Chapter 114

Dad has been rearranging the five plates on the dining table for ten minutes, and seeing as he’s a man who runs an MC and is known fearsome and ferocious, it’s oddly sweet to see him so well. Sweet. Nervous. 

“The plates were straight,” I tell him. 

“They weren’t,” he protests. 

“They really were, Dad.” 

“But they’re better now, right?” 

Mayhem leans against the kitchen counter, drinking a beer and watching with open amusement. “He’s moved my tea cup three times.”, 

Dad glares at him. “Because you keep touching it.”