“Should I go see him?” he asked, getting to the very root of this visit. The reason he’d sought his uncle out in the first place. Clyde would always tell him the right thing to do.
“I don’t know, son. That’s up to you,” Clyde answered seriously, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a set of keys. He came to a stop on the sidewalk in front of his car. “What does your heart say to do?”
“I can’t get a good read on it. I’m afraid I’ll feel guilty later, and it’ll eat at me,” he answered. He did that shit all the time. He hated that about himself.
“Well, if you feel guilty for any reason where that man’s concerned, then I’ll probably have to kick your butt,” Clyde said teasingly, and that made him smile, momentarily lightening his downward spiraling mood. “It sounds like your decision’s made, just ask yourself what you hope to gain. If it’s any sort of apology, then you’re wasting your time.”
“Nah, nothin’ like that,” he said, pushing his fingers in his pocket. “I was just…you know. I don’t know. It’s the guilt.”
“You’ll make the best decision for you. I have faith in that. Then I want you to be done. Let it go. Get on with your life and leave the past in the past. I’ll be here for you always, but nothing good will come from bringing all that baggage into your future.” Clyde had always given him the best advice. He nodded to let his uncle know he understood. Knowing his uncle was there for him made his heart happier too. Clyde was always going to make sure Keyes chose the path of right. He appreciated that in the man. “Now, this is the second time I’ve seen you with a haircut and a trimmed beard. Have you met someone?”
A flush of heat rushed up his neck, but he rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, hoping his uncle didn’t press the subject.
“You have met someone. I wondered why you weren’t around as much as normal. I thought the club had you busy.”
Yeah, he wasn’t doing this with his uncle. Fox had had a pretty keen eye too. Did he have a big red pointy sign above his head announcing he had a boyfriend? Whatever. Alec wasn’t up for discussion, so he pivoted on his heels, going toward his bike. “I’m not talkin’ about this with you.”
“Why not?” Clyde asked, following behind him.
“Because,” he said, reaching for his helmet before Clyde could demand he use one for protection.
“Tell me about him, Key. It’s a him, right?”
How they had ended up on his sexuality when he’d come there to talk about his father was beyond him, but Clyde was tricky like Alec. Keyes and his uncle could be talking about what kind of pizza to order, then all of a sudden, his brain-ninja uncle could twist the conversation in a direction Keyes wanted no part of—like right now. Clyde could fuck with a guy’s head that way.
“Even if you won’t tell me, you’ve eased my heart. I’m happy you’ve found someone that makes you smile like that,” Clyde said.
That sneaky son-of-a-bitch got him right in the feels. He chuckled to himself and mounted the bike with his helmet tucked under his arm.
“I’ll tell you this. He’s got a ‘65 Shelby Cobra,” Keyes said, waggling his brows, proud of his own redirect in the conversation.
“No kidding,” Clyde said in awe. “I’d like to see that. Have you driven it?”
“Nah, just touched it. Changed the oil once. It’s badass, like real badass.” He nodded confirmation of his words and slid the helmet on.
“Maybe we can talk about everything later.” Clyde pivoted, then did a full swing back, facing him. “Can you have dinner tonight?”
“Sorry, I’ll have to take a raincheck. Gotta get on the road.”
Clyde nodded. “Let me know how it goes with your father.”
Keyes nodded and started the bike. Clyde knew, probably before Keyes even did, that he’d go see that sorry old man at least one last time. It made his stomach sick, but it was the right thing to do. He guessed. Lifting a hand to return Clyde’s wave, he backed his bike out and hit the road, first to the clubhouse, then to Alec’s. It was later than normal, but that didn’t matter to him, he’d ride for however long it took to get back to Alec.
=?=
The clock on Alec’s computer monitor switched from seven fifty-nine to eight o’clock. He reached for his phone to check to see if he’d somehow missed a message from Key. He hadn’t. Key was late, and for a man who lived by an insanely structured routine, that was weird. His mister had also been quiet today. Key hadn’t returned a text or call since this morning.