“Hey, there, biker boy. You got a surprise waiting inside for you.”
Zane’s skin prickled as Jagger followed her onto the porch. “What the fuck is going on?”
When nobody answered, he entered the house, slamming the door behind him. “Evie?”
“Is that him, mom?”
His gaze fell on the young boy in front of Evie. He looked to be about seven or eight years old, his dark hair long enough to cover part of his face. Evie had her hands on his thin shoulders and he was staring at Zane, his dark eyes curious.
“Ty, this is Zane. He’s your … dad.” She looked up and swallowed. “Zane. This is your son … Ty.”
His.
Son.
The words hit him in the gut like a goddamned sledgehammer, knocking the air from his lungs.
“He’s eight years old,” she said in a rush, as if he might not believe her. “His birthday is in June.”
But he had no doubt Evie was telling the truth. He could see the similarities, from Ty’s dark eyes to his lightly tanned skin, and from his overlong brown hair to the sharp planes and angles of the boy’s face.
That night—the one perfect night in his life—had produced this perfect child.
He opened his mouth, but words failed him. Caught in a maelstrom of emotion, he fought an internal battle against his instinct to walk out the door, jump on his bike, and ride until he ran out of road. He needed time to come to terms with what he’d just heard. Who he was looking at now.
He had a son.
With Evie.
And he’d left them.
Regret stabbed him in the gut, a pain so sharp he dropped to his knees. Not only had he left them, but when he’d returned and saw her with Mark … saw his son … he’d jumped to a conclusion that had cost him another five years. Jesus H. Christ. To think another man had looked after his boy, and all it would have taken was a word. A step.
Faith.
“Why isn’t he talking to me?” Ty’s voice wavered and he looked back at Evie. “Doesn’t he like me? Doesn’t he want to be my dad?”
Did he want to be a dad? It would be so easy to turn and run, just like he’d done in Stanton. He could leave all this behind—leave them behind—return to the club. Hell, half the Sinner brothers had kids they didn’t see. He could get back to doing what he’d done before.
Searching. Hiding in the shadows. Longing.
“He…” Her voice wavered with uncertainty. “He’s just so happy to see you, he doesn’t know what to say.”
“Hey.” Zane had no other words. What did a man say to the son he never knew he had?
Ty studied him in silence and then tilted his head to the side? “Are you my real dad?”
“Seems like.”
No wonder Evie never made it to college to pursue her dream of getting a Fine Arts degree. Alone, with a baby to look after, her parents dead, waiting for him to return …
He bowed under the crushing weight of guilt at having doubted her all these years. How long had he expected her to wait for him? She’d been alone.
So goddamned alone.
“So you’re a biker?” Ty asked.
“Yeah.”
“A real biker? Like, is that your job or do you just ride for fun?”
Zane sucked in his lips, considering. He’d never thought about the club in those terms, but he’d always known it was where he was meant to be. “It’s my life.”
“Cool. Can I ride your bike?”
“A biker doesn’t let—” Fuck it. This was his son. And his son wanted to sit on his bike. “Yeah, you can sit on my bike.”
“What kind of bike do you have? I love motorcycles. I have a whole collection. I’ll show you.” Ty ran off before Zane could answer his question, returning only moments later with an ice cream pail filled with toy bikes. He placed them one at a time on the coffee table and Zane bent down to help while Evie perched on the arm of the couch, watching them.
“You got a lot of foreign bikes here.” Zane grimaced as Ty pulled out a miniature Kawasaki Ninja ZX-10R. A real biker only rides American. Harleys.”
“I have Harleys.” Ty fished around in the pail. “I have a silver V-Rod, and a black Springer Heritage, and a red Electra Ultra Glide, and I’ve got the whole Series 28 and 31 Harley Davidson collections, and for my birthday, mom got me the Sons of Anarchy collection, except it only has three bikes in it, not six like the others.”
“You got a Night Rod Special? That’s what I ride.”
Ty shook his head. “Will you buy me one?”
“Ty!” Evie shot him an admonishing glance. “We don’t ask people for presents. It’s not polite.”
“I’m not people,” Zane snapped, surprising even himself at the vehemence in his tone. “I’m his dad. I’m buying him a bike. I’ll take him to the toy store and we’ll buy all the goddam bikes they got.”
He knew he’d spoken too abruptly when Evie startled. But fuck it. He’d missed out on eight years of his son’s life. Eight years of buying him toys and all the shit Zane had wanted growing up but could never have. Eight years of being a dad.
“Why did you leave us?” Ty’s voice broke his train of thought, and Zane’s mouth went dry.
Ah. The kicker. But how could he tell his son he’d left because he thought Evie’s father was right about him? He wasn’t worthy. He was nothing and had come from nothing. He knew the cops wouldn’t believe the truth, and he’d been afraid—so afraid—Evie wouldn’t believe him either. But more than that, he left to spare Evie the heartbreak of discovering her father wasn’t the hero she thought he was.
“I didn’t know about you. If I had, I never would have left.”
Ty brushed his hair back. “But you left Mom.”
Damn. This was worse than an interrogation with Dax. “Hardest thing I ever did in my life.” Biggest regret he ever had.
“Where’s your bike?”
Zane stared at his son, his mind trying to keep up with the abrupt change of track. Here he’d exposed his soul, spoken a truth he had never admitted to anyone, and Ty brushed it off to ask about his bike.
His son. The words rolled around in his mind, fresh and new, words he had never even contemplated being able to say. He’d never considered a future with children because he had never considered a future with any woman except Evie.
“It’s outside. You want to see it?”
Ty looked back at Evie and she shook her head. “I have to get going and Connie’s going to put you to bed. Maybe another time.”
“Zane says it’s okay.” His bottom lip trembled and Zane felt no small amount of pride in the fact his son was already pitting his parents against each other. Did he know eight missed years led to a whole lot of guilt and guilt would buy him pretty much anything he wanted from his old man?
Although the burden of those eight years could have been one week lighter if Evie had told him when they first met again. Or had she not intended to tell him and Jagger forced her hand? He fought back a flare of resentment. Now was not the time.
“Your mom said no, and she’s the person who looks after you.” Zane pushed himself to his feet. “That means you gotta do what she says.”
“But you’re my dad. You have to look after me, too. What do you say?”
Hell. Were all eight-year-olds that smart? He didn’t know. Hell, he knew nothing about kids and he wasn’t leading a family kind of life. He was a bachelor through and through. So how the hell was he supposed to handle this? Pay the occasional visit? Show up on the weekend and take the boy to a game? He had no frame of reference, no skills, no one to guide him or tell him what to do.
“I say you gotta listen to your mother.”
Ty spun around and pushed past Evie, spilling his motorcycles on the floor. “I thought you were cool, but you’re just the same as Mom.” He stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door.