“Stop. My hair is still curly, my cap is still on my head, my knee is not aching, and I still have pictures to take and you can only approach if you behave.”
Arms still out wide. “I’m behaving.”
She laughs in spite of herself as she slowly backs up. “Behave isn’t in your vocabulary.”
She’s right. I pick up my stride, and in three steps I lift Violet until her feet dangle in the air. She squeals, slaps my shoulders, and demands that I let her go, but I hug her regardless. After enduring a colorful tirade about how she’s going to nail me in the balls if I don’t put her down, I comply. Violet’s just dangerous enough that she’ll do it.
God, I love this kid.
Violet’s all smiles as she pulls back and looks at me. “You’re the craziest person I know.”
“Which says a lot since you’re part of a motorcycle club.”
“I’m not a member.”
She can deny it all she wants, but every drop of blood in that girl screams Reign of Terror—like a genetic predisposition. But she needs her space from the club, and I understand why. It’s been a tough few years for her, but thankfully, she’s made her peace with the club and loves us again.
This fall, she’ll be heading to college with Chevy. If forever is possible, then those two will have it. They love each other too much to let go.
I hook an arm around Violet as I lead her to where the club moms have set up their own paparazzi team. On the way, I tease her that I’m going to ruin the curls in her long red hair. In return, she threatens my life multiple times, and I award her bonus points for creativity as to where she plans to hide my body. I smile wider because the club raised her right.
We reach the moms, and as I release Violet, I kiss the side of her head. Despite the crap I just gave her, I’m careful not to disturb her hair, her pinned-in graduation cap or her makeup. Chevy takes her hand, and in seconds, the two of them are fussed over by the moms who are sending me dirty looks for messing with Violet before all the pictures were taken. But Violet looks over her shoulder at me and winks. I wink back.
It’s weird: if someone had asked me years ago when I was in the military, knee-deep in the mud of some foreign country with a rifle slung over my shoulder, if I could be so full of pride for some kid I wasn’t even related to, I’d tell you that you were out of your mind. Now? I might as well be joining the group and taking two million pictures with my cell.
There’s a few disagreements about where to take the pictures, but when Chevy leans down and kisses Violet, so many flashes go off that I’m nearly blinded.
I glance around in search of the other graduation boy, Razor, and then for the other power-couple teen duo, Emily and Oz. If I know the women associated with this club, they’re going to want a group photo. Half the time, none of us can do a damn thing without us all posing. If I’m going to woo Ms. Whitlock, I need these pictures to wrap up now.
Emily and Oz are off to the right with Emily’s father, Eli. Oz has his arm around Emily, and she’s held tight to his side. I was one of the skeptics who wasn’t sure they could pull off a long-distance relationship, but they did.
Emily graduated from her high school in Florida last week, and she’ll be heading to college here in Kentucky in the fall. A different one than Chevy and Violet, but the schools are close to each other. Oz has been working full time for the security company the club owns, as well as taking a full load of classes, thanks to online courses. This fall, he’ll head to college with Emily, then return home on the weekends and breaks to continue his work with the company.
The babies are growing up and leaving the nest. Granted, I only got involved with these kiddos a few years back, but they grew on me.
I do another scan of the room, and Razor’s nowhere to be found. Rebecca, Oz’s mom, is looking around, too. She catches the eye of Eli and Hook, Razor’s dad. We’re all on the same page—Razor’s not around. After