Reeve (The Henchmen MC 11)

"She doesn't live around here?"

"She is allergic to putting roots down. Has herself a converted bus that she lives in with some friends of hers, driving coast to coast. Spends holidays up this way, but leaves just as quickly. You can't hold her down."

"Is she more like you or your brother?"

"Neither, really. We're all different. Cy has always been the light and fun one. I've always been the serious and grounded one. Wasp has been the wild child. Smart as a whip and confident though, fucking lethal combination."

I maybe - just very fleetingly - wondered if she would like me, or if we would be oil and vinegar. If nothing else, we could bond over the love of small and fluffy, right?

I was getting way ahead of myself here.

"You don't have siblings," he said, making my gaze shoot up to his as Charlie fought to be freed. I set him down on the floor, watching him hop away. Literally hop. He was no worse for the wear not being able to fly right now.

"It's that obvious?" I asked, wincing a little. I had always wanted siblings. I guess because I spent so much time alone as a kid.

"You looked envious when I talked about mine," he said, shrugging.

"Little bit," I agreed. "No, I was, as she so sensitively put it, my mother's 'wake-up call' that she needed to get her life on track. After me, she cleaned up her act, got serious, got a degree, and became all about her career."

"Not close, huh?" he asked, watching me. I wasn't sure if I was just that transparent, or if he was just that good at reading people. Maybe it was a mix of both.

"She didn't have much time for me. I was much closer to my babcia. I spent my summers and school vacations here growing up."

"Surprised I never saw you around."

"I kind of hung around here. Babcia was the best kind of company to have."

Then, I was pretty sure I got word vomit for at least an hour talking about Babcia, finding it almost therapeutic to be able to do so again to someone who actually seemed interested, who snorted at her antics, who asked follow-up questions. My mother brushed off all talk of her since she passed. It hurt not to be able to share my love - and how much I missed her - with anyone.

"Okay, I'll shut up now," I offered when I realized I was detailing what went in Babcia's poultice for spider bites to take the pain and swelling down in just an hour instead of days.

"Nah, it's fine, babe," he said, sipping the coffee he had made himself after looking around in cabinets while I went to call the dogs back inside and out of the cold. They would stay out all day if I let them, freezing half to death. "It's nice to hear."

"I take it your family was a bit, ah, tense," I guessed, knowing that under Reign's father's leadership, The Henchmen MC had been a whole different beast than it was currently. I very much doubted such a thing as fidelity existed. And as much as 'old ladies' maybe should have anticipated such a thing, I was sure it always hurt.

"Ma and Pops had a bitter marriage while he was alive. Guess she never realized that Pops wasn't going to change just because he got a ring on his finger. He was a good father, though, until he was killed."

"And your mom?"

"Think your Ma and my Ma would have enjoyed each other's company."

"Would have. She passed," I guessed, feeling a pang for him. Both of his parents gone. Even if it wasn't the happiest of childhoods, that still must have hurt. As distant as I was with my mother, I would mourn her passing.

"Yeah. Stroke. Been years. How come you never mention men?"

"I'm sorry?" I asked, confused, as he turned to pour the water in the mug I had set up with butterfly pea blue tea and lavender syrup, a new combination I discovered when I had been dragging midday and reached for the lavender instead of the agave.

"You told me about your mom's wild past, and how she is all about her job," he said, handing me my dainty mug and saucer that looked both ridiculous and incredibly endearing in his big, masculine hands. "You told me about your grandmother and how much she taught you. But there hasn't been a single male presence in any of your stories."

"Oh, well, I was the product of a one-night-stand after blackout drinking. If my mom actually knows who my father is, she has never shared that information with me. Babcia's husband left her a widow at just twenty-seven. Neither of them - my mom or Babcia - seemed interested in dating as I grew up. It never occurred to me that it was weird."