Wild Fire (Chaos #6.5)(15)

This was not news.

Though, apparently, like she’d been that day when she got off the plane and saw her sister had blown her off…again, Murtagh was at an end with his substitute momma taking off.

Georgiana made note of that, and since she traveled a lot, and when she didn’t, she was out of the house a lot, she finished waiting for Little India by putting the clothes in the dryer and then sipping wine while mentally compiling a list of friends she could ask to hang out with Murtagh while she was gone so Murtagh would have someone to love.

Because Scottish folds were very affectionate.

And anyway, Murtagh had already experienced the trauma of losing his first momma and now he was saddled with Georgie.

Reason one (but the list was much longer), why Cela wasn’t reclaiming her cat.

When the food came, she ate on the sofa with the bottle of wine close, Murtagh not close, and John Oliver cracking her up, pissing her off, and giving her the needed reminder of why she decided to do what she did even though what she did didn’t make people laugh.

But hopefully it made them think.

Then Murtagh forgave her and cuddled up as Georgiana settled in with her real plans for the night.

It was stupid and she knew it.

She just couldn’t stop herself.

So she rented it to stream.

She remembered him from when she’d seen it before. She remembered him being like his brother, good-looking (in a biker guy way).

But she hadn’t met him the first time she saw Blood, Guts and Brotherhood.

And now she’d met him.

She also didn’t remember him being in it that much. The film was mostly about the history of the Club, juxtaposed with footage of them now. At their business. Working on their builds in their garage. In their hangout lair. Their homes. With their wives. Kids. Bikes.

Each other.

The brothers Chaos.

But the majority of it was Ken Burns Civil War style.

Narrative, and some spoken-word interviews, over pictures of days of yore.

Though there was a small amount of old VHS and phone video footage.

And the first time she watched it, her heart stopped, knowing Carolyn’s boyfriend had lost his father in the way explained by the film.

This time, she made everything stop the first time a picture of Graham Black came on her TV screen.

He was crouched down, elbows to knees, and you could see the muscles through his jeans tightened over them in his position. Head turned to almost, but not quite full profile. Dark hair longish, a mop of messy curls and waves. Skin tanned. Lines fanning out from his deep-set, hooded eyes. Huge, white smile.

And there was no mistaking it physically.

Dutch Black had his father stamped all over him.

Graham Black had been an exceptionally handsome man.

His son was no different.

She was about to hit play, but then she didn’t.

And Murtagh gave a concerned “Mwrr?” when the noise came from her throat.

But she’d taken out her contacts and now had her glasses on because her eyes were dry and scratchy from wearing the contacts on the plane.

It might be a trick of vision.

But she had to check.

So she took Murtagh up super-close to the screen, shoved her glasses up on her head, all so she could see.

“Yes,” she whispered staring at a specific spot on the screen. “Oh my God,” she kept whispering. “Yes.”

She cuddled Murtagh closer and walked back to the couch.

As they settled in, Murtagh started purring and kneading.

Georgiana didn’t hit play.

She stared at the patch on the leather jacket Graham Black was wearing in that picture.

Through the threads on the border around the patch that said Chaos that was positioned over the heart, there was some unraveling, and on the leather, there was a scratch on either side of the minimal damage to the stitching on the patch.

The same as on the jacket Dutch wore that day.

It was his dad’s jacket.

It was his dad’s patch.

“Muwrrrr,” Murtagh said.

“Yeah,” she whispered, “I really, really, reallyreallyreally messed up today, baby.”

“Murrr,” Murtagh told her.

“No, it isn’t okay,” she replied.

“Mwrr?”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s who he is, to his bones, his blood, his DNA, so he’ll never forgive me.”

“Muwrrr,” Murtagh decreed.

“I love you too, honey.”

Murtagh’s job was done (or so Murtagh thought), so Murtagh shut up.

Georgiana hit play.

As she watched, she paused a number of other times.

All when he was on screen.

Even when it was pictures of him as a little kid, or a baby.

Held in his father’s arms.

She noted there was something stamped all over Graham Black too.

Unmistakable.

He loved his wife.

And his sons.

Georgiana couldn’t hold it in and got another “Mwrr?” from Murtagh when she made a sad noise at a photo of Graham Black wearing a proud papa smile as he was caught on film in the middle of pulling his oldest son off his back.

The dark-haired toddler was arms and legs akimbo, like he thought he was flying through the air, even though his dad’s arms were raised high, his son held tight on either side in both hands.