If I’d hoped for clarity after spending time with my parents, I got it. Steeped in her grief, my mother stayed by Daddy’s bedside constantly. She had her own bed moved next to his. Part of me wanted to hate her for the things she said to me the other day. I suppose that part of me did hate her, but I felt sorry for her too. She had devoted her entire life to my father even at the expense of her children. Now she was reaping the fruits of that. Daddy was dying and she couldn’t stand to look at any of us.

Gianni and Joey drifted in and out, but they were uncomfortable around my mother. More than that, they couldn’t handle seeing Daddy like he was. Women are different. Though she seemed fueled by hate, my mother was so much stronger.

Georgio stayed away. I heard him come and go, keeping to my father’s offices, but he’d avoided me for two days. On the morning of the third day, I stood in the foyer as he came in the front door. Georgio looked pale and sweaty. His suit jacket was rumpled. When he met my eyes, his were blood-rimmed. Daddy’s condition was taking its toll on him too, it seemed. That same look of contempt flashed in his face though. As much as I wanted to confront him, my father’s doctors walked in a few seconds behind him. I’d called them here. I wanted to hear firsthand what they’d told my mother.

“Georgio,” I called. “We need a family meeting.” I jerked my chin toward the two doctors behind him. One we’d all known for years, Dr. Lombardi. He’d been our family doctor for as long as I can remember. He was over seventy and retired for anyone else but us. Behind him was my father’s neurologist, Dr. Karrick. She was young and fresh-faced. My mother had been opposed to her, preferring a male doctor, but Dr. Lombardi had prevailed. Louisa Karrick was the best in her field.

Georgio flinched. He curled a fist and rubbed it with the other hand. It was then that I saw the scrapes and bruises on his knuckles. God, he really was going to run Daddy’s business into the ground.

“Mommy and the boys are already up here,” I said. “We’ve just been waiting for you.”

Georgio came up the stairs with a slow, steady gait that looked more like a tiger stalking its prey. He stopped one stair beneath me so we met eye to eye. “Don’t forget who’s in charge around here, little sis.”

I rolled my eyes and pushed him. “Whatever, Georgio. This is about Daddy. Mommy needs to hear this with all of us around her. I’m tired of taking her word for things and you should be too. You’ve all been avoiding the inevitable for far too long.”

Georgio sucked air through his teeth, making it clear that he had far more to say but held back. I motioned for the doctors and we all went upstairs to my parents’ bedroom together.

Gianni and Joey stayed against the far wall, almost in a huddle. My mother stood stoic by my father’s bedside. Georgio wouldn’t come fully into the room, preferring to hang back by the door. It was me who stood in the center, facing the two doctors. They cast a nervous glance at each other, maybe trying to decide which of them would speak first. In the end, Dr. Lombardi did most of the talking.

“Your father has shown no higher brain functioning for weeks.” Lombardi addressed me. I got the impression he’d probably said these exact words to my mother many times to no effect. Lombardi said other things. Dr. Karrick chimed in a few times to affirm what he said and provide more details. When they finished, I took a breath and faced my mother.

“He’s brain dead,” I said. “There’s no hope.”

Dr. Karrick’s expression was grim. She was a beautiful woman with thick hair that fell past her shoulders in a startling shade of red. Dr. Lombardi barely looked like he belonged to the same species as her. The only similarity between them was their white lab coats. Dr. Lombardi stood barely over five feet two inches tall and had frog-like features and a downturned mouth.

“I’m afraid that’s true,” Lombardi said. “Christine, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes glistened and she adjusted my father’s blankets, smiling. “He’s so strong,” she said. “Gino, you’re a rock.” God, this was more than denial. I was afraid my mother was slipping into psychosis.

“He wouldn’t want this, Mommy,” I said, speaking the words my brothers had been too afraid to utter. “He would hate it, actually.” I’d seen his paperwork. It was the first thing I’d asked for after my altercation with my mother two days ago. I spent hours reading through all of it after I found them in Daddy’s safe. The combination had been so easy to guess: Mommy’s birthday. They’d been sealed in an envelope. After all that had happened, it shocked me that no one in my family had sought them out before me. Never mind denial, it was irresponsible. No wonder my father had worried so much about who would take over for him when he could no longer act. I walked to the credenza in the corner of the room and brought the thin manila file to Dr. Karrick. She let out a light sigh as she took them from me.

I turned to Georgio. “It’s not her call.”

Georgio’s eyes widened. He pushed off the wall with his shoulder and came to me. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t even bother to look at Daddy’s advanced directives or any of the rest of his paperwork? He changed everything last year and made you and Junior his ... uh ... what do you call it?”

“Patient advocate,” Dr. Karrick said. “Um ... it means that you have the legal authority to make decisions regarding your father’s medical care.”

My mother came out of her trance. Her face went blank. She rose slowly, walking over to Georgio. She’d been so calm two seconds before, her next movement startled me enough that I jumped. She raised a hand and slapped Georgio across the face. He took it, not even so much as flinching.

