Page 127 of Tito

Reggie

Iburst through the front door and rushed inside. “You asshole!” I shouted. “I can’t believe you—”

In the kitchen prepping food, my father stepped into the doorway. “Asshole?” He smirked. “Really, Reg?”

“You didn’t call to say you were alright,” I complained. “You didn’t call to say—”

“That shit you saw on the news happened late this morning.” He turned away like it was no big deal. “We didn’t want to make the announcement until we got a ballistics report back on one of the weapons. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“A surprise?!” I stepped into the kitchen. “A surprise? That you were in a deadly shootout? An officer got shot, daddy.”

“Tito’s buddy?” He chuckled. “He’s got two broken ribs and a fractured ego. He’ll be fine.” He glanced at Tito, who was now standing at my side. “You look a hell of a lot better than last time I saw you, Son. Feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you,” Tito replied.

My father placed three large steaks on a plate. “I thought you might be over after the news. Follow me.” He reached for a clean platter and nodded toward the back door. “I’ll get these on the grille.”

My entire body went rigid. “You bought.” I swallowed against my tightening throat. “You bought a grille?”

“I’ve been busy this evening. Bought some patio furniture, too. Tough for a family to have a sit-down meal outside without a patio set.” He stepped through the back door and paused. He faced me and smiled. “Something wrong, Reg?”

We were a family again. I swallowed twenty years of sorrow. I glanced at Tito. The look of indifference he’d been harboring for the past two weeks was gone. He smiled and gestured toward the door.

“Not at all,” I said, fighting back tears. “Everything’s fine.”

I walked outside. The sweet smell of honeysuckle brought a flood of memories with it. I hesitated and inhaled a slow breath. Memories of my childhood tickled my senses. The smell of the flowers. The sounds of the birds. Filled with emotion, I glanced around the back yard.

The orange tree my father and I planted as a centerpiece now bore fruit. On the left, cushioned patio furniture was positioned around a large coffee table. Beside it, a new fire pit. At the other side of the deck, a dinner table with seating for eight. My heart swelled at the thought of once again eating together as a family.

My father tossed the steaks on the grille and then faced us. “What do you think?”

I fought to contain myself. I didn’t want him to know how much I’d missed it over the years. I scanned the area. “I love it.”

“Thought we could invite Raymond and Melanie over for dinner sometime.” He glanced at Tito. “You’ll have to bring your friends for dinner, too.”

“I suppose I will,” Tito said with a smile. “They’ll be eager to meet you. Satan’s Savages were a thorn in the side of many SoCal clubs. The fellas might want to thank you.”’

My father turned toward the grille. “How’s club business, by the way?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. My father’s mere acknowledgement of Tito’s motorcycle club was so far beyond what I would have ever expected from him. His all but inviting the men to dinner?

I was flabbergasted.

“The club disbanded.” Tito took a seat in one of the new chairs. “We dissolved it, completely.”

Tito had yet to share the news with me. His odd demeanor now made sense. As much as I hated to see him in his recent state of depression, I knew the club wasn’t a good place for him.

My father flipped the steaks and turned around. “You’ll remain friends, won’t you?”

“We will,” Tito replied. “Just like we were when we were kids.”

“What did you guys do for entertainment when you were kids? You all grew up in Montana, right?”

“Fishing,” Tito said with a prideful smile. “We liked to go fishing.”

“Speaking of fishing, the fellas at work started a GoFundMe to raise money for my fishing boat.” He let out a laugh. “I said maybe they’d raise enough to buy me some bait.”

I realized the only father I’d ever known was a devoted detective that worked his ass off day and night because he wanted the city to be a safe place for ne to grow up. The money he earned fed me, clothed me, and put me through school.