Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part One (King #5)(2)

We were talking about Max. King’s baby girl who’d been tossed into the system the second he was put in cuffs. The three of us had been trying everything we could think of to get her out and home with one of us, but the state is fickle as shit. Apparently, they didn’t want to give an infant over to a biker, a degenerate, or a sickly elderly woman.

Damn the man.

Bear’s knuckles were white as he flipped a napkin ring from one hand to another, snapping the plastic with a growl. He flung it across the table, shooting Grace an apologetic look before dropping his face into his hands.

I slammed my hand down on the table, rattling the pitcher of Grace’s famous mojitos, finally drawing their attentions out of their own asses and up to me. “All right. It’s been decided.” I reached out and squeezed Bear’s hand like Grace had squeezed mine, and he retracted it like I’d given him a severe case of the cooties. “We are just gonna have to get gay-married.”

“Shut the f*ck up, Prep,” Bear grumbled, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray and trying to swipe me across the side of the head, but I was too quick, dodging him before he had a chance to make contact.

“Boys,” Grace warned, although my words seem to have the affect I was looking for because the corners of her mouth turned upward, her frown straightening into a line. A tiny bit of the light in her eyes returning as she naturally fell into her roll in our crazy lives.

Her roll as our mom.

“Bear, at least pretend you care about this shit,” I said, watching Grace out of the corner of my eye as her shoulders relaxed and she settled back into her chair with her drink. “I mean, look at you, motherf*cker! For Christ’s sake, they aren’t going to give us King’s baby if my man-husband won’t even put on a god damned shirt!” I pointed to Bear, who hadn’t worn a shirt under his cut since the day he turned prospect for the Beach Bastards. Seriously, you’d think the guy was allergic or something.

“What are you talking about? I’m totally covered,” Bear said, looking down and adjusting his cut to cover his left nipple, exposing the right one in the process.

I rolled my eyes. “Tattoos don’t f*cking count,” I said, and that’s when I heard Grace’s small laugh and inwardly, my own shoulders fell.

“Sure they do,” Bear said, patting the ink on his abs with both hands as if it somehow proved his point.

“Samuel,” Grace said, sounding a little tired. “As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, we live in the south, dear, they haven’t quite embraced the idea of gay marriage here just yet.”

I stood from the table and paced up and down the three steps leading from the deck to the yard and back again. Of course I knew that gay marriage wasn’t legal in the south, and I knew that the idea was f*cking ridiculous, but I was willing to spew just about anything to come up with a solution. Not to mention, that someone needed to thin out the thick cloud of dread looming over our little family.

“Samuel, we will think of something. It will just take time,” Grace reassured me. I looked down at her and took hold of her outstretched hand, bending down I pulled her into a hug and she wrapped her tiny arms around my waist. She smelled like peppermint and the potpourri she always kept out on the table in the living room that I might have mistaken for trail mix once or twice.

Or six times.

“We’ve got this, Grace,” Bear said, echoing my thoughts. Although, he didn’t sound as convinced as I was.

I squatted down next to Grace “We will just have to be a little more…creative.”

Grace patted my cheek. “You’re a good boy, Samuel,” she said, and if I was a dog my tail would be wagging so fast it would’ve fallen right off. “Oh, and before I forget, don’t forget to check in on Mirna like I asked. She’s been more off than usual lately and I want to make sure she’s looked after while I’m away.”

“You got it,” I said, planting one last kiss on her forehead and standing up, straightening the crease in my pants. Mirna’s house was one of the first Granny Growhouses in our operation. Plus, she made these amazing chocolate chip cookies that were so f*cking good, I’ve seriously thought about rubbing them all over my nuts. “I’m going today, actually,” I assured her.

“When will you be back?” Bear asked.

“A few weeks or so. Not too long,” Grace answered, with a little too much enthusiasm. Bear and I exchanged a knowing glance above Grace’s head. She was heading out of town to some facility she’d talked up to sound like a resort and spa for a few weeks, but Bear and I had our suspicions so we’d called the place after she’d first spoke about it and sure enough, it was a medical treatment facility for patients with advanced stages of cancer. Grace rarely said the C word when we were around and vowed that she was going to live forever.

“You need a ride up there?” I asked.

Grace waved us off. “Boys, stop worrying about me. They are sending transportation for me in the morning. Now go! Go! I’ll see you two in a few weeks.”

I was the kind of man who packed a gun at all times, but even I wasn’t stupid enough to try and argue with Grace when she had her mind set on something, and if she said she was going to live forever then it was best to believe her and leave it at that.

Bear rounded the table and said his good-bye’s, and I followed him through the yard around the side of the house. “You still got the number of that place?”