Bibi grabbed Faith's chin and gave it a shake. "Don't you be a martyr, Faith Anne. This is family. Margot and you are family. You are not in this alone. We take care of each other. So, we'll make a plan."

Liking the thought of having a support system, one she knew and understood, people who knew her mother and could understand Faith's worries and frustrations, Faith swallowed back the lump in her throat and nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

"Don't you thank me for doin' what I should do, baby. I love you. You're back home now. We'll make your mama's life as good as we can. We're gonna make it through this and be okay. Okay?"

She nodded again. She even believed Bibi. Because she wasn't alone. She had her family, and she had Michael, too. With Michael, she could almost imagine a future in which living in Madrone was her best-case scenario.

"We should go in and see her." Bibi's voice didn't project a lot of enthusiasm for that idea. Faith's mother was lucid today and had talked to Dr. Tomiko already. There was approximately zero chance that she would be glad to have visitors. And, Faith thought, even less chance that she would be glad to hear the plan.

"Yeah. Together."

Bibi stood and held her hand out to Faith. "You know it, darlin'. Together is how we go."

Margot was lying with her eyes closed when they came into her room. What Faith noticed next was that the arrangement of flowers she'd picked up that morning from the gift shop downstairs-nothing fancy, just a dozen daffodils in a green gla.s.s vase, but daffodils were her mother's favorite flower-were gone. It had been a random impulse to buy them, a half-considered attempt to start a detente, but Faith was still hurt that they had been discarded already. When she moved toward the chair nearest the bed, she saw a small wedge of broken green gla.s.s on the floor next to the bedside table. She had an image of her mother, no longer restrained, sweeping the flowers off the table.

That hurt more.

But she shook it off, and she and Bibi sat side by side.

Margot sighed. "What do you want?" she asked, without opening her eyes.

Bibi answered. "Dr. Tomiko talked to Faith and me. I'm so sorry, baby."

"Not your problem. Or hers, either." She hadn't yet opened her eyes.

"Mom, I'm here."

"I know. I don't know why."

Bibi reached over and squeezed Faith's hand, and then she did something that Faith would cherish until she died. She stood up and leaned over the bed, getting right in her mother's face. "You listen here, Margot. This is me. I know you. We have been friends for almost forty years, and I know everything there is to know about you. I know what you hate, what you love, what you regret. I know what you're afraid of. So you can lie there and be a cold b.i.t.c.h all you want. But you are losin' your mind, baby, honest and true. Bein' a b.i.t.c.h ain't gonna change that truth. You have this one chance to settle things up before it really leaves you. I love you too much to let you f.u.c.k that up. So here's how it's gonna be. Faith, because she is the good girl you raised, is here to move in with you and help you. I'm not sure you deserve that, but you're gettin' it. Hooj and me, and Connor, and the whole club family, we are here to help you."

Now she opened her eyes. Faith, still seated at the side of the bed, couldn't see into those eyes, but she could see the rage on her mother's face as she glared at Bibi. "Help me? You mean watch me drool and p.i.s.s myself. I don't think so. I don't need help to do that. I d.a.m.n sure don't need hers."

Bibi smiled and brushed her friend's blonde hair back. Margot knocked her hand away. "That's a good show, baby. But I know you know you need Faith's help. I also know you don't think you deserve it. Good thing no one here gives a d.a.m.n what you think."

"What about...where's..." Margot stopped, and everything about her att.i.tude changed with a blink. Her expression went slack and then became worried. "Where's...the other one?"

Tears p.r.i.c.ked at Faith's eyes when she realized what her mother had forgotten. Her welling eyes met Bibi's-she was just as saddened.

"Sera, Mom. You want to know where Sera is?"

For the first time since she'd come into the room, Faith had her mother's attention. Margot turned and looked at her, without recognition, her brow furrowed. "Sera? No, that's not right. My daughter."

Daughter, in the singular. "Serenity?" Faith guessed, using her sister's full name.

Her mother smiled, relieved. "Yes! What about Serenity? Is she here? Who's picking her up? I need to call Blue."

Dr. Tomiko had said that stress could trigger lapses. Faith hadn't expected it to happen so abruptly, in the middle of a sentence like that.

Looking plenty stressed herself, Bibi patted Faith's mother's hand. "I'll handle it, baby. You just rest."

"Thanks, Bibi. I don't know what I do without you. This d.a.m.n leg is really cramping my style." She patted her cast absently and closed her eyes.

Bibi smiled down at Faith, her mouth trembling. "C'mon, honey. Let's start working all this out."

