Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
I hit pause, my eyes wide and fixed on the large mirror clock hanging beside the TV in the living room. Tingles creep up the base of my spine as I stare between my phone and the clock. I don’t want to go out now. I want to sit here and listen to her. Just as I’m about to open a message and cancel on the girls, Luca texts.
Never mind. I will need those drinks. Her podcast may be interesting, but not enough for that.
Being back at this house brings back a ton of memories that I gladly wanted to stay away from. I already know when I walk through that door, my mom is going to whoop my ass. Truth is, I left it too long. I kick out my bike stand and remove my helmet.
I barely hit the stairs when the front door opens and Ma appears, clutching a dishcloth in her hand.
“Nikolai…”
My heart sinks. “Hey, Ma.”
She runs down the steps and throws her arms around my body. They nowhere near reach, but I inhale her embrace. I fucking missed this. Her. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have regrets… but did they outweigh my demons? No.
I push the tears off her withered cheeks. “I’m here, Ma.”
She exhales, steps backward, and then slaps me across the arm with her cloth. “You left it too long.”
“Ma!” I take her slaps while gesturing her into the house. “I’m sorry, okay? Is Dad around?”
“He’s out on a run. I’ll call him to let him know you’re back, but he doesn’t ride home until tomorrow night.”
I close the front door and take a second to look around. After I left, I tried to memorize a lot of my family home to keep it as an anchor, but over time, it became increasingly hard to do that. My parents are an average-income family. Not rich, not poor, thanks to my old man and his extracurricular income. The family home is a modest two-story house with a small porch out front, fit with a swing Ari and I set up when we were twelve. There are four bedrooms upstairs, two bathrooms, and an open office. Downstairs is where the living area and kitchen are, with a back patio that stretches wide over thick shrubs and an ambience of greenery in the backyard. The furnishings at least have been somewhat updated, but that’s on Mom. She’s always been trendy.
I take a seat at the dining table, watching as Mom goes back to stirring whatever is inside the big pot on the stove. I already know it’ll be a boil-up on that stove, a traditional New Zealand dish. Mom stays in contact with family back there to keep herself cultured in our heritage. Boil-up is pork bones, watercress, dumplings, and potatoes that boil in a pot of water over hours and up to days on end. It was a staple in our house growing up.
“I’m not going to ask why, and I don’t expect you to answer.” She continues stirring, but I notice it slowing. She has her back turned to me, and I have to fight with myself to not go and wrap my arms around her small body.
“Ma, it’s really complicated.”
“I know that. I just wasn’t expecting—well.”
I exhale, leaning back in my chair while keeping my eyes on hers. “Old Don was like an uncle to me.”
“Yeah, well, he died.”
“I know, Ma. It’s why I’m back.”
She pauses, her eyes narrowing in a way I’m all too familiar with. She’s too smart. I have never been able to hide anything from her, but she knows that this time, it’s best she doesn’t ask questions.
“You’re here to live?” She looks around the room as if to check no one is listening. “You’re back?”
I kick my leg out and rub my index and thumb together, wishing a cigarette was between them. “Yeah, I am. It was his final wish for me to take the gavel in Halsin. The club has to do it by law without a vote, though I know I’d already have Dad’s and Lester’s.”
She moves across the kitchen and finally grabs out a teapot and two mugs. I relax, knowing I’ve got her. At least in a place where she’s offering tea. It’s a good sign with Mom. After she’s made everything and brought it to the table, she rests in the chair opposite me, pouring the hot contents calmly.
“Do you have any kids?”
I shake my head. “No.” I leave out fuck no.
She stirs both and then pushes over mine. “A wife?”
“Hmm.” I smile tensely at her, bringing the mug up to my lips and blowing on the hot liquid. “Nah, but I do have a woman.”
Mom tilts her head to the side slightly, her bob resting on her sharp shoulder blade. Ma will always be beautiful, with smooth brown skin, the same wolf-gray eyes as me, and sharp cheekbones—but she’s not a soft woman by any means.