just nothing at all.
“Don’t know, but not much longer. This weekend we’re havin’ a fundraiser barbecue for your old man and a thank-fuck-its-over-with-the-feds celebration Saturday night. Come. If he somehow manages to show…” Fox just stopped and shook his head. “Nah, he can’t get there. He’s in too bad of shape…”
“Yeah, he’s frail as fuck,” Mack interrupted. “They got him all doped up.”
“Dev’s bringin’ his new lady. Bring anybody you got,” Fox suggested maybe as an afterthought, talking over Mack’s continued grumbling over the feeble condition of his father.
The way the two men acted like legit blood brothers, interrupting each other and talking over the other didn’t go unnoticed, or the abrupt silence Mack gave after Fox’s chosen words that he should bring someone—words that had never been uttered aloud before. It seemed almost an olive branch of sorts, maybe hints to what the club might be like once his old man was no longer around. The invitation did its job. It settled some of the divide and discord building inside him against his brothers.