Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I naively thought Jelena's adoring eyes and belief that I was always right and her closest friend would simply continue. At least until she was in high school.
This having her own mind and the confidence to speak it shit? I was equal parts proud and frustrated about it.
I had to concede, though, that if I was going to continue to have someone at the house when I was away—and I was—then maybe I should try to work out something with Lo and Hailstorm to have someone professional and armed hanging out.
I didn't anticipate there being an issue. Even if Reign was right and there was some new competition in town, I didn't imagine Jelly was in danger.
In fact, things had been calm.
It still surprised me at times.
I had hemmed and hawed the decision to join up for so long. I didn't want to expose my daughter to a criminal lifestyle. I didn't want her to be in danger. And I didn't want to get involved with anything that might take me away from my little girl, either.
But then life had beaten me down just enough to make me take the leap.
I had prepared myself for beatings and shootouts and raids by the cops.
And then... nothing.
I mean there were dramas. There was some action here and there. But most of the time, it was little personal dramas, not ones that involved the entire club.
Jelena had grown up as safe as any other kid in the area. Hell, safer, since she had the force of the club as well as Hailstorm behind her.
On top of that safety, I was able to provide for her in a way I never would have been able to working my old janitorial type jobs.
She had all the latest electronics. She could take all the after-school activities I wanted her to be able to explore. And as for the school itself, I even managed to get her into a smaller private one in the area, wanting her to have the best chance at a great future as possible. Even if she threw a fit about the uniforms at least once a week.
Some day, I had to remind myself, when she was a doctor or a lawyer or the owner of her own company, she would look back and realize it had all been with her best interest at heart. If we made it through the teenage years, that is.
It seemed like the chances were fifty-fifty at this point.
"Hey Colson," Amy, the babysitter I had been using for the past year greeted me, giving me a weak smile.
"She still pissed at me?"
"Well, she cranked up some very loud, very moody music for about an hour after you left. But when I called her down for pizza, she seemed to be over it. She's a good kid. She really never has anything nasty to say about you. Even after you fight. She just isn't fond of having a babysitter. And at her age, I wouldn't have been either."
"It's just late, you know?" I said, shrugging.
"I know. You're a good dad. She will get over it. Let me know if you need me again," she added, taking the cash I passed to her.
"Drive safe."
"I will. Make her those famous Rainy Day pancakes of yours in the morning. I bet all will be forgiven," she told me, dipping into her car, giving me a smile, then pulling off. Rainy Day pancakes started out as that—something we did on rainy days because Jelly had been an outdoorsy type kid and rainy days made her sad. As she got older, Rainy Day pancakes became the remedy for every sort of bad day. When she broke her leg the day before her birthday, when she fell down during her ballet recital, when her favorite band broke up. Rainy Day pancakes fixed everything.
I guess maybe it could fix this as well.
Maybe if I knew things were going to go late at the clubhouse, I would send Jelly over to stay with her Aunt Freddie or Uncle Thad. She would be less resentful about that, even if it would screw with the morning schedule to get off to school.
It would be worth it if we could avoid the 'I am too old for this' argument.
With a sigh, I moved inside, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, standing for a second in the living room to make sure I didn't hear any moving around in Jelena's room, then moved out onto the front porch.
I should have been in bed.
That six a.m. alarm was going to go off sooner than later, and I was going to be dragging ass all day. But the uproar in the clubhouse had me more wired than I'd expected; there was no way I was going to sleep yet.
I liked our neighborhood at night. In the daytime, it was active, people coming and going, work being done, lawns being mowed. At night it was predictably quiet. Front porch lights were lit, solar garden lights let off a soft glow, but there was nothing to drown out the sounds of the crickets and, in the river behind the next street over, the frogs.