Page 41 of Carver (Satan’s Angels MC #8)

“You feel like you have to earn that title, and there’s never going to be any earning it?”

“Like a lot of other things, I need to shift my mindset.” It’s not so hard to see that Dravin’s absolutely right. It’s not so hard to admit it either.

“You’ve come so far already. I bought that bike from you in early summer and now look at you.”

I’m honestly scared to do comparisons. I know how quickly things can all come crashing down.

“Bronte’s worried about me selling my place.

” I leave the stone and walk back to my workbench, tossing my next words over my shoulder.

“It’s different when I talked about doing it because I could still change my mind.

She knew exactly what time I was signing those documents today.

I woke up early and she was right there, checking in with me.

It was more than concern. She looked almost guilty.

Every time I talk about the place, she has that same worried, guilty line that appears right between her eyebrows. I’m not sure what that means.”

“She might think that she’s the reason you feel you have to get rid of your heritage. She might feel like she pushed you or rushed you or asked for changes that are going to hurt you later.”

“Fair enough.”

“Talk to her.” That’s good advice. The best advice.

If people just talked more often, I’m sure the world would be far less complicated.

“And if you want to talk with someone else, or talk to someone else with her, you can let me know and I’ll hook you up with that therapist, or get you squared away with any of the guys at the club who you think you’d like to be mentored by, if that’s the right word to use. ”

I grab my sketchpad and turn back around. “You, dumbass.”

“Me?” I wouldn’t have thought that anyone could sneak up on Dravin, metaphorically or otherwise, but I’ve managed to do it. He shoves a finger into his chest as though he still needs confirmation.

“You’re a decade older than me, but you’ve lived through a lot of life already.”

“Nearly died through a lot of it too.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t have all my shit figured out.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

Does anyone have anything figured out? That’s exactly why I’d want to sit and talk things out with Dravin.

It’s already helped me so much in these past few minutes.

I never really felt like I could talk to anyone, and then I met Bronte.

But as for men, I never had that person I was comfortable going to.

Her father and brother are great, but I just couldn’t sit down with either of them and pour it all out the way I sensed I could with Dravin.

“You’ve helped me in every way, Dravin. You just helped me figure out that I should get a pet. A puppy or a cat. Something that Ellie can grow up with.”

“Oh?” His brow shoots up quizzically. “How did I help you come to that conclusion?”

I shake my head, switching out my sketchpad to my right hand so I can cup the back of my neck with the left. “Sometimes I can’t even keep track of my own thought process. You’ve helped Bronte and I so much. Both you and Kael.”

“Stop.” Dravin’s like me. He has trouble with compliments, and this isn’t anything he hasn’t heard a hundred times. He didn’t do this to get the thanks, so I do as he asks and stop.

“I have Tyrant’s number. When I talk to Bronte, I’ll call him and ask if there’s a time I can come in and sit down to talk with him. Is that the right way to go about it?”

“Sure. There’s no right or wrong way. Since the club doesn’t have many social events coming up, Tyrant will probably ask you to dinner over at his place, or over at Raiden and Ella’s. Most clubs wouldn’t do things that way, but if a man has a family, they like to include everyone in the decision.”

Everything the club does is unique and different. It’s the small things that matter the most. I can see why they’re so successful fostering that feeling of true brotherhood.

“Not that it’s for sure. I can’t say what he’ll do.”

“I hear you. Thanks for coming over today. You didn’t have to.”

“Technically, since we’re in this property deal together, it didn’t hurt that I was here.”

“Yes,” I snort. “Technically.” I glance up at the ceiling, where right above me, Kael has her studio. “Are you heading up to see Kael?”

“I thought I’d do that, since I’m here already.” You have to know Dravin to understand his dry, sarcastic wit. It’s another way we’re so similar.

“Just remember that the walls aren’t paper thin, but they’re thin enough. If I hear any Daddy Dravin’s getting screamed out, I’m going to rent that dozer I was talking about for my house and bring it here and wreck this space, just so I won’t ever have to encounter that again.”

“That’s slightly extreme.”

“Is it?”

He laughs. “I’ll leave you to your work. The way you grabbed up that sketchpad tells me that you’ve had some inspiration for that stone over there.”

“They speak to me. Sometimes, I just have to touch them to find what they want to become. Other times, I just have to look, and they pop into my brain as fully formed ideas. This one was a bit of a struggle, but I think I’ve got it now.”

Dravin heads for the side door. “Mind if I go up this way?” There’s a set of stairs to Kael’s studio, but she has a door at the top that she can keep locked or unlocked, just like mine.

“I don’t mind. And I won’t actually bulldoze the space. I’ll just never stop calling you Daddy Dravin at the worst of times. Only between us though. As a special sort of punishment. Will someone accidentally overhear me one day? Won’t they? It will be a special brand of suspenseful hell…”

This time, he gets going with the full belly laugh that causes him to double over at the waist. “If you had noise cancelling headphones, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“I have a record player.”

“Very good.” He slaps his thigh and disappears through the door and up the stairs. His boots bang on the treads as he goes up.

The first thing I do is slap my sketchbook down on my workbench and head straight for the record player.

I put on some music and get it cranked loud, deciding that some punk will drown out any noise.

The snarly, slightly angry and strangely upbeat notes bounce off all the concrete and stone.

The place has good acoustics. I’ve never been more thankful for Bronte’s gift of this player and all these records than I am now.