A Very Cerberus Christmas (Cerberus MC)

I started to grow up; he never did. I said no to drugs after a couple of years because he was in and out of jail, and I didn’t want that for myself, but I could never say no to him. I ended up pregnant; he landed in jail for five years with an additional eighteen months because he fancied himself a badass the first couple of months he was in and picked up more time.

I never kept Harley away from him. Once he started doing better, I started taking Harley to visit him. All our son has known is a dad behind bars, but that will end shortly because Robbie is scheduled to be released soon, and I have no idea how that’s going to go. There’s nothing between us any longer. Once both of us got fully sober, we both realized we have nothing in common, and neither of us is fool enough to think trying to work things out would be good for anyone, even for Harley’s sake. But I won’t keep our son from his dad.

“What did you learn today at school?”

“Nothing,” he answers.

“We’ve talked about this,” I say, my eyes on the road.

“Mom,” he grumbles. “The other kids in class are working on high-frequency words, but I know them already.”

“You didn’t tell the teacher that, did you?”

I chance a glance at him in the rearview mirror.

“Of course not. I sat quietly and worked ahead in my math workbook.”

This is something she could penalize him for later.

It’s as if the teachers look for a way to cause problems for him out of spite. You’d think teachers would want to nurture his intelligence, but the ones at the school he’s at seem to only want to keep him down, or at least at a lower level than kids with more money. Heaven forbid, the poor kid has a leg up somehow.

I pull into the gas station I know to have the cheapest gas.

“Can I trust you to stay in the car?” The cheapest gas also means the place isn’t in the best neighborhood, and it’s a gamble in whether it’s safer to leave him in the car or walk him into the store. It also helps to stave off the guilt I’ll feel from watching his eyes dart to the candy aisle, knowing he wants to ask for a piece. He never would. Somehow Harley knows we don’t have the money. Maybe he’s able to pick up on my stress from not having money even though I don’t discuss such things with him. Maybe he hears other kids talking about our lack of it at school, but the child doesn’t ask for things. He looks. I can see the want in his eyes. He’s a kid after all, but he doesn’t ask, and it kills me to not be able to give it to him. I do when I can, but it isn’t often.

“Yes.”

I lock the door, feeling confident in his answer because I lucked out with him. He’s a very well-behaved child. It’s like someone knew I needed calm and less challenging in my life.

The cashier sighs when she sees me coming, but I can’t be the only person that comes in here and has to pay for gas with change. There are a lot of us in the neighborhood that have to do this very thing. Times are hard, and it’s not just the economy right now. Life is freaking hard. The damn stock market could skyrocket and we wouldn’t know. In the trenches, it’s always going to be hard.

As I stand in line, I mentally calculate what we’ll need between now and when I get paid on Friday, making sure we’ll have enough so I can determine what I can put in the tank. I keep a few feet back from the person in front of me so I can keep my eye on my car. The line moves forward, and so do I. The cashier seems extra salty today, no smile on her face even though I’ve been coming here for years. The woman seems hell-bent on hating her job and everyone who steps foot in here. I decided long ago that she’ll never build a rapport with anyone and gave up. She takes forever to count out my change as if I’m going to stiff her a dime on eight dollars in gas.

Having had my eyes off of him for longer than a minute, I’m in a hurry to get back out to the car, and my blood runs cold when I approach and don’t see his form in the back seat.

“Harley!”

“It’s an Indian, actually.”

I jump at the masculine voice, and then startle further when I see the man the voice came from—dark beard down to his chest, bright blue eyes, bandana around the top of his head, full riding leathers, gloves on his hands.