Prodigal Son (2 page)

I sat down on the couch that faced the windows, and I flopped the folder onto the cushion next to me. I’d already skimmed the contents of the folder, but I hadn’t taken the time to read the whole thing carefully. I really didn’t want to, but I knew that I needed to. I opened the folder and pulled out a single sheet of paper — a sheet I’d read several times already. The sight of my parents’ signatures at the bottom nearly made my eyes well up with tears, and I was finished crying. I took a deep breath and reread the letter.

September 25, 1999

Dearest Luke,

Before we ever brought you home — you, our greatest treasure — your father and I agreed that we would find a way to share with you the information that we had about your birth parents should anything happen to the two of us. When we signed the final paperwork to adopt you, though, the social worker told us that the birth mother, a woman we never met, wanted your adoption to be completely closed. We knew nothing about her or your father, and we were so thrilled to have you that we decided that it didn’t really matter. We were a family, and we didn’t need anyone else.

The thought of leaving you alone in the world just haunted me, though, and I convinced your father that we should hire a private investigator to find your birth parents and leave the information with our attorney to share with you once both of us have passed on. Though I was curious, neither of us read the file that the investigator shared with us. We feel like the information is yours — that it’s your history to explore if you wish.

Whoever your birth parents are, they did one wonderful thing, and that was give us the child we wanted so desperately and couldn’t have. We have known more joy as your parents than we ever could have imagined. I don’t know under what circumstances you will read these words. I hope it’s many, many years from now when you’re settled and raising a family of your own, but just in case it’s not, we don’t want you to feel like you’re alone in the world.

We love you, and we’re so very proud of you,

Mom and Dad

The signatures that followed those words were the same ones that had been at the bottom of my report cards, permission slips, and absence notes when I’d been growing up, and a fresh wave of sadness at the fact that I would never again see my parents washed over me. I wondered what Roger and Jeannie would have thought about Daniel and Sable (nee Bellamy) Hall. They were certainly from different walks of life.

I walked over to the bar that faced the living room and decided to pour myself a drink before I cleaned up and headed out for dinner. I spied a miniature bottle of Dewar’s scotch and went in search of a perfectly chilled can of ginger ale in the silver refrigerator behind the bar. I found a rocks glass, added a couple of cubes and mixed my scotch and ginger ale. I walked back over to the window and thought about the enormous differences between my biological and my birth parents.

Roger Callaway, sixty-one years old at the time of the car accident that claimed his life, had been the most respected civil attorney in Flagstaff. Handling wills, divorces, and custody matters, Roger was nearly a mythical creature — an attorney with a reputation for scrupulous honesty and abundant compassion. Jeannie had been a talented goldsmith and jeweler, whose business had allowed her the flexibility to stay home with me for most of my childhood. They’d been well-educated, practical people who’d raised me with patience and love, teaching me that I could become anything that I wanted, as long as I was willing to work hard for it.

Based on what I’d picked up from my quick read of the file, Daniel Hall had never made much of himself, being variously underemployed at several low wage jobs over the course of his life — the one exception being his military career, which he’d completed with distinction. Sable, clearly a smart woman, had briefly attended community college after she’d graduated from high school, but she’d taken a job working as a secretary/receptionist at a construction company, and she’d never moved on. Nothing much about their lives stood out to me, with the exception of the fact that Daniel had, along with his brother, started a motorcycle club called the Savage Sons. Based on the PI’s research, it looked like the club wasn’t exactly one of the outlaw, one-percenter gangs, but they were a rough crew. I was a little curious.

I was also hungry.

I headed into the bathroom, a shiny chrome and marble-filled fantasy, peeled my clothes off and stepped into the shower that was large enough to house a sorority. I felt much better after I’d washed the traveling dirt off myself and was dressed in clean jeans and a fitted black long-sleeved t-shirt. Though the day had been warm, I knew the evening would be a little chilly.

I flipped through the binder in the office — yes, the freakin’ hotel room had an office — and found a listing of restaurants nearby. I was in the mood for a beer — okay, more than one — and I decided on the Falling Rock Taphouse, which looked to have good food and a huge selection of craft beer on tap. I knew the place was likely to be busy on a Saturday night, but I’d never had trouble striking up a conversation with strangers, and I thought it might do me some good to get outside my own head for a few hours.