“You’ll be a murderer, then,” she said. “Only God decides when it’s your father’s time.”

Georgio raised a brow. “Well, I don’t see Junior stepping up to deal with this. Do you, Mom? Have you talked to him lately?”

Georgio’s words seemed to burn my mother like acid. Georgio turned to me. “Take a note, little sister. Our mother will do anything to protect this family, no matter where the threat is coming from.”

I couldn’t breathe. The air grew thick and my tongue seemed to double in size. I knew with absolute clarity that Georgio and my mother knew exactly what had happened to Junior. The implication cut me off at the knees.

“What happens when we turn off the machines?” Georgio said, his tone cold, calculating. My mother let out a strangled noise and fled back to my father’s side.

“He’ll stop breathing,” Dr. Lombardi said. “There won’t be any pain. He’ll just drift away.”

Georgio nodded. He took the file folder from Dr. Karrick but didn’t open it. He merely tucked it under his arm and walked over to my father’s bedside.

“You think this will make things easier for you?” my mother shrieked. “He gave me his power of attorney.”

Georgio turned to her, his expression like stone. “And that power dies when he does. I’ll take my chances, Mommy. Dr. Lombardi, turn off the machines now.”

My mother wailed but made no move to stop any of it. She gathered my father’s frail hand in hers and sobbed. Georgio stared at me as the doctors took my father off life support. Gianni and Joey stayed in the corner but they at least had the decency to cry. I felt sick. In my heart, I knew this was the right thing. My father wouldn’t want to keep going like this. And yet, the sick glee Georgio seemed to take in the power he had seemed evil. I’d handed him a victory I hadn’t realized he’d been angling for.

“What do you want from me?” I finally said to Georgio as my father took the last of his breaths.

Georgio narrowed his eyes. “I want you to pick a side, little sister.”

I went to my father, leaned down, and kissed his forehead. He was already so pale, so cold. But I’d done all I could for him. Later, I knew the tears would come. For now I needed air. I needed a different kind of clarity. I kissed the top of my mother’s head then left them all.

No one stopped me as I left the house. With no conscious thought of where I was going, I took one of Daddy’s Mercedes from the garage and headed up the coast.

* * *

Three days and the roller coaster of emotions I’d been holding back flooded through me. I could barely keep my hands on the wheel as my body racked with sobs. I made it a mile down the road from my parents’ house before I had to finally pull over.

Thunder cracked in the distance as I spilled out of the car. Staggering, I braced myself with a flat hand on the hood of the car as I doubled over into the ditch and vomited. I felt like I’d been holding that at bay all day as well.

He was dead. Daddy was dead. I’d tried to be strong and stoic, making my mother face up to reality. In the end, the decision gutted me. I thought I’d respect Georgio for finally making it, but now I just felt sad.

“Oh, Daddy,” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

God, I was. I was sorry for all of it. Sorry for looking the other way all these years about who my father really was. Sorry for blindly accepting all the lies he’d told me. But most of all, I was sorry that he wouldn’t be here so I could tell him the biggest truth about my life. I was in love with Zig. Wholly. Completely. Dangerously. Through it all, as sad as I was about losing my father, I couldn’t help the pull I felt back to Zig. Gino DiSalvo was my past now. But Zig might be my future if I was brave enough to take it.

Georgio told me it was time for me to pick a side. He was right, but not in the way he thought. He wanted this to be about the family versus Zig or his club. For me, it wasn’t. I knew in my heart that the side I picked tonight would be my own. I only hoped I wasn’t too late. I knew Zig was leaving for another ride. Sniffling, I wiped tears away from my eyes and straightened. My traitorous stomach threatened to spill again, but I managed to right myself and get back to the car.

Another car slowed just as the rain began to fall. “You okay, miss?” The driver, an elderly man in a white Suburban, rolled down his window and gave me a kind smile. He wore a Korean War veteran’s cap and he tipped it toward me.

“I’m okay,” I said, lifting one hand. With the other, I clutched my abdomen and opened my car door. “Thank you.”

“You sure I can’t call someone for you?”

I slid into the driver’s seat and rolled down my window. “I’ll be all right.” And I would be. As much as the turmoil of the day bled through me, I felt emboldened by the decision I’d just made. I had to find Zig. I just prayed that three days back in our own worlds hadn’t made him change his mind about what he told me that night out on this same road.

I waved to the old man. He waited for me to pull away from the shoulder and followed me for about a half a mile before turning off toward town. I could head that way too. I’d called Zig three times since this morning and he hadn’t picked up. He was off with the club today. My heart quickened with fear as I hoped he was safe. I called him a fourth time and it went straight to voicemail.

I had a choice to make. I could drive up to the clubhouse to look for him. If I did that, it would become quickly obvious to every man in that club what Zig meant to me. There was no other plausible cover story. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore, but I wasn’t about to take that chance. I did the only other thing I could think of and picked up my phone one last time.

