Page 66 of Dock

“Always.”

“What about when you have a family?!” Her question surprises us equally. “Um…if you…choose to…” The throat clearing somehow only thickens the air. “Or uh…want to.”

My stunned silence remains.

“I mean I don’t know if that’s even something you’ve ever really thought about ‘cause you’re so young and have your whole life ahead of you and-”

“The club is my family, Emaline.”

Using her full name seems to shrink her into herself.

Away from me.

Yeah.

No.

Fuck that.

I let my entire palm lovingly grasp her leg hoping to indicate I’m not angry, simply serious. “They’re the first real family I ever had, and the only real family I’ve ever known. Foster care was a living fucking hell, and the only exit…the only thing that kept me from tying bricks to my ankles and going for a dive in the lake were the dudes in board shorts and leather cuts who sported Misfit patches.”

Intrigue in her expression keeps me confessing more shit than even some of my club brothers know.

“I hid out at the lake a lot. People get careless with food. Their wallets. Shit they bought and forgot they bought. Shit they caught and forgot in a cooler. It made for an easy place to…survive. And one day instead of raiding the trash for a sub, Harbor gave me his. And then a soda. And then a smoke.”

“A smoke?! Who gives kids cigarettes?! Do you know how many commercials they used to air specifically to counter that?!”

“Wrong takeaway, Teach.”

She briefly hides her face behind her hands and nods in agreement.

“And I was fourteen, not four.”

Her lips press together to suppress her obvious argument.

“After the smoke, he asked did I wanna take a ride.”

“ThissoundslikeabadNetflixdocumentary,” gets pushed out through gritted teeth.

“He brought me back to the clubhouse where I met Kegger.”

“Your best friend.”

Nodding is mindless. “That’s when we became friends. I crashed at his place with his adopted Dad – who was a Misfit who had rescued him from some shit – and then I kept crashing there, and eventually, that crashing moved to the clubhouse when we were both old enough to become Rugrats and uh…the rest is Chapter history.”

Softness soaks into her beautiful complexion. “Is that where the name Dock comes from?”

“Yeah.”

Rather than say anything sentimental, she simply places her hand on mine and executes a small, supportive finger stroke.

And I’m fucking grateful.

Talking about deep shit ain’t exactly easy.

Even if she has this thing about her that makes it feel that way.

“Club comes first because they are family,” I reiterate quietly, “and family will always come before all other shit.”