Bibi and Faith sat in the hospital cafeteria for a couple of hours and pored over the pamphlets the doctor had provided. Then they both had whipped out notepads-Faith's on her phone, and Bibi's a little spiral-bound journal from her purse-and divided up the tasks. They had a few days before Margot would be released. In that time, they'd have to get a lot of things set up for a new life.

The first item on Faith's to-do list was to call her sister. So, after Bibi left to head home and take over Tucker so Michael could go to the clubhouse for their Keep meeting, Faith sat in the cafeteria, which was starting to fill up with dinner-seekers, and dialed her sister's number.

She expected to leave a voicemail, but Sera answered. "Faith? Hey, what's up?"

Faith and Sera got along, but they had never been the kind of sisters who were good friends. They were much too different in personality and interest for that. They were so different that they had barely competed. They hadn't even had much of a rivalry about their parents' affections. Their mother had preferred Sera, and their father had preferred Faith, and everybody had just sort of accepted that as the way it was supposed to be. Until Sera, three years older, left home. That was when things had gotten really dicey between Faith and Margot.

When Faith left home, she and Sera began keeping up a casual correspondence, talking maybe four or six times a year. As far as Faith knew, her sister had never told their parents where she could be reached. They had that much trust between them, anyway. And after they'd both gotten out on their own, Faith had come to know that Sera's feelings toward Margot were less than completely devoted. Their mother's demanding kind of love had been its own burden. Until the end, Faith had had the better deal. She and their father had been legitimately close. They'd understood each other.

Faith would never say it to her sister, because there was nothing productive in the observation, but she thought the same was true between her mother and sister. Though that relationship had been fractious, Sera was, in fact, quite a lot like their mother, despite being an up-and-coming international finance executive instead of a retired p.o.r.n star-and, in general, a much nicer person.

"I have a diagnosis. It's Alzheimer's."

"f.u.c.k," her executive sister muttered. "How advanced?"

"Stage Four, which is the first stage of real impairment, if I understand everything right. Her doctor talked to me and Bibi for a long time. It's a lot of information."

"I've done some research, too, and that's how I understand it. What about her leg?"

"It's setting well. They'll release her after the weekend. Sera, I need you to come home. I need help with this." Faith knew when she said it what Sera's answer would be. It had to be said, but she and Bibi had started planning with the understanding that Sera would not be around.

"I can't, sis. You know I can't. I can't just walk away from this job, and I asked for this transfer. I can't even take time off right now. I'm working on a huge project, and I'm closing on a house, and things are just crazy here." She paused, and Faith could almost literally hear her dragging the next words out. "But I can cover the cost of a facility. I did a little looking online already. There's an excellent place right there in Madrone. The San Gabriel Rehabilitation and Care Center. They have a wing specifically for patients with dementia. It's first-rate."

That, Faith had not been expecting. "Sera, she's still lucid sometimes-maybe even most of the time. We can't put her in a place like that while she's still Mom. It'll kill her."

"And you care because..."

"f.u.c.k you, Serenity. You're the one she asks for, you know. She doesn't even want me here."

"Then leave. Let her deal with this on her own. Don't play the martyr with me, Faith. You bailed on the family a long time ago, and I don't blame you. Maybe I don't miss her much, either, but don't think you can slide in now and make me feel like I'm not pulling my weight. Mom made her bed. With both of us. I have a life, and I'm not giving it up. If you decide to be there, then that's your call. I won't hold it against you if you go back to Venice Beach and weld trash together."

Angry and hurt, Faith just wanted off the call. "Fine. I'll call you if we need money."

"Do that-really, sis. Do that. I'll help that way. And I can help a lot."

"Great. Bye."

"Faith, wait. What I said was b.i.t.c.hy, but really think about keeping your life. We owe her nothing."

"It's not about owing, Sera. It's about...I don't even know. But I can't know that this is happening and just go on like I don't."

Sera sighed. "Okay. Then do what you need to do. Send me the bills."

That night, Faith went to the Night Horde SoCal clubhouse for the first time. Feeling raw and edgy after dealing with her mother's news and talking to her sister, she wasn't much in the mood for a party at all, much less a party at an MC she didn't even know. She wanted quiet. She wanted to curl up in Michael's arms and tell him about everything, so she could sort it all out and let him make her feel better.

They had taken Sly back to her mother's house and then spent the night together, in his room at Bibi and Hoosier's. They were both up and dressed before Tucker was awake, so they hadn't had anything to explain yet to that little guy. Faith wasn't sure how things would go for them now. She would have to move in with her mom. Michael couldn't very well move there with her, even if not for Tucker. Margot and Michael would make even worse roommates than Faith and Margot would be.

They were finally together, and still her family was between them. Faith was frustrated and trying not to despair. So she wasn't in a great mood when she parked Dante and went through the front door of the clubhouse. It was Friday night. Michael needed to be at the clubhouse, and he wanted to be with her. So here she was.

She was struck at once by the same sort of familiar dislocation she'd felt again and again in Madrone-that sense of a home she'd never seen before. The main room-this club called it the Hall, because the mother charter had some kind of Viking thing going on-looked, smelled, and sounded like a biker club: dark walls, low ceiling, battered furniture, a big bar with lots of booze, a big television. A pool table, pinball and video games. A stripper pole. Posters of nearly-naked women, beer and bike signs, bulletin boards full of snapshots of men on bikes and women on men on bikes. The smell was smoke, old beer, and man, with just a slight overtone of cheap perfume. The music was loud. All of the men in the room were clad in denim and leather, and most of the women were barely clad at all. It was home.

But the dark colors were different. The battered furniture was different. Most of the men and women were different. The big sign on the wall near double doors that led, she a.s.sumed, into the chapel-or, no, they called it the Keep-was different, a horse with a flaming mane.

The only old lady she knew was Bibi, but Bibi was home with Tucker. In fact, as Faith scanned the room, she didn't think there were any old ladies present. You could always tell an old lady from a pa.s.saround. Their posture and att.i.tude was totally different. And they covered up more. They weren't nuns, but they were the exact opposite of available, and thus not putting their offerings on display.

No. At this party, she was the only woman in the room who wasn't p.u.s.s.y on tap. That completely sucked. She would not be staying.

But she would stay long enough to say h.e.l.lo to the men she did know. She saw Hoosier and Connor. And-oh wow, was that Sherlock? He'd been a Prospect when she'd left. He was a good guy. Kind of a dweeb, for a biker. But he'd filled out and looked good.

No sign of Michael. That also sucked. Squaring her shoulders, she made a beeline for Hoosier and Connor. Hoosier gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and then Connor grabbed her, and his face split into a huge grin. That sucked a lot less.

"Well, hot d.a.m.n. Bambi!" He wrapped her up in his big arms and squeezed her so hard her back cracked. Then he set her down. "Look at you, all growed up." He looked her over, raising his eyebrow at her black leather pants and spiky, strappy shoes. She'd dressed for the event she was attending-like an old lady, though, whether she was one or not, not like a club wh.o.r.e. "Got a Joan Jett thing goin' on. I like it. It's hot."

She grinned and punched him in his gut-which was rock hard and kind of hurt her hand. "I see you're still a b.u.t.thead, and totally gross. I'm basically your sister. So yuck. Also, call me Bambi again, and I'll take your berries."

He shrugged broadly, lifting his hands up, "What can I do about it? You got those big doe eyes."

"Bambi is a boy, moron," she laughed. It felt good to be with Connor exactly like she'd always been, like she'd been gone a week and not a decade.

Connor laughed, too, and picked her up again in a crushing hug. "I missed you, Bambi girl. I'm glad you're home."

When he set her down again, Michael was standing there, his cheeks blotching red. The way he eyed Connor, Faith knew right away that he was jealous. He'd been jealous of Connor in their time before, too. He hadn't liked the easy, affectionately physical way she'd been with Hoosier and Bibi's son, and he hadn't liked that there'd been nothing at all he could say or do, no sign he could give to claim her.

He hadn't needed to claim her. Connor was older, a couple of years older than Michael, and Faith had grown up knowing him like a brother. She could see that he was good looking, but the thought of him that way was just...ugh. She'd tried to convince Michael of that then, but they hadn't had enough time together for her to get all the way through.

Of course, now Connor knew what had been between Faith and Michael then, and apparently knew what was between them now. So in response to Michael's look, he grinned and raised his hands in affable surrender. "Easy, Deme. Just sayin' hi."

Faith put her arms around Michael's waist. "Hey. I missed you."

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, and she relaxed against him and let him take it deep. Right there in the clubhouse.

That felt f.u.c.king fantastic. It nearly erased all the chaos in her head from everything that had happened earlier in the day. They were standing in the middle of his clubhouse, and he was claiming her.

The thought that she could have everything-she could have her art and her family and her love-took hold. If the price for all that was her mother's care, then so be it. It would work out. It would. She could feel it.

He pulled away and smiled down at her. "I want you to meet somebody." Taking her hand, he led her to a patch standing near the pool table, holding a cue in one hand and a beer in the other. He was considerably older than Michael, in his forties somewhere, she guessed, with greying hair and a full, greying beard. He was handsome, with blue eyes in a bright, piercing hue. "Muse. This is Faith, my...my old lady." He looked down at her as if for confirmation, or to make sure she wasn't angry.

She wasn't even the tiniest bit angry. She smiled back and squeezed his hand.

Muse smiled, switched his cue to rest in the crook of his other arm, and shook her hand. "Good to see you," he said. And that was all. He was up at the table, so he poured his beer down his throat and set the empty on a little round table near a support pole.

Faith looked at the table, watched Muse set up his shot. "Not the two?" she asked without thinking. Michael chuckled at her side, and Muse looked back at her, still bent over the table.

"Pardon?"

"Go for the two, you can get the four, too. If you bank it right, you can f.u.c.k up the fourteen for your buddy with the dreads."

Muse's eyebrows went way up. The guy with the dreads stepped forward and held out his hand. "I'm Trick, sweetheart. And if we get consultants, then I'm going to need a time out to find one of my own."

"Sorry," she muttered and shook his hand.

"I guess you play," Muse said, standing up without taking his shot.

Michael chuckled again. "She plays."

Faith scowled at him, but she'd brought it on herself. She'd felt more comfortable than she'd realized in this room, and she'd forgotten for a minute that this wasn't her clubhouse. "I used to play. I haven't in a long time. I'll shut up and watch."

Nodding, Muse went back to his shot, setting up this time to go for the two. He took and made the shot and held up his fist toward Faith. She b.u.mped it, grinning. She was glad she was here. It did feel like home.

Michael took her around and introduced her to any of the patches who weren't busy doing things he didn't want to interrupt. She met Bart, and Lakota, J.R., Ronin, and Diaz. She was reacquainted with Sherlock. There were a few others, but they were busy. Faith figured she'd meet them eventually. They'd have to come up for air.

After a while, he took her to the side of the room and sat down in a big, old leather armchair. He pulled her onto his lap. "Tell me about your mom," he said. In his arms, in the midst the chaotic revelry of a Friday night clubhouse party, Faith put her head on Michael's shoulder, her mouth near his ear, and told him. He held her and let her talk.

They were still sitting like that when Michael became suddenly rigid with tension, and Faith realized that the noise in the room had changed-the talking was fading out, leaving only the blaring sound system. As he set Faith on her feet and stood up, pushing her behind him, somebody turned off the sound system, too. And then the Hall was nearly silent.

She could hear Hoosier, though. He was saying, "Go on. You know this is no place for you."

Then Michael stepped forward, and Faith was able to see around him. A woman had the attention of literally every person in the room. There were men on couches with their d.i.c.ks out who were pushing girls away and standing up like they were facing an enemy.

She was small. Not short, but frail. Skinnier than was healthy. Her long hair was like straw, and a red dye job had grown out, showing several inches of brown. She looked sick, with blotchy skin and dark circles under her eyes.

Michael was walking toward her. As he moved, Faith realized who she was. Tucker's mom. She couldn't remember her name, though.

"You need to get out of here, Kota. I swear to G.o.d. You need to go right the f.u.c.k now." Michael's voice was low and heavy with menace. If those words in that voice had been directed at Faith, she would have turned and gone immediately.

But the woman-Kota-laughed. "What are you gonna do about it? Kill me? All these heroes are gonna let you kill a woman? f.u.c.k you, Deme. I want Tucker. You got some guy sniffin' around me. You think you can hunt me down? Scare me? No. I'll hunt you down. I got me a lawyer, too. I'm gonna get Tucker back. You watch. I got lots of s.h.i.t I can use on you."

There was movement around Michael and Kota, and Faith's eyes were drawn to the sidelines. Muse gestured at Hoosier, who shook his head, then nodded at Sherlock and Bart. Those two left, and Muse walked over to Michael and put his hand on his shoulder.

When Kota saw that, her expression became villainous. She smiled a smile that chilled Faith's heart.

"Aww. Ain't that the sweetest thing? You take Muse's c.o.c.k, baby?" At that, Connor reached for her, but she knocked his hand away and ducked out of his reach. She went on, speaking faster and louder, like she knew they would try to shut her up. "You like it deep? He give you a good pounding? I bet he does. I bet you bend over for all these guys. Your brothers. You like it, baby. I know you do. Hard and deep. Just like when you were a kid."

The sound Michael made was inhuman, unearthly, unadulterated fury and agony. He flew at Kota and took her to the floor. The chaos then was too much for Faith to make sense of. All she saw was Michael's arms flying almost too quickly to discern, and blood spraying.

After a long, long minute, his brothers tried to pull him back, but he threw them off again and again.

Finally, they got him off of her, four men struggling and at last succeeding. He was stippled and striped with blood and gore. But Kota was alive and conscious. And she was laughing. Through a broken horror of a face, in a voice that was hoa.r.s.e and choked, she laughed. And then she said, "See if you get him now, a.s.shole." And laughed all the harder.