Gypsy king

And I’d never forgive Dad for doing this to Mom.

“I hate you for this.”

Dad let out a dry laugh. “Son, I’ve hated myself for twenty-six years.”

“And Mom? Did she hate you too? Because you came home. You seemed happy. Or was that all bullshit?”

“I came back. Got on my knees and begged your mom to let me come home.”

“She forgave you?” My eyes bulged. “No way.”

Dad’s face paled as his eyes filled with tears.

“You never told her,” Bryce whispered. “She never knew.”

“She never knew.” His voice was hoarse. Thick. “Amina and I both promised to keep it quiet. She knew it would crush Chrissy, so she went home to Denver and didn’t come back. It ate at me. I’d finally decided to confess. To come clean. But then . . .”

“She was murdered.” My voice was flat and lifeless, like my mother’s body alone in her grave.

“I let your mother down in every way possible.” A tear fell down his face. “I’ve wished for years I’d had the courage to tell her about Amina because then she would have left me. She should have left me, then she wouldn’t have been planting flowers that day. But I was a coward, scared to lose her.”

“You lost her anyway.”

Another tear fell, dripping down his cheek and into the beard he’d grown since the arrest. “My silence was the biggest mistake of my life.”

My throat burned and my heart broke. What would have happened if he’d told her the truth? Would Mom still be alive?

“What about your daughter?” Bryce asked. “She doesn’t know about you.”

“Because I didn’t know about her. Not until Amina called me last month and asked me to meet her at the Evergreen Motel.”

I closed my eyes, not wanting to hear any more. But I couldn’t find the strength to stand. So I sat there, thinking of my beautiful mother and how unfair this was. All she’d done was love a selfish, cowardly man. And he’d destroyed her. He’d had a child with another woman.

“We talked about Genevieve that night,” Dad said. “It took me a few hours to get my head wrapped around it, that I had a daughter. And I was furious that she’d kept it from me.”

“But you fucked her?” Again. He’d fucked that bitch again.

He lowered his eyes as I fumed. It was like he’d spit on Mom’s grave.

Bryce’s hand on mine squeezed tight. “Did you do it, Draven? Did you kill her?”

I opened my eyes, locking my gaze on him. It would be so much easier if he said yes. Then he’d rot in a prison cell and I’d never think about my father again.

“No. I didn’t kill her.” It was the truth. “I calmed down and we talked for hours. Amina was sorry about keeping Genevieve away, but she was scared. She knew Chrissy had been killed. She knew being in my life could put her daughter at risk. So she stayed away.”

“Why did she come back now?” Bryce asked.

“She said it was time her daughter knew her father. I think she got word the Gypsies had shut down and waited to make sure it was safe.”

Safe. I surged from my chair and walked to the window. “Has it ever been safe?”

Both of the women who’d loved my father had died violent deaths. He hadn’t stabbed Amina, but he’d killed her all the same. Like he’d killed Mom.

“You deserve to spend the rest of your life in prison,” I said to the glass.

“No question,” Dad replied instantly. “I do.”

No matter how angry I was at him, I wouldn’t let that happen. Not for Dad, but the rest of us. If someone was out to get Draven Slater, there was a very real possibility the rest of us were up next.

Besides, Dad should have to live in this house for the rest of his life. It was the prison of his own making. He could live out his years alone here, surrounded by the ghost of his dead wife. And no judge or jury would ever punish him the way he’d been punishing himself.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“No.”

“Okay.” I turned and walked away from the window, straight out of the room.

Bryce hesitated, but when I didn’t pause, she hurried to catch up.

I was nearly to her car when Dad called my name. It wasn’t from behind at the side door. He’d walked through the front door to stand on the porch.

Dad didn’t utter another word. Instead, he fisted his hands and took the porch steps one at a time.

How long had it been since he’d walked those steps? On the last one, his foot hovered over the cement of the sidewalk, reluctant to put it down. When it landed, his boot was heavy and sluggish.

Slowly, painfully, Dad walked down the path toward the place where Mom had been. The last time I’d seen him on that sidewalk had been the worst day of my life.

Nick had rushed inside to call him. My brother’s screams had been so loud and frantic, they’d carried outside to the street. I’d knelt by Mom’s body, a scared boy crying and begging it to be a nightmare.

Dad had raced home from the garage. When he’d jumped off his bike, he’d come right to Mom, pushing me aside. Then he’d scooped her up into his arms and wailed, his heart broken.

Our lives broken.

The memory snuck up on me. The pain in my chest was unbearable, making my legs weak and my head dizzy. My arm shot out, searching for something to grab.

I found Bryce. She came right to my side, standing straight. She was my rock as Dad took one last step and dropped his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the ground, then he looked at me. “I’m sorry.”

“You never should have started the club.” Words I never thought I’d say.

I hadn’t blamed the club for Mom’s death. Nick had. But I hadn’t. I’d blamed the man who’d pulled the trigger, the one Dad had promised me had been dealt a cruel, slow death.

Now? Now I wished I’d never been a Tin Gypsy.

“You’re right.” Dad nodded. “I never should have started the club.”

At least it’s gone now.

I let go of Bryce, turning my back on my father for the car.

She didn’t make me wait. She jogged to the driver’s side and got in, reversing out of the driveway and speeding down the street. Dad just stood in the same place on the sidewalk, staring at his feet like he could still see Mom’s body there.

I leaned forward, dropping my head into my hands as I squeezed my eyes shut. My stomach churned. The pressure in my head was overpowering. White spots popped in my vision. The sharp sting in my head was like a dull dagger being pushed slowly into my temple.

Was this a panic attack? Anxiety? I’d never had either, but I was three seconds from puking in Bryce’s car.

“Want me to pull over?” she asked.

“No. Drive.” I swallowed hard. “Keep driving.”

“Okay.” Her hand came to my spine, rubbing up and down before returning it to the wheel.

I focused on the hum of the wheels against the blacktop, breathing deep to fight the emotions. Miles later, when I wasn’t afraid I’d puke or cry or scream, I opened my mouth. “I miss Mom. She was so happy, and damn, she loved us. All of us. Even him.”

Fuck. One tear slipped free and I swiped it away, refusing to let more fall.

“I wish he had told her.”

“Yeah,” I choked out.

“But since he didn’t, I’m glad she never knew about Amina,” Bryce said gently.

Part of me would have liked to see her kick Dad’s ass for it. To leave him and punish him for being unfaithful. But it would have broken her heart. “Me too.”

Bryce drove through town, going nowhere as she turned down one road, then the next. Finally, when I had pulled myself together, I asked, “Would you take me to my bike?”

“Sure. Are you feeling okay to ride?”