Saturday, May 4, 2013 - Denver, Colorado

I
looked down the bar at the Falling Rock Taphouse, and I was finally satisfied with everything. Even though I’d come in a few minutes before my five o’clock shift, it had still taken an hour to get the bar in order for a busy Saturday night. I looked up to see the manager coming my way.

“Hey, Mark, you got a minute?” I called out as he headed up toward the front door.

He walked over and faced me across the bar. “What’s up?”

“Hey, I know I’m new here, and I don’t want to cause problems, but this bar was in lousy shape when I came in.”

I liked Mark so far. He was thoughtful and seemed to be a fair, stand-up guy.

“We weren’t very busy at lunch. There’s no reason that you shouldn’t have walked in to find everything ready to go. I’ll talk to Sam when I see him next week. Won’t happen again.”

I was surprised. After all the years I’d spent hanging out with the Savage Sons, I wasn’t used to people — especially men — paying any attention to what I said. Moses had been the only one who’d ever talked to me like I was a real person and not just a piece of ass. And Moses was gone. God, did I miss him.

“Thanks, Mark,” I said as he waved and headed to the front, always on the move.

I looked over the dinner specials menu while I thought about my new gig. I’d been just heartbroken when Moses had died, and I’d thought all kinds of crazy things in the week that I’d spent in my pajamas staring at the television. Bug had been pissed that I was so upset about Moses, but he’d always made everything a competition between the two of them — or he would have if Moses had given a shit.

I’d thought that Bug would be happy that I didn’t work for Moses anymore, but when I’d finally cleaned myself up and headed out to look for another job, Bug had found something wrong with every single one of them. I was glad he and I hadn’t moved in together yet, because he was starting to really grind my gears. It was like he wanted me around just to wait on him hand and foot — be his fuckin’ arm candy, but I knew better than to be dependent on him. I’d wanted to move up to an old lady, but I was starting to think that it wasn’t gonna be worth it to be Bug’s old lady. I’d be better off being handed around the Savage Sons or even getting out of the MC scene altogether. But I knew that if I left, I’d always miss the leather, the bikes, the tattoos, and the sexy men of the Savage Sons.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with myself, but I thought that getting a job at the Taphouse was a good start toward something better. A couple of good-looking young guys walked toward the bar. Something better indeed, I thought, as I set a couple of cocktail napkins in front of them.

Business started picking up, and by eight o’clock, I had a nearly full bar. I waved Mark over on his next fly-by and asked him to keep an eye on things so that I could run to the ladies’ room. As I washed my hands, I checked myself out in the mirror, and I was pretty pleased with what I saw. I’d had to tone down the rough edges for the bar, and I had been surprised to discover that I liked the less skanky look.

I wore my favorite Falling Rock ladies’ t-shirt —the one that was the exact same blue as my eyes and had a low v-neck. My favorite jeans were pretty low rise, and I knew that my lower back tattoo was visible every time I bent over or reached for a glass overhead. There were a lot of shitty tramp stamps in the world, but the one Moses had done freehand on my lower back was a work of art. The lines were graceful and followed the lines of my body beautifully. I checked to make sure the little bit of makeup I wore looked okay, and I applied some fresh lipgloss. Certain that I looked pretty good, I hurried back to my bar.

“Thanks, Mark,” I said as I scanned the bar to make sure no one needed a drink right that second. I had just started to unload the dishwasher full of pint glasses when I looked up to check out the new arrival.

Wow. My view had definitely improved. The man that walked toward the bar was tall — nearly as tall as Moses, probably about 6’3”, I guessed. He was blond, which wasn’t usually my thing, but good grief, was he perfect. His hair was short, but not in a pretty boy preppy way, and the golden stubble along his sexy, strong jaw looked like he belonged in some outdoorsy catalogue. I hoped that he wasn’t about to be joined by his supermodel girlfriend, and I decided at that instant that I would play it cool, but I was determined to chat him up a little.

