Mason, three years later
“Babe?” Looking for Willa, Mason held Garrett’s hand as they walked through the house. Smiling wryly, Mason knew his youngest son’s steps were steady, no longer needing his daddy to hold to. Gar ran at full tilt most days, racing from thrilling experience to exciting event without looking back. At seven, he didn’t yet have the heft to back up his attitude of “don’t fuck with me,” but Mason knew he’d get it sooner rather than later, grinning each time Gar ran up against something that set him back on his heels. Those were the teaching moments, and Gar grabbed hold of them with both hands, wrestling knowledge to work on his side.
“In here,” Willa called, and Mason turned up the kids’ hallway, Gar’s hand slipping from his grip as the boy pulled away, angling towards his room.
“Don’t make a mess, Gar-boy.” His son lifted one hand in acknowledgment, not turning around. “We got company comin’.” Walking into the next room along the hallway, he found Willa seated on the bed with brush in hand, Dolly standing in front of her. Decorated in soft pinks and purples, there was no doubt whose room this happened to be.
“Daddy!” Dolly wriggled free of Willa’s grasp and darted towards him. Mason lifted her, tossing her in the air once, then bringing her down for a hug before setting her feet on the floor. “Momma’s makin’ me pretty.”
“You’re already pretty, baby girl.” He rested a hand on top of her head. “She’s just polishing the raw beauty to a shine.”
Grinning at her mother, Dolly ordered with her own slice of “don’t fuck with me” attitude, “Shine me, Momma!”
Rolling her eyes, Willa didn’t have to say a word. He read her “see what you started” look and laughed. “Hey, babe. You gals nearly done in here? I’m gonna go out back and get the grill started.” There were a half a dozen Rebels coming tonight, all past and present officers in the Fort Wayne chapter, celebrating a couple of birthdays. Faith Inez was seven, only a few weeks younger than his and Willa’s Garrett, and having a joint celebration had become something of a tradition. In the beginning, it was more that the women worried Faynez, as her brother Sammy called her, wouldn’t have enough of a female influence if they didn’t stake their claim. Now, the party was just what they did.
“Yeah.” The tip of Willa’s tongue had escaped the corner of her mouth, an aid in her concentration to try and corral Dolly’s mass of curly hair. They weren’t certain where the girl had gotten her hair from, but it was uniquely Dolly, as unruly as the child could be. “In a minute.” The band snapped, flipping out of her fingers and she shook her head. “Dang it. A minute more than the last minute I talked about, then.”
She was still muttering as he made his way back down the hallway and back to the living room. The roar of pipes led him to the windows, and he looked out to see about three dozen bikes parking on both sides of the road. They were a mix of traditional and sport bike models, and he shook his head, yelling an answer to Willa before she even finished asking who it was. “Chase made it home. Looks like he brought a few friends over.” She’d see the numbers as soon as she came out, and that would be soon enough to worry about ordering pizza for the boys. Men, he corrected himself. Chase was nearly twenty-five and had carried that title for a long time now.
Need that boy to settle down. His oldest son hadn’t yet found his niche, trying his hand at a dozen things and doing well at all of them, but not sticking with anything. Except the music, he mused. Chase still played with Slate’s brother, Benny.
It wasn’t long before the backyard filled up, men sitting or standing as was their wont, women traveling back and forth between the house and tables outside. The kids were running rampant, a roiling mess of shrieks and scraped knees, dirty hands and wide grins. Mason was holding his second beer, having surrendered the grill to Chase who had promised him dibs on the first burger. He was talking to Fury, ironing out a shift in protocol the man wanted to put into place when Jase and Hoss walked up.
Grinning broadly, Jase elbowed him hard, catching him on the ribs. “Ow, motherfucker. What the hell?”
“Check it out, man.” He lifted his chin, pointing towards the house. “Hoss, did you see?”
“What?” Hoss and Mason asked at the same time, turning to look through the sliding glass doors and into the living room.
Mason froze, staring at the scene in disbelief. Faynez had a napkin or something pinned to the top of her head. Standing nearby and holding up what looked like a sheet knotted around her waist were Dolly and either Hayley or Kayley—Slate’s youngest set of twins were hard to tell apart on a good day, much less from twenty feet away. Faynez was solemnly marching towards where Gar stood next to Graham Williamson, Deke’s boy.
“Are they…?” Hoss’ voice trailed off.
“It looks like they are.” Fury’s laughter was scarcely contained. “Hey, Mason. Didn’t you call this wedding back when the kids were still in diapers? I’ve heard stories.’
In that moment, Mason was struck by how beautiful Faynez was, and would be, and how handsome his son would become. He looked at all the kids with fresh eyes, seeing in the hurtling bodies around them the wealth of experiences to come. This right here is where the future begins. We’ve been holding it in the palm of our hands for a long time.
“My boy looks good next to your girl,” he said to Hoss, keeping his tone offhand. “Kids might be onto something, man.”
The kids had lined up in front of Slate’s boy Allen, who was only a year older than Garrett, but already half a foot taller. Without taking his eyes off the evolving scene, Hoss responded, his words careful, tone reverent. “That’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, it really is.” Mason reached up, gripping Hoss’ shoulder with one hand. “Pretty as a picture.”
The end (of this story)