Page 18 of Dylan’s Dad (Horsemen Of The Apocalypse MC #1)
Reaper
The plans have been made and Church has ended but I can’t make myself leave the table.
The rest of my brothers left the Chapel and I can hear them starting to get rowdy.
I need to go home to Lola and find my comfort in her but I can’t seem to get my body to listen to me.
I feel grief and dread at the thought of what is to come.
Memories of Dylan growing up flash through my mind.
Dylan's first words (Dada), his first steps, him hanging out at the club from toddler to teenager.
The Clubhouse, Years Earlier. . .
The scent of motor oil and leather clung to the air, mixing with the faint aroma of coffee brewing in the corner.
The clubhouse was quieter than usual, most of the guys out on a ride, leaving a rare stillness in its wake.
I sat in the middle of it all, legs spread, a wrench in my hand—though I wasn’t the one using it.
Dylan sat on my lap, small and serious, his little hands gripping the tool like it was the most important thing in the world. His tongue poked out in concentration, the same way it always did when he was focused. I couldn’t help but smirk. Kid got that from me.
“Not too tight, buddy,” I murmured, keeping my voice steady and warm. “You want it snug, not stuck. Like this.” I wrapped my hands over his, guiding him through the motion, showing him the right amount of pressure to use.
His face lit up the second the bolt clicked into place. “I did it!” he crowed, looking up at me with wide, triumphant eyes.
I chuckled, ruffling his messy black hair. “Damn right, you did. You’re a natural. Gonna be fixing up bikes before you know it.”
His excitement only grew at that, his eyes shimmering with something I recognized all too well—hunger for more. “Can I ride one too?” he asked, practically vibrating in my lap.
I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. “Not just yet, kid. You gotta get bigger first. But when you’re ready…” I let my voice trail off, the words catching in my throat for a second before I pushed past it. “When you’re ready, I’ll teach you everything I know.”
He beamed, as if the promise alone was enough. Then, without warning, he leaned into me, small hands gripping the edge of my cut like it meant something. And maybe it did.
For a moment, nothing else mattered—not the club, not the business, not the weight of the decisions I carried every damn day. Right here, right now, I wasn’t Reaper, president of an outlaw motorcycle club. I was just a dad, holding his son.
“You’re my best friend, Daddy,” Dylan said suddenly, his voice soft but certain.
The words hit me like a sucker punch, knocking the breath from my lungs. I tightened my arms around him, pressing a hand to the back of his head. “You’re mine too, kiddo,” I said, barely above a whisper.
His body grew heavier against me, his eyelids fluttering, sleep creeping in. I sat there, letting him drift, his breathing slow and even. The weight of him in my arms grounded me in a way nothing else ever could.
I leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the world outside. I had no idea what the future would bring, but right now, in this moment, I had everything I needed.
A rough hand patting my shoulder brought me back to the present. Stallion pulled up his chair next to me at the chapel table and leaned forward onto his forearms.
“You okay, Brother?”
“No,” it’s the first time I am admitting it and honestly I feel a bit lighter admitting it to Stallion. “Okay is such a broad description but right now. . . no I’m not okay. I will be though.” He claps me on the shoulder and we just sit there reminiscing about my son for who I now grieve.