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ATOM

“ G onna get the hands to move the cattle to the upper pasture,” Dad says as he walks into the large ranch house, not a speck of dirt or dust on his denim. It’s a sign he’s done nothing today beyond walk from his air-conditioned home to the main house.

My grandpa lives here, but generations have always gathered in this kitchen to eat together when they want to.

“Before Sturgis?” I ask, diving into the huge huevos rancheros skillet Linda, the ranch cook, just made me. It’s her take on it: charred corn tortillas, fried eggs, seasoned beans and tomatoes, and garlic. It’s topped with avocado and jalapenos and cheese.

I was all out of anything to eat at my own place, and while I knew I could get some greasy food at the clubhouse, I also knew Linda would rustle me up my favorite. I’m starved. Even through my raging hangover and lack of sleep, I’ve been up since before dawn and have checked in on the calves, booked the combine in for a service, and ridden out to the grow-op to check in on security after the Bratva raid on it.

My time off can’t come soon enough. Our annual trip to the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, one of my favorite bike events of the year, is just around the corner.

It’s a nice straight ride north that takes about five hours. Ten days in South Dakota with almost every motorcycle club across the country. It’s a time to meet up with riders from the other Iron Outlaws chapters. King, the Iron Outlaws national president, organizes meetups between similar patches. All the presidents get together and talk strategy and shit.

The enforcers? We get together and have a round robin fight competition. I’ve won several years in a row. But I’m getting older now, although not the oldest by a long stretch.

Still can hold my own, though.

“Before the end of the day,” Dad says. “You able to oversee it?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“What the hell do you have to do today that’s more important?”

“I gotta go to church. Planning for Sturgis and some other shit.”

Dad rolls his eyes. “And to think you want me to hand this ranch over to you quickly.”

It pisses him off that we co-exist in two hierarchies. In the ranch, he’s higher than me. In the club, he isn’t. On both fronts, that means I go to Sturgis, and he doesn’t. I don’t think he really wants to go; he just wants to be mad at me that I do.

“You have no problem handing the work to me, so why not the land too?”

“Fuck you, Hudson. You want me to hand over this ranch to you sooner than I might like? Better get married and have some kids.”

And there it is. The threat. It’s always there, dangling over me like a carrot and stick. I might be thirty, but Dad is only sixty. There is no way he’s retiring or handing the ranch to me. I’ll have to tug it out of his cold, dead fingers after he’s milked every penny out of it. But he likes to pretend it’s to do with my lack of heirs.

I chew the mouthful of perfectly seasoned food. “If I thought for a millisecond that were true, I’d possibly do something about it.”

Like finally reconcile the complexity of my feelings for Ember. I’m always half a heartbeat away from her finding a man, getting engaged, being married, and expecting kids of her own with someone who isn’t me.

A thought which frequently makes it so hard to breathe, I feel like I’m dying. I can’t imagine her at any altar saying I do unless it’s to me.

Who am I kidding?

Butcher would never agree to Ember and me.

Yet, she’s the reason I don’t have a woman or the kids I’d love so much because I don’t want it with any other woman but her. My happiest memories were when Gran was still alive, watching her and Grandpa dance and laugh on the porch at night. Unlike most of my club brothers, I believe in the idea of loving the same woman hard for the rest of my life.

“Maybe if I’d had a few more sons interested in being ranchers, it wouldn’t be a problem,” he mutters.

“Not sure the ranching was the problem.”

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I mumble through a mouthful of food.

I’m the baby of the family. My eldest sister, Rowan, is a lawyer in Denver. Then there’s Alison. I’m not sure exactly what she does, but she’s the head nurse in charge of operating rooms or something. And finally, there’s Kelly, who is in Sonoma training to be a sommelier. I’m the youngest because my dad was determined to keep going with the babies until he had a boy, and he’s told my older sisters that the ranch is mine their entire lives.

It’s a wonder I have any relationship with them at all.

“I’ll get Luke and Wes on it.” Luke is our long-standing ranch foreman, and Wes is one of the best cowboys I’ve ever met. Has great sense when it comes to the ebb and flow of the herd across long distances.

I send them both a quick message with instructions, then finish my food. Once my dishes are rinsed, I head to the door. “Gotta get to church. You coming?”

“Maybe.”

