Page 121 of Tito

Reggie

Following another late-night outing with the motorcycle club, Tito was irritable, nervous, and couldn’t fall asleep. I had yet to meet one of the men he called his brothers. To be honest, I didn’t care to. Whatever the club was doing to him, I didn’t like. If given an opportunity, I’d give each of the men a piece of my mind.

Frustrated that he didn’t act on his impulse to walk away from them, I made the final touches to my makeup. As soon as I finished, I stepped into the living room. Tito was sitting at the breakfast table drinking a cup of coffee.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

A long breath escaped him. “Yeah.”

“I hope you’re in a better mood by the time we’re there.”

He stood and faced me. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“It’s just what?” I snapped, letting my frustrations be known by the tone of my voice. “It’s just the motorcycle club, that’s what it is. Every time you’re out with them lately, you come home late, angry, and unable to sleep. I don’t know what you guys are up to, but I don’t like it.”

He gave me a kiss. “I’m sorry. I really am.” He leaned away and looked me over. “I’ll be fine at your father’s.”

It was impossible to stay mad at him. I loved him far too much. I mentally crossed my fingers that the club’s late-night activities would dissolve to nothing and gave him a peck on the lips. “Okay.”

* * *

When we walkedinto my father’s house, he was in the kitchen preparing our meal. The smell of onions and garlic tickled my nostrils, and the sound of his whistling filled the air.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” I said.

He was standing at the kitchen counter, slicing an onion. “Something wrong with being in a good mood?”

“I suppose not.” I wrapped my arms around him from behind and kissed his cheek. “Is there something I should know?”

“I love you,” he said. “I guess that’s it.”

I chuckled. “I’ll make note of that.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “You look like haggard shit, Son.”

Tito sighed before managing to muster a crumpled smile. “Thanks.”

“Have a beer,” my father said. “Maybe you’ll feel better.”

“I’ll grab us each one,” I said.

Much to my surprise, the fridge was filled with Michelob Ultra. I handed Tito one, and then set one beside my father. “When did you start drinking this?”

“I just thought I’d give it a try,” he said. “A guy bought me one yesterday evening, and I thought it was a novel idea. Full-bodied taste, low calories, and almost no carbohydrates.”

He set the cutting board aside and turned around. “In fact, the guy was a friend of yours.”

“Oh, really?” I asked.

“That’s what he said,” he replied. “His name was Braxton Rourke.”

“Oh. Yeah,” I said excitedly. “Where’d you meet him?”

Tito choked on his beer and began coughing hysterically. I turned around. “Are you alright?”

Red-faced, and out of breath, he pointed to his chest. “Went. Down. Wrong.”

“Be careful,” my father said. “Hate to have you choke to death before the big day.”