“Evening,” I said as I tossed a napkin in front of him.

The guy turned to face me after he sat down on the last available stool in the bar, and his blue eyes nearly took my breath away.

“What’s on tap?” he asked.

I reached for the menu and set it on the bar, and he looked at it and laughed.

“Didn’t realize I’d have to read a novel just to get a beer.”

I could tell that he was being good-natured rather than genuinely irritated by the beer geek’s dream of a menu that I’d given him.

“Whatcha in the mood for?” I asked with a smile.

Was it my imagination, or did a flicker of interest in something other than beer cross his face?

“Something local and hoppy,” he answered. “I’m in from Arizona, so I’d like to try something new.”

I nodded and grabbed a couple of sample glasses, filling them and returning to place them in front of the gorgeous stranger.

“This is Boulder Brewing’s Hazed and Infused, and here’s Oskar Blues Deviant Dale’s. Let me know what you think. Name’s Krystal.”

I turned to walk the length of the bar, clearing empty pints and dishes and taking a couple of orders, looking forward to getting back to the sexy new face. While I scanned the bar, I realized just how much I was enjoying the new scene that my job provided. I was used to hanging out at the Sons’ clubhouse, and while it could be a lot of fun, I was starting to see the benefit of not having half-dressed hookers around while I was trying to catch a guy’s eye. I was also grateful for a break from Bug.

Bug was becoming a problem, and I was afraid that I was going to have to find a way to break things off with him. I wasn’t sure how he was going to take the news.

Bringing my focus back to the bar, I headed back to the blond stranger with a smile on my face.

“What do you think?” I asked, pointing at the beer samples.

“I like them both, but I’ll take a Hazed and Infused.”

“You got it. Want a menu?”

“Food any good?” he asked with a smile.

“Absolutely. The tamales are great, and the burgers are all good.” One thing that I liked about Falling Rock was that they made us taste everything on the menu so we could talk about it with the customers.

“Then yes, I’ll take a menu.”

I brought him his beer and the menu and checked to make sure that the rest of the bar was content for the moment. I didn’t usually start conversations with customers, unless it was obvious that they were looking to talk, but this guy sure didn’t look like an average customer. I figured he was worth a shot.

“So, you’re from Arizona?”

“Yup,” he answered. “Flagstaff. Just got in this afternoon.”

“Staying nearby?”

The man looked a little embarrassed, and he actually blushed before he answered. “Yeah. I’m at the Ritz,” he answered.

I raised my eyebrows. “Wow,” I said, surprised. He didn’t look like the filthy rich type, but I knew that the Ritz was an expensive joint.

“Yeah. I don’t normally stay in fancy places, but since…” he paused. “Well, let’s just say I decided to splurge for once.”

“Well, welcome to Denver. Let me know if you need anything, and I’ll be back in a minute to get your dinner order.”

The man opened the menu and I got caught up on the server orders that had come in while I’d been deciding if the man was worth full-on flirting with. I’d decided that he was. I filled pint glasses, mixed a couple of cosmos for the girls at the far end of the bar who were eying the stranger like he was dessert, and headed back to take his order. He decided on the tamales, and I was about to turn and put his order in, when he stopped me.

“So are you from around here?” he asked.

I couldn’t tell if he was really interested in me or if he was just uncomfortable being alone and trying to make small talk. Either way, I figured it was a good sign.

I leaned on the bar in a way that I knew made the most of the low cut t-shirt I wore. “Born and raised in Denver.”

“You like it here?” he asked.

Even though I’d only been at Falling Rock for a few weeks, I’d already developed the good bartender’s sense of when they’re needed. “Hold that thought,” I said, regretfully. “Be right back.”

I headed down to a group of guys about my age — mid-twenties -- and I took their order for half a dozen shots of Fireball. The cinnamon-flavored whiskey was one of our most popular shots, and I liked it because I didn’t have to mix anything. I measured the Fireball into a cocktail shaker, added some ice, and poured out four shots for the guys and two for the girls they were trying to pick up. The girls barely looked twenty-one, but I’d checked both of their IDs carefully. I hoped they’d be careful. The guys they were talking to looked like they could be trouble.