Trip
“I can’t believe you pulled this all off.”
We stood together outside of a newly remodeled Ace of Pride. It was … spectacular. Misha had used the remainder of the money that she had gotten from Holland to pay Allan to remodel. The old Ace, it had been great, but this was Misha’s present to me.
“We’re starting new. I think we should give this place a complete one-eighty,” she had said to me.
I had been apprehensive about letting Allan do the work on it. We had worked on a truce, but actually working that close? Seemed like it was going to stir up trouble. But Misha had insisted, saying Allan’s crew came highly recommended, and there were few that could boast the talent that he and his did.
Hated to say it … but she was right.
The bar maintained its rustic value, but it was all updated on the inside, and had a shiny ass new sign on the out. The stairs had decent railing, finally, and the lot wasn’t a dirt and gravel mess from hell. The boy, initially, weren’t sure if they were going to like the change. Seemed a little too wishy washy for their tastes and they knew what they liked and what they didn’t!
But Misha knew her way around stubborn men, and it wasn’t long before they were all on board.
I took Misha’s hand and walked her inside. There were Allan’s boys, and my boys. Together. this was something that was taking a little while to get used to, but I was getting used to it, nonetheless. I guess that’s what happened when you finally buried the hatchet; you stopped caring about dumb shit like who wore what name on their back and what strife in the past you had with people.
“You know, I was thinking,” Misha said.
“Oh, no, more thinking.” She nudged me in the side.
“Hush, you. I was thinking … With everything that has gone on, and everything leveling out, it’d be nice to … Move things along, you know? With all this change.”
I raised a brow.
“More change?” I chuckled. I ordered us both a drink. “You’re on a roll, don’t you think?”
“We’re on a roll, actually,” she said. She smiled at me, her lip bitten. When our drinks were brought out, she nudged hers away.
I raised a brow at her. “No booze? Not even tonight? We’re celebrating!”
“I won’t be celebrating like this for a while,” she said. “A long while. Nine months, to be exact.”
I was confused. Why the specific number? Why—
And then it dawned on me.
No alcohol.
Nine months.
“Holy shit—Misha. Misha, are you sure—”
“One hundred percent.” She bit her lip, fidgeting in her seat. For the first time, I saw nervousness in her eyes, but I had no idea where it came from. “I understand if it’s not okay. But we haven’t been very careful the last few times and—”
I put my finger to her lips, before cupping her face with my hands. I drew her close, so close, keeping my eyes on her and pressing our foreheads together.
“I have never heard something in my entire fucking life that has ever made me so damn happy, Misha,” I said. “Nothing. I am being one hundred percent honest when I say you’ve just made me the goddamn happiest man alive.”
Her face reddened. “You mean it?”
“I mean it.”
I kissed her sweet, then hard, and wrapped my arms around her like I would never let go. There was a wolf whistle somewhere, and then a shout of “Get a room.” Somewhere someone decided to throw a napkin at us, hitting my head.
That’s when I pulled away.
“I’m gonna be a dad again!” I shouted. “Drinks all around, all on me tonight, boys. There’s a whole hell of a lot more that we’re celebrating than just a new gig!”
There were shouts and hoots and hollers. Jackal and Pride alike came up and congratulated us on our good news. I only had eyes for Misha though. The way she glowed under the compliments and the congratulations, the way she tucked her hair out of her face—and I could catch the etch of my name tattooed on her wrist.
Yeah … new gig, new life, new beginnings. I liked the sound of that.
THE END
***
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