He’s coming less and less. My grandpa has officially retired as a biker. With his old bones, he struggles to ride a horse or bike. I debate going to find him in his wing, but decide church is more important.

“Okay,” Butcher says at church an hour later. “Final thing. Let’s talk details for Sturgis.” He lights another cigarette and leans back in his chair. “Pay attention to Atom because if you fuck up your logistics, you get left behind.”

“We leave in three days,” I say, filling in for Smoke, our usual road captain who works as a smoke jumper in the summer. He’s currently in Boise operating out of the National Interagency Fire Center. “Spoke with Smoke this morning. He’s gonna be able to join us for two of the ten days due to his shift schedule. A local pilot he knows is going to fly him in. Figured the least we could do is pay for the fuel for him and take his bike in the van so he has it while we’re there.”

Wraith, the club’s sergeant at arms, nods. His thick blond curls are up in a man bun, and there’s a new tattoo of a black bird, a raven, no doubt, on the side of his neck. “I’ll make sure it happens. I’ve got the keys to his place, so I can go get it.”

“Get me the details of the person flying him in and I’ll make the transfer from club accounts,” Catfish says.

We put extra supplies in the van and ask two prospects to drive on up half a day ahead of us. It makes for an easier ride, and our tents will already be up on arrival. This year, we picked Caleb and Wynn, given they are the two closest to getting their patches.

“King’s blocked out a campground right on the edge of Sturgis just for the Outlaw chapters,” I say, referring to the national club president. “Will make security a breeze.”

Butcher nods. “Not sure where King got the cash for that, but I’m grateful.”

“They’ve certainly become generous of late,” Grudge says, “but I’m not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. Let’s not be late leaving, though, yeah? And make sure the prospects don’t pitch our tents next to the toilet block. Gonna be some nasty smells as it is. Don’t want to sleep next to a ten-man shitter.”

I can’t help but laugh at the look of disgust on Grudge’s face. “Plan was to leave Friday at two p.m., but we can go as early as folks want.”

“Let’s make it eleven,” Butcher says.

“Done,” I say. “Eleven it is. Be sober enough to ride in formation. I emailed the schedule for breakfasts and coffee runs. No fucking slacking because I’ll flatten the first person who doesn’t do their bit.”

“Don’t know why we can’t just walk into town for breakfast,” Catfish grumbles.

“Remember how bad it was last year, trying to grab breakfast in Sturgis with that many bikers around,” Wraith says. “They’re thinking it could hit close to a million visitors this year. I’m not waiting two fucking hours for breakfast again.”

“Hope you aren’t expecting a culinary masterpiece,” Taco says. “My cooking skills are limited.”

I eye him across the table. “Then you got three days to figure out how to make a decent breakfast burrito because if you serve up burned anything to Smoke, he’ll beat the shit out of you.”

“Fuck my life,” Taco groans.

“We can set up the cooking stations out back so you can practice,” Wraith says.

Taco flips him the bird.

Butcher laughs. “Relax. No one is expecting eggs Benedict. Scramble some eggs. Throw on some bacon. Bread’s fine. Just needs to be edible.”

“Maybe we should take some Pepto or antacids or something with us. Just as a precaution against Taco’s cooking,” Grudge says, and everyone laughs.

“Seriously, fuck you all,” Taco says, but he’s grinning as he says it.

“You’ll need your own sleeping bags, but no loading up the van with unnecessary shit,” I say.

“Yes, Dad.” Grudge rolls his eyes.

“Says the man who brought two feather pillows last year,” Wraith says.

Grudge chuckles. “Yeah, but I slept like a fucking baby on ‘em.”

“You’re all fucking soft-skinned,” says Grizz, one of the gnarly old-timers who drives a three-wheeler and starts at the rear of the pack and progressively drops behind. He must be a hundred and seven or some shit and still insists on heading to Sturgis with us at his own pace.

“Okay, let’s wrap it up,” Butcher says. “What else, Atom?”

“Weapons. Make sure you got all the right permits for concealed carry. Other than that, make your own call on what you’re comfortable with. Most of you have bike modifications and hidden weapons. Do not give the police reason to check your bike. Grudge is gonna do the bike check the night before, so be here between four and six. That’s it.”

Butcher slams the gavel. “All done, now get to business.”

I grab my shit to leave.

“Atom, what the fuck happened to your eye?” Butcher asks.

I wait until the others have left. “Whiskey Fever.”

Butcher sits up a little straighter and rolls his neck from left to right until it cracks. “You want to expand on that?”

I know I’m about to prod at something pretty raw for him. It bothers him that Ember resists letting him bring the bar into the Iron Outlaws fold.

“I wanna set up a schedule for discrete security at the bar.”

“You know Spitfire won’t let that happen. So, why are you bringing it up?”

I shrug, even as he uses his pet name for his daughter. Always said she had too much sass. “This shiner? It’s from a bar fight. Saw a guy getting handsy with a girl who didn’t want him. Not taking no for an answer. Saw a different one trying to persuade Ember to do something it looked like she didn’t want.”

“You sort that shit out?” Butcher asks.

I shake my head. “The handsy guy, yes. The guy messing with Ember? No. Ember saw me headed her way and raised her hand to stop me. Didn’t know what to do for the best. But it feels like it’s too regular an occurrence. What if we told hang arounds and prospects that a pathway to the club is to be at the bar a shift a week or something? That way, if anything out of hand happened, we’d at least have boots on the ground to either help out or call in reinforcements.”

Butcher huffs. “Fuck me. That girl has no sense of safety.”

I’m not sure I agree. I think she was fully aware of what she was doing. But I don’t tell Butcher that.

“I know she doesn’t want club colors in there at all. But seeing as some of us go in there anyway, why not start something unofficial to keep Ember out of trouble?”

Butcher eyes me carefully. “You wanna tell me why you’re suddenly so upset about what happens to my daughter?”

The question and tone catch me off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. How come you were watching her enough that you know this is a regular occurrence?”

I roll my eyes and try to find the acting chops to pretend I’m insulted as opposed to nervous Butcher is about to see right through me. “For fuck’s sake, Prez. I’m the club enforcer. I make sure everyone is abiding by the rules and take physical steps when they aren’t. Same thing when I’m sitting in a bar. And speak to Catfish. He fucking loves sitting by the bar because he claims it’s the best spot to pick up women. Which, given the sorority sister he took home last night, appears to work.”

I don’t tell him that I dropped her disappointed friend back at their motel without so much as a peck on the cheek.

Neither do I tell him why this guy I saw bothers me more than any of the other guys I’ve seen Ember date over the years. But deep down it’s because I’m sure that, like sand through the hourglass, time is running out on me.

Ember isn’t going to remain single for the rest of her life. At some point, she’s gonna find a man who will give her everything I wish I could. And she’ll look at him how I wish she’d look at me.

And when that happens, I honestly don’t know what I’ll do. Can’t imagine her showing up at some club event with a ring on her finger and a baby in her arms that isn’t mine.

Butcher says nothing but holds my gaze so intently, I swear he’s trying to telepathically pull the truth out of my head. My response is slow coming, but I find it eventually.

“Quit looking at me like that, Butch. Was just looking out for your girl’s safety and business, but fuck you if I’ll worry about it again.”

I pivot on the ball of my foot and head for the door, wishing I’d never said a word.

“Atom, wait.”

I stop with my palm on the door handle. “What?”

“Sorry. I’m tired. Didn’t sleep well and haven’t had enough coffee. Thanks for looking out for Ember. Girl’s enough to give anyone indigestion or heartburn. Men flock around her. Always have.”

I turn to face him. “She’s a pretty girl. Men are bound to look. And one day, one of them is going to be brave enough to ask you to let ’em marry her.”

Butcher tugs a hand through his hair. “Kids. They never tell you how you’ll spend a third of your life worrying if they’re safe, a third of your life wanting them to be happy, and a third of your life second-guessing every decision you ever made as a parent. But I don’t want any man’s hands on her, and no man is ever going to be good enough for her.”

I would be.

I want to shout the fucking words at my president.

I’d treat her like a fucking queen.

And I bet my hands would feel really good on her.

I’d never raise ‘em in anger. Only use them to build the best fucking life I could for the two of us and however many kids followed.

“You want me to set up that schedule on the bar for her or not?” I ask, burying that line of thinking.

Butcher sighs. “Set it up. Make the schedule random, in pairs so no one is sitting alone like a spare prick in a whorehouse. Different days. Different seats. She gets wind of it, they bail, and I’ll blame you.”

And I leave church knowing I just won an invisible point against Ember Deeks.