A Very Cerberus Christmas (Cerberus MC)

I promised Lucy slow, and that’s exactly what Harley gets, but you’d think we were racing down the turnpike at a hundred miles an hour with the way he’s squealing. I usually go from one stop light to the next at a faster speed, but the child is six, and I’m not taking any chances with such precious cargo.

Knowing Lucy needs a little time to herself when she’s not either sleeping or working, I take the scenic route to the fast-food joints in town, grabbing Harley and I a couple of burgers and fries before heading to the park. We eat at a picnic table, and I tell him he can go play, but he seems just as content to sit beside me and watch a couple of squirrels chase each other through the grass. He’s a chill kid, and I wonder how much of that is because Lucy has to work nights and is tired during the day. I know they do outings on Saturdays, and he gets plenty of recess time at school. I know she’s doing the best she can. God, I just want to give her more. She has to be utterly exhausted, never getting a real break. I doubt the woman has ever had a vacation in her life.

“None of them,” Harley says when I ask him what his favorite subject in school is.

“Are you struggling?”

He gives me that are you serious look. “It’s too easy. I’m bored all day, and when I draw, I get in trouble.”

I keep my mouth closed. I could say a lot on that subject but saying it to a six-year-old isn’t where the energy needs to be directed. Also, I don’t know that Lucy would appreciate me getting involved. I’m sure she’s said something to the school in the past.

“What do you like to draw?”

He shrugs. “Cartoon characters. Monsters. Dogs. Do you draw?”

I chuckle. “I’m no good at drawing. I’m good at working on bikes. I was a good soldier.”

“I want to be a soldier.”

“Not an artist?”

He shrugs.

“There’s a kid at school and his dad is a soldier. He said his dad makes a lot of money.”

Not working for the government, he doesn’t.

“They have a really good benefit package,” I say instead.

“I just want to take care of my mom.”

“That’s noble.”

“What are your intentions with my mom?”

I choke on a sip of my soda. “My intentions?”

He nods, his face a mask of seriousness as he rolls a French fry between his fingers.

“I really like your mom.”

“I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“I don’t plan on hurting her.”

“I know my mom and dad won’t get back together.”

I nod because I was wondering if he had thoughts about this, but I wasn’t in any position to ask. His mother said as much but little kids have different viewpoints.

“Dad is coming home soon.”

This makes me wonder what idea of home Harley has for Robbie Farrow once he’s released from prison. This is another thing I don’t feel like I have the right to ask. I haven’t been in their lives long enough to ask.

“Do you think your mom likes me back?”

His grin is wide, giving me hope. Harley nods. “She gets this silly look in her eyes every time we talk about you. It’s that same look the girls at school get when someone mentions Ryder Jones.”

“Good to know,” I tell him before taking another sip of soda.

“Do you think you can take me to get a Christmas gift for my mom? I’ve been doing chores for Mrs. Greene to earn money.”

“Of course I can. Today?” I look down at my watch.

“I won’t get all of my money until closer to Christmas.”

“You tell me when, and I’ll make it happen.”

“Thanks.” He looks out over the grass again, his little eyes searching for the squirrels that disappeared while we were having our serious conversation.

“We better head back before she sends out a search party for us.”

We gather our trash and head back to the bike. I go back over the rules once again because safety is important before we head out of the park.

At a red light, I lean closer and ask Harley what kind of food his mom likes the most. He says barbecue, but she doesn’t get it very often, so we end up at the best place I know of in town. He isn’t very helpful when we walk inside, saying meat when I try to get specifics. We end up with so much, I can barely fit it in my saddlebags, but we somehow manage.

He’s just as happy on the ride back to his house as he was the first time.

Lucy is waiting on the porch when we pull up, but Harley waits for me to lift him off the bike, so he doesn’t burn his little legs on the exhaust. He scrambles to her, talking a mile a minute about his exciting ride and about his early dinner and even the squirrels at the park.