Page 25 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

Ethan throws his hands up, sighing dramatically. “I tried, but the kid is out of control. I don’t know how you’ve been raising him, but—”

I hold up my hand, cutting him off. “Don’t even go there. This is not my fault. It was his first night in a new home, with a woman he barely knows—”

“Whose fault is that? You never let Brielle and me spend time with him!”

“Why the heck would I, especially if this is what happens!” I yell, gesturing to Owen, who is now sobbing in earnest.

“It’s not my fault the kid wouldn’t settle. Brielle spent hours decorating his room and filling it with toys, but was he grateful? No. He said he was scared!” Ethan throws his arms up, shaking his head. “What kind of kid is scared of clowns?”

“If you knew anything about your son, you’d know that he’s terrified of them!” Ethan steps closer, close enough that I get a whiff of alcohol on his breath. “Have you been drinking?” I ask in disbelief.

“You’re one to talk,” he sneers, jutting his chin toward the wine bottle on the kitchen counter. “What are you even doing up at this hour, tarted up like a whore?”

I take a step back, pulling Owen slightly behind me.

“Is there someone in there?” Ethan says, stepping closer, slamming his hands against the door frame.

“No.” I try to speak calmly, to hide my fear. Ethan is acting strangely. He was never physically violent, but I know his moods well, his jealousy. The irony that he was the one who was cheating while constantly accusing me of infidelity isn’t lost on me. “Ethan. You’ve been drinking. You shouldn’t have driven Owen here.”

“God, you’re such a judgy, superior bitch!” he snarls, spittle flying from his mouth. “No wonder our son is such a spoiled brat.”

I recoil as if I’ve been slapped, shocked by the venom in his voice, and I push Owen farther away, willing him to go upstairs, but I can’t find my voice. He steps closer, and without thinking, I step back, trying to shut the door in his face. He sticks his foot in the way, stopping it. I’ve only angered him more.

“Fucking bitch!” he yells, shoving the door open. It slams into me, knocking me to the floor.

“Mommy!” Owen cries, rushing to my side.

Ethan stops for a moment, blinking as if waking from a daze, as if he can’t quite believe what just happened. His face softens for a second. “Sadie…” remorse tinges his voice.

“Get out of my house, Ethan,” I respond quietly.

Ethan’s nostrils flare. “You know what? You’re right, I shouldn’t have come. I’ll take the boy home and handle this myself, show him some respect and discipline.” He grabs hold of Owen’s wrist, trying to pull him away. Owen clings to me like a monkey, howling, “No! Mommy!”

“Let them go,” a cold, measured voice laced with violence comes from the doorway behind Ethan.

Ethan whips his head around to look at the man filling my doorway. He’s tall, a head taller than Ethan at least, with broad shoulders and a lean, muscular torso. Every inch of his skin, except his chiseled face, is covered in tattoos. He radiates a dangerous energy, watching Ethan like a mountain lion playing housecat.

“Can I help you?” Ethan stammers, his voice coming out less certain than he no doubt hoped.

“I said, let go.” The man nods his head toward Owen.

Ethan looks down at his hand, clinging too tightly to Owen’s small wrist, at his son’s red face, streaked with tears as he silently sobs, at my wide-eyed expression of horror and fear. He releases Owen as if scalded. He looks as if he’s about to apologize, his face full of remorse, but then he remembers the man and turns to face him. I scramble to my feet, pulling Owen close, kissing his head, and murmuring words of comfort.

Ethan holds up his hands in surrender, using his best salesperson voice, a voice that says, ‘trust me’, but also is a little condescending, implying, ‘I’m better than you’. “Look, I don’t know what you think you saw, buddy, but this is just a little tiff between husband and wife, no need to play white knight.”

“Ex-wife,” I find myself blurting out as the man’s dark eyes search mine. I have the strangest feeling of familiarity, as if I know him, which is, of course, impossible. I’d definitely remember meeting someone like him.

The man’s gaze lingers on me longer than needed, making me feel warm and strangely comforted. They flicker back to Ethan, growing cold and dark, like the ocean during a storm. “The lady wants you to leave.”

Ethan straightens his spine. “Now, listen here. I don’t know who you think you are or what you think you’re doing, but this isn’t necessary or helpful. You’re trespassing on private property. You should go.”

A smirk dances across the man’s face. He rubs his chiseled jaw, highlighted with a five o’clock shadow, as he shakes his head. “I’m not leaving until you’re out of sight. Unless the lady says otherwise.”

He looks to me, wordlessly asking permission. My silence asks him to stay. He nods once, and I somehow know he won’t go until I am safe, until I ask him to. No matter what.

Ethan’s jaw opens and closes, for once, at a loss for words. The dangerous energy radiating from the man makes it clear he’s not afraid of a fight, and Ethan knows he would lose if it came to that. Not that it ever would, Ethan is a coward. He’s used to talking his way out of situations, manipulating people with slick talk. He’s never met someone so unmoved by his charm.

“Just go, Ethan,” I say wearily.