My fingers trembled as I waited for her to pick up and prayed I’d done the right thing. Mama Bear answered, her voice halting. I’d dialed the number to the Bullock Salvage Yard hoping she’d be the one I reached.

“Josie,” I said. Calling her Mama Bear just didn’t seem like a privilege I could share yet. “This is Gina DiSalvo. I’m looking for Zig.”

Such a simple statement, but I knew full well what it would reveal to her. I banked on the fact that this woman was shrewd enough to already know. She did. Her sigh was audible and I heard a chair creak as she must have sat down.

“He’s not here, honey. To be honest, I thought he was with you. He called Bear last night and asked for the day off to handle some personal business.”

I felt hollow inside. Slowly, I pulled my car into a commuter lot just off the highway. Beyond it, the road forked. I could head toward the pier, or I could keep going and drive right past the clubhouse. The third option seemed out of the question. Until I finished what I started, I couldn’t turn around and go back home.

“I haven’t seen him,” I said, grateful to give her honesty. “But I need to. It’s important.”

Josie Bullock’s soft chuckle made relief flood through me. Earlier, I’d observed how much alike she and my mother were. Both strong. Both fiercely protective of their families. But Josie was kind, nurturing beneath her steely exterior.

“I suppose it is, honey,” she said. “Why don’t you try him at his place? Do you know where that is? He’s got a house out on Lachlan Point, past the old navy yard. You know where that is?”

“Oh, I’ve driven down that way a time or two.”

“Good,” she said. “You can’t miss it. He’s at the top of the bluff. Big blue house with white trim. When you see him, tell him I want to talk to him.”

“Thank you,” I said, clutching the phone so hard my knuckles turned white. “Thank you for everything.”

“Oh, honey, don’t thank me yet. Just watch out for yourself.”

I promised her I would and we clicked off. The storm gathered in intensity, sending purple streaks of lightning across the sky. It was the kind of thing my mother would call a bad omen. I shrugged those thoughts away and headed for Lachlan Point.

Mama Bear was right, you couldn’t miss Zig’s house. It sat high on a natural bluff with dunes all around. I slowed the car to a crawl and went up the winding drive, gravel crunching beneath my tires. When I reached the top, I cut the engine and gripped the steering wheel. Once I got out of the car, there’d be no going back. Whatever happened next, I had to be sure I meant it. The path before us wouldn’t be easy. My family might never accept me with Zig. The club might not either, but Mama Bear gave me hope.

I let that hope guide me as I got out of the car. I took only three steps and the pelting rain drenched me to the bone. I ran to the front door and pressed the bell. When Zig didn’t answer, I pounded on the glass storm door and called his name. A dog barked in the distance, but still, Zig didn’t answer.

I don’t know how long I waited. My soaked clothes clung to me. Fat droplets of rain poured down my face. I tried to wipe them away. Stepping away from the door, I tried to peer into the second-floor windows. No lights were on except one from the kitchen. I cupped my hands to try to see inside the front window. There was no movement inside but Zig’s Harley was parked on the side of the house. Why wouldn’t he have pulled it into the garage with the storm coming?

Stepping away from the house, I crossed my arms in front of myself. I took three steps back into the driveway and pulled my phone out of my pocket, trying to keep it from getting wet. I dialed Zig’s number again. As I looked back through the front window, I could see his phone light up on a kitchen counter.

“Zig!” I yelled. He had to be here somewhere. Why the hell wouldn’t he come to the front door?

Thunder cracked again. The wind howled a warning that I didn’t heed. Something was wrong. It was as if mother nature cooked up this storm to match my churning insides. I felt nauseous again but there was nothing left for me to throw up. I walked around to the side of the house. Zig had a large wooden porch with steps leading down to the beach. I had a casual thought about how beautiful the view must be when the sun rose. I longed to sit out there with him some morning and watch it together.

The ocean churned and white caps rose along the beach. They were mesmerizing under the sliver of a moon. If I hadn’t watched them, maybe I never would have seen. But I did. I saw a dark lump just at the edge of the water line. My heart raced as my brain tried to catch up to my eyesight. I don’t remember making a conscious choice to run. But my feet flew beneath me as I took the porch steps two at a time.

“Zig!” I screamed. God, I screamed it over and over. I skidded, falling to my knees in the sand beside him.

“Zig?” My voice choked as I put my hands on his shoulders. Zig lay in a fetal position on his left side. His face was barely recognizable beneath the purple welts, and a bloody gash on his forehead.

He was stiff, cold, unmoving.

“No!” I cried. “Not you. Baby?”

I pressed my cheek to his and tried to pull Zig into my lap. Some back corner of my mind screamed a warning. No. Don’t move him. His neck could be broken.

Then the sweetest sound I’d ever heard erupted from Zig’s lips. He moaned. He was alive. His eyelids fluttered as he tried to open them.

“It’s okay, baby,” I said through my sobs. “I’ve got you. It’s going to be all right.” But the minute I said it, Zig’s whole body started to quiver. He was having a seizure.

Somehow, I had the presence of mind to get to my phone and dial 911.