Page 46 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

“You heard me.”

“I am actively furious with them. I don’t want to talk to any of them, let alone flirt with them.” Still, I can’t seem to look away from the muscular slope of Shadow’s shoulders.

Unsurprisingly, Dani sees through me. “Mhm. Furious and attracted.” I hate that she’s right. Dani laughs softly. “Sadie, when was the last time you had fun?”

I have no response because I honestly can’t remember.

Dani’s voice softens slightly. “You spent years shrinking yourself for Ethan. And I know you say it wasn’t him, but honestly, you have to admit that maybe Ethan did leave the note.”

Fear prickles cold across my skin again. Fear that I know nothing about the man I married, the man I once loved more than anything. “No.”

“Sadie.”

“He wouldn’t—”

“He got jealous when waiters looked at you too long.”

I stare silently at Shadow across the road. Dani continues carefully. “You humiliated him.”

Guilt twists automatically in my chest. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” Her voice softens. “But maybe in his mind you did.”

I haven’t forgotten Ethan’s face from last night, the rage and hatred in his sneer, the smell of liquor on his breath, the way he clenched his fists as if he might actually hit me. But still, surely, he wouldn’t have come back and threatened me? Surely once he calmed down, he felt bad, not angry enough to terrify our son and me. No. Surely not. But still… if not Ethan, who else could it be?

Eventually, Dani hangs up and I’m left with my thoughts. Especially the bit about her joking about my reverse harem situation.

I make grilled cheese and tomato soup while Owen happily chats about his day. Halfway through dinner, he freezes mid-bite. “The thunderbike man.”

I look up. Shadow still sits across the street, motionlessly watching the house. Rain clouds gather overhead now, darkening the evening sky.

“He’s still there,” Owen says happily.

“Yep.”

Owen looks at me seriously. “Can he have some grilled cheese?.”

I almost laugh. “I think he’s okay.”

Owen looks scandalized. “But it’s dinner time.”

Fair point. Twenty minutes later, after relentless four-year-old campaigning, I finally sigh. “Fine. One sandwich.”

Owen cheers triumphantly. I watch nervously through the window while Owen runs across the street carrying a plate wrapped in foil.

Shadow swings off the bike the second he sees Owen approaching. The interaction surprises me. Not because Shadow’s nice to Owen, but because he’s so gentle, so natural. He crouches to Owen’s height automatically while Owen talks animatedly with his hands