Keep It Classy (Bear Bottom Guardians MC 7)

Dad nodded. “I did. I can go now that we have a time and date for the funeral. I can leave tomorrow afternoon after our turkey dinner and drive all night to get to Florida.”

I thought about that for a few moments. “You can drive half the night and sleep the other half. Then you can finish the drive and get there in time to do the speech with about three to four hours to spare. That’ll give you enough time to shower and change.”

Dad nodded. “That’s good. I can do that.” He paused. “Do y’all want something to eat?”

My brows rose. “You have something?”

He nodded. “I went to the store yesterday. And the laundromat. I cleaned the cabin up…washed the bed sheets.”

Surprise poleaxed me. “You did all that?”

He shrugged. “There’s nothing else to do. Y’all are both working…and my job is somewhere else. I suppose if I drove all the way home, I’d have more to do.”

Dad and Mom had owned a hundred-acre ranch in South Dakota that Dad had purchased about fifteen years ago. I’d spent about two years there before I’d graduated high school and then moved to Texas for college.

The ranch housed my father’s racing business. Where he built his cup cars, where he stored all his merchandise and had offices at. So yes, he was right. He could probably find plenty to do if he went home.

“Do you want to go home?” I asked, taking a seat on one of the two sofas located in the main cabin of his RV.

Bud walked to the fridge and pulled out a beer, taking a seat at the bar.

Dad sighed. “Yeah. I’m…bored here. Lonely. I lost my best friend, the woman that I did everything with. Without her here to keep me entertained, I’m rather disinterested. I need something to keep my mind occupied and jacking around doing nothing isn’t the way to do it.”

“I agree,” Bud said. “I think going home would be best for you. Saying that, I think you should just fly to Kissimmee, not drive this beast.”

“I’m not leaving it here,” he paused. “Unless one of you two want it.”

I immediately started shaking my head. “I have the one I’m using now. There’s nothing to do with it if you leave it here.”

He nodded. “Then I’m driving it home.”

Bud waved his beer in the air. “Want one, Dad?”

Dad shook his head. “No. I’ve…given up beer for a while.”

Bud’s brows shot up to his hairline. “But what will you do with all your free beer?”

Dad was sponsored by a brewing company. He got every single type of beer that they produced at the brewing company if he so pleased. Most of the time they just sent him cases and cases. But if he asked for any specifically, he’d get those, too.

Dad turned to me. “Seems like our girl has a boy that’s keeping her attention. Maybe he’ll want it.”

I felt my face heat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And that was the first time I’d seen my dad laugh since my mother passed away.Chapter 15Of course, I’m an organ donor. Who wouldn’t want a piece of me?

-Castiel to Turner

Castiel

“I’ll take a couple of hours to go to this funeral, and then I’ll be back. Do you want me to pick some lunch up?” I asked Easton.

Easton shook his head.

“No,” he said. “But, if you don’t mind, I’ll go with you. I need to get out of this place and think. My brain hurts.”

I shrugged. “I was going to take my bike, but if you want to ride together, I’ll take the cruiser. You’re more than welcome to come, though. Turner won’t mind at all.”

Easton grimaced. “Funerals aren’t my thing, but I’m fuckin’ stuck. I need a break for a couple of hours.”

I shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.”

“Thanks,” Easton muttered. “And yes, I’ll be riding with you. I still get lost.”

I rolled my eyes. “This town is the size of a flea.”

“This town has forty plus thousand people and has the worst mapping system I’ve ever seen. It’s amazing to me that almost every single road in town all leads to the same damn place,” he countered.

I picked up my suit jacket from the back of the chair and threw it on over my shoulders.

Easton’s brows shot up. “You’re dressing up for this.”

I grimaced. “My mom would kill me if I didn’t dress accordingly. She raised me to always dress like I’m going to see her. Or else.”

Easton chuckled. “I bet the vast majority of them are in jeans and nice shirts. I’ve been to a lot of funerals in my time. You’d be surprised how casual most everyone is.”

I shrugged. “I tried to wear sweatpants to church one year and my mom boxed my ears. Literally. She looked at me, slapped both of her hands upside my ears, and then told me to go change or I’d get my butt whooped.”