"I look that bad?"
"You look tired," he corrects. "There's a difference."
And that's how I end up sliding into a booth at Murphy's Grill, sitting across from a man I met twelve hours ago, watching my dog fall in love with his daughter while we drink terrible diner coffee and I finally start to breathe again.
Chapter 4 - Riot
What the fuck am I doing?
I watch Alice settle into the booth across from me, Maya still on the floor making Biscuit's entire year, and I can't figure out what possessed me to invite her to sit down. I don't do this. Don't invite strangers into my space, into Maya's space. Don't make small talk with women I barely know in diners while my daughter plays with their dogs.
I've spent the last six months keeping us separate from everyone, keeping us moving, keeping us safe by keeping us alone. And yet here I am, sliding a menu across the table to a woman with gentle eyes and nervous hands who came looking for me.
She came looking for me.
I saw it on her face the second she spotted us through the window, that flash of relief mixed with uncertainty, like she'd been hoping to find me but didn't actually believe she would. Like she'd talked herself into this and was half a second away from talking herself right back out.
Then Maya saw the dog and the decision was made for both of us.
"Thank you," Alice says quietly, wrapping her hands around the coffee mug Murphy just dropped off. "For the coffee, I mean. And for yesterday. And for not thinking I'm a complete lunatic for coming back here."
"You're not a lunatic." I take a sip of my own coffee. Still terrible, but hot and caffeinated, which is all that really matters. "You wanted to say thank you, didn’t you?"
"Yes" She gives me a look that's half smile, half disbelief. "I spent all day convincing myself this was a terrible idea and I should just let it go."
"But you didn't."
"But I didn't." She glances down at Maya and Biscuit. "Your daughter is beautiful."
"Thank you." The words come automatically, but they're true. Maya is beautiful. All dark curls and bright eyes and an enthusiasm for life that I don't know where she gets from. Certainly not from me. "She's a good kid. Better than I deserve."
"I doubt that."
I don't respond to that, just watch Maya tell Biscuit an elaborate story about the time we saw wild horses in Nevada. The dog is listening with rapt attention, tail wagging, like this is the most fascinating thing he's ever heard.
"She's very social," Alice observes. "Does she… I mean, with you traveling and everything, does she get to interact with other kids much?"
And there it is. The question I've been asking myself for months, the guilt that sits in my chest like a stone. "Not as much as she should."
Alice nods, doesn't push. I appreciate that more than she probably knows.
Last night feels like it happened in another lifetime. After Tank left us on Main Street, I stood there with Maya's hand in mine for a solid five minutes, trying to decide what to do. The smart thing would have been to find that shithole motel King mentioned, get a few hours of sleep, and leave town before sunrise.
But Maya was looking up at me with those eyes, her mother's eyes, trusting and hopeful, and I heard myself saying we'd check out the clubhouse.
The ride over took ten minutes. The Savage Riders' clubhouse is exactly what King said—a big building, easy to spot, gate open. I pulled up expecting... I don't know what I expected. Suspicion, maybe. Questions. The kind of territorial posturing I remember from my old MC.
Instead, I got Steel, the mechanic, maybe thirty, covered in grease stains, waving us inside like we were expected guests. Got a clean room with actual sheets that didn't smell like cigarettes and mildew. Got a bathroom with hot water and towels that were probably older than me but clean.
Got King showing up an hour later with a first aid kit and a bottle of whiskey.
"For the cuts," he said, handing over the kit. "And for everything else," he added, holding up the bottle.
Maya was already asleep. She crashed the second her head hit the pillow, exhausted from the road and the excitement. I cleaned up my knuckles, drank whiskey with King in the common room, and tried to figure out what the hell I'd stumbled into.
This MC is nothing like the one I left. Nothing like any MC I've ever heard of.
They protect the town. Actually protect it, not in the bullshit "pay us protection money or else" way, but in the "those are our people and we keep them safe" way. They run security for local businesses, handle problems before they become problems, and apparently draw a hard line at drugs, trafficking, and anything else that hurts civilians.
