Page 82 of The Heir

He exhaled in a restrained way and looked around awkwardly. When he glanced over his shoulder, I realized my father was halfway between us and the bonfire, his arm draped over Izzy’s shoulder and his tongue in her mouth. He was distracted, but they were clearly coming our way.

“I just– I don’t know. Easy said ya’ll are fucking leaving. He talked about announcing his retirement and going to Georgia with Oak—” Blaze started strong, even if he was whispering.

Trista let out an abrupt laugh, silencing him effortlessly.

“Easy said that did he?” She caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth and smiled. “Let me guess, Oak was sitting there when he said it? Maybe even your mom, too? He’s the president of a one percenter biker club, Blaze. Did you think he was above lying when it suited him– Especially if it makes someone he cares about feel comfortable for a moment? He said your mom had been having nervous breakdowns or some shit. Easy’s an asshole, but he’s an asshole with a heart, you dig?”

Blaze gave a slow nod.

“So– Ya’ll ain’t leaving for Georgia then?” He squinted at Trista.

Trista laughed and wrapped her arm around him, pulling Blaze into a side hug, “B– Am I standing here? Would Easy send me to see you welcomed in, if he didn’t support your decision and this club? If he was stepping down, and we were riding off into the sunset, why the fuck wouldn’t I have anything packed at the house? Did you have to move any boxes to get to that guest bed, love?”

Blaze huffed and laughed. He shook his head and hauled her close, returning the hug before he turned to face my father.

“What’s up?” he greeted them.

I took a deep breath and tried not to curse when I exhaled it as he and my father shook up.

“Blaze, baby. I’m so happy. You have no idea. This is adorable. I remember when you two played together as children,” Izzy rattled on, tangling him up in her arms for a hug and an attempted kiss on his cheek.

“She’s right. Congrats you two.” Aunt Trista smiled, giving my arm a squeeze before she wandered off toward the fire.

“Come on, let’s get you a kutte and get this mother fucker started.”

The backyard was already at a dull roar, music was blasting, and I was pretty sure someone was fucking behind the shed, but I wasn’t willing to investigate. All I could do was shake my head and wonder just what qualified as ‘getting started’ in my father’s mind.

“Turn that shit down!” he roared, raising a hand in the air.

Some woman with nothing more than duct tape on her nipples scrambled to the porch and the music instantly died down.

“Disciples, friends– ladies,” My father all but purred the last word, making my eyes narrow on the back of his head. “I have a distinct honor tonight, our president couldn’t make it, but he sent his ol’ lady, my sister, to witness and convey his support while I welcome Blaze Aviston home. Not just to Swanwick, but to the club his grandfather helped found. Chef Aviston was a beast, he was a brother that had your back inside or out. When my dad did a bid, he brought food for us kids. He made sure his family, the Disciple family was good, no matter what. Chef, as you know had two sons, our president, Easy, and his brother Ant. Anthony Aviston was my best fucking friend. I never had a brother, but Easy leant me his for the short while that he had one, and I’m telling you–”

The emotion that ebbed into my father’s tone stunned me. When his words choked up and he paused for a moment, I felt tears stinging at my eyes. It was bad enough to see a man cry, but a monster like Makaveli?

It was chilling.

“We lost a legend when we lost Ant, but I’m honored to say that today I’m welcoming his son back home, and to the club. Disciples, meet your brother, Blaze.”

He took a leather vest from Izzy and threw it at Blaze. My husband caught it and slid it on without hesitation, sealing the deal and no doubt, our future.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Blaze

I stood in awe, listening to Makaveli speak of my grandfather and my father. The smell of the kutte made me emotional. When I put it on, I had a flashback of playing with my father’s worn, heavily patched kutte when I was small.

As happy as it all made me, the memories brought a rawness that I was eager to chase away with a beer or two. But first, I wanted to find Marchella. I spotted her standing next to Trista and hurried that way.

“You did it,” she called, and this time, when I snatched her up and kissed her, nobody slapped me over smudged make-up.

“I did,” I mumbled against her lips.

“You look good in it.” She grabbed either side of my kutte and studied it with a lazy smile.

“You look better.” It wasn’t even a competition.

“What the fuck are you wearing? I can smell you across the yard, I swear to fuck,” I growled against her neck.