Wild Fire (Chaos #6.5)(65)

But his girl was sleepy.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he murmured, tucking her closer.

“Okay,” she replied.

He felt her relax against him, her breath evening out, and that content sensation had started invading his chest, when she called, “Dutch?”

“Not goin’ anywhere, Georgie.”

“Thank you for picking me up at the airport.”

He shoved his face in her curls.

So it was there he said, “You’re welcome, gorgeous.”

On that, she fell asleep.

Which tripped the switch that sat deep inside the man who was Dutch Black that he could do the same.

So he did.





Epilogue



Camellia



Dutch



“So what’d you decide?”

Dutch asked this question sitting on his ass on a folded-over throw, one of two Georgie had put in his truck for this purpose. A throw that was covering a layer of snow.

And he asked it with his eyes aimed at the weathered bottle of tequila that lay at the base of his father’s gravestone.

That bottle was mostly full, and it had been there for years.

Dutch had no idea how it lasted that long without being nabbed by some vagrant or asshole kid.

Maybe it was the ghost of his dad that protected it, seeing as his mom put it there.

Maybe it was just obvious this was a biker’s grave, it had the Chaos insignia etched into it, and the specter of their Club protected it.

Whatever reason, it hadn’t moved for six years.

“Stanford,” Carlyle said, sitting on a throw at his side. “It’s closer to home than Massachusetts.”

Dutch got that.

And Stanford was far from a bad choice.

“You come here a lot?” Carlyle asked.

“No. But often enough he knows I haven’t forgotten him,” Dutch answered.

Carlyle didn’t say anything.

Dutch didn’t fill the silence.

They both stared at the black marble tombstone.

Carlyle broke the silence and he did it using a voice so quiet, Dutch barely heard him.

Since Dutch was listening hard, though, he heard.

“Do you think he’s around somehow to know?”

“Yeah,” Dutch said.

Carlyle had nothing to say to that.

“Though, doesn’t matter,” Dutch went on. “I don’t forget him. And I make a point to make sure he knows I don’t forget him, if he’s out there somewhere to see, or not. But the bottom line is, his son is a man who makes that effort. And he does because his father was a man who deserves it. And that’s all that matters.”

It took a few beats, then Carlyle muttered, “Yeah.” He cleared his throat and said, “I haven’t been back. To Dad’s grave. Since the funeral. Mom and Christian go. I don’t.”

It was Dutch’s turn to say nothing.

Carlyle was back to muttering when he said, “I should go.”

“You should do what you feel is right for you. What I do is what I do. You’ll figure out what you gotta do and it’ll be right for you.”

“I see it in my dreams,” he blurted. “The hit. The blood. Him going down. The look on his face when I was pressin’ on the wound, thinking I could stop the bleeding. Him sayin’ in that raspy voice that wasn’t how he normally talked, ‘Get outta here, son.’”

Dutch said nothing. Didn’t move.

His heart hurt, but he didn’t move.

He stared at a grave and listened.

“But his last words were, ‘Your momma…’ then he was just gone.” Carlyle whispered. “And it’s whacked because I think there’s something right about that. How I was there with him, but his last thoughts were of my mom. And I think what he was going to say was that he wanted me to take care of my mom.”

With that, Dutch clapped him on the back, but that was all he did before he returned his wrist to his bent knee, murmured, “That is far from whacked,” and went on listening.

“Mom knows I’m having bad dreams but I’m lying to her and tellin’ her I’m not because I don’t want her to worry,” Carlyle shared.

“Stop doing that, Car,” Dutch advised. “She needs you and you need her, and you all need to share this shit. Only balm she’s got right now is you and your sister. She’s got a piece of him right there through both of you. Trust me, that means everything. You gotta let her take care of you. It’ll help her. Like it helps you to take care of her. I didn’t know him, but ’spect your dad would want that. You all lookin’ out for each other.”

It took a beat, but then he said, “You’re right. He’d want that.”

“You tell her your dad’s last words?”

It was forced when Carlyle said, “No.”

“You need to find a time to do that, man. She should know.”

“Yeah,” Carlyle said low.

They were silent another while before Carlyle again cleared his throat and stated, “You know, we got friends. Family. But when I go off to college—”

Dutch didn’t make him finish.

“I’ll look after them.”

He wasn’t looking at the guy, but he still felt him relax.