Phoenix:
I was wiping down the last greasy wrench when I heard the familiar creak of boots behind me. I didn’t even have to turn. My gut already told me who it was.
“You missed a spot,” Dad said, his voice softer than usual. I looked up to see him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a shadow of a smile on his face.
“You volunteering to help, old man?” I shot back with a tired smirk.
He chuckled, stepping in, his boots echoing over the concrete. “Didn’t think you’d ever let me near your bench. You’ve been fierce about that.”
“Still am.” I tossed the rag down and finally looked at him. Really looked. My dad—the legendary Saint Wilde. Greyer at the temples now, but still built like he could toss a grown man across the room. The weight of the MC was etched into the lines of his fac
