The next few days follow the same pattern. Stolen moments. Quick kisses in the truck. Longer nights when she can get away. One afternoon I pick her up on the bike again. She holds onto me tighter than last time. We ride out to a quiet road and park. She climbs into my lap right there on the bike. We don’t go all the way but we get close. My hands under her clothes. Her mouth on my neck. I tell her how good she feels. How I can’t get enough of her. How she’s mine.
Another night we meet at the clubhouse again. The girls are there. They pull her into their conversation like she’s always been part of it. I watch from across the room and feel something settle in my chest. This is what I want for her. People who see her. People who have her back.
Later in one of the back rooms we go further. She goes down on me for the first time. I keep my hand in her hair and tell her how perfect she is. How hot her mouth feels. How I’ve been dreaming about this. When I come I pull her up and kiss her deep. Then I return the favor. I take my time between her legs until she’s shaking and saying my name like a prayer.
Afterward I hold her close. “I love you,” I say. The words come out easy. Natural.
She lifts her head. Her eyes are wide. “I love you too.”
We say it again. Slower. Like we’re testing how it feels. It feels right.
The club tension keeps building in the background. Another meeting. More reports about the Southside Kings. Pres wants us to double up on runs. I start worrying more about Lucy. Her dad has been asking questions about where she goes after work. She told me he checked her phone one night while she was in the shower. She deleted our messages just in time.
I worry about keeping her safe. I worry about what happens if her dad finds out how serious this is. I worry about club shit spilling over and touching her. But every time I see her those worries get quieter. She makes me feel steady. She makes me feel like I can handle whatever comes.
One night we only have twenty minutes. I pick her up on the bike and we park behind an old warehouse. We don’t even get off. She stays in front of me on the seat. My hand slides into her pants while she grinds against me. I tell her how wet she is. How much I love feeling her like this. How she’s going to come for me right here. She does. I follow right after, her name on my lips.
Afterward I hold her tight. “We’ll get through this,” I say. “All the sneaking. All the bullshit with your dad. We’ll figure it out.”
She nods against my chest. “I know.”
I drive her back to her car and watch her leave. On the way home I think about the future. About a time when she doesn’t have to lie. About building something real with her. I’m in love with Lucy. Completely. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her.
The days keep passing. More secret dates. More stolen moments. More times I realize how deep I’m in. The club tension is there in the background but Lucy is the center of everything now. She’s the reason I smile when I wake up. She’s the reason I’m careful on runs. She’s the reason I know I’ll fight for this no matter what comes next.
I’m hers. And she’s mine. And that’s enough to keep me going.
THIRTEEN
LUCY
I’m sofrustrated I could scream. It’s been two weeks since that night in Tiny’s truck, and four days since he left town on club business. I think I’m slowly going crazy.
I sit in my car in the clinic parking lot after my shift with my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white. It’s six fifteen, which means I’ve got maybe fifteen minutes before I need to be on the road if I want to avoid another lecture about being late. The house feels smaller every single night I come home. Dad’s constant suspicion and Mom’s worried silences press in on me until I can hardly breathe.
My phone burns a hole in my cardigan pocket, so I pull it out even though I know there probably won’t be a new message. He warned me the service would be spotty where they were riding.
Me: Just got off. I miss you so much it hurts. Four days feels like forever.
I stare at the unsent message for a long second and then delete it. He’s probably in the middle of something important, and I don’t want to distract him. Instead I send something lighter.
Me: Hope you’re staying safe out there. Work was busy today. Thinking about you.
No reply comes. I knew it wouldn’t, but the silence still stings.
I drive home the normal route with no detours to the old feed store and no stolen five-minute hugs that make the world feel right again. The quiet in the car feels deafening. There’s no low rumble of his truck engine and no warm voice calling me Buttercup. There’s only me and the endless loop in my head of everything I want to tell him.
Dad’s already home when I pull into the driveway. He watches me from the living room window as I walk up the porch steps. I paste on the calm and obedient smile I’ve perfected over the last two weeks and step inside.
“How was work?” he asks in that same careful and suspicious tone he uses every night.
“Fine. It was busy,” I answer as I hang up my cardigan and head toward the kitchen to help Mom with dinner. The routine’s always the same.
Later, after the dishes are done and I’ve retreated to my room under the excuse of studying, I check my phone again. Still nothing. I curl up on my bed and scroll through our old messages, rereading the ones from before he left. The way he told me about his family. The way he promised we’d figure this out. The way he kissed me like I was something precious.
I type another message I probably won’t send.
Me: I hate this. I hate not being able to see you. I hate pretending I’m okay when all I want is to be in your truckagain, listening to you talk about anything. I’m going crazy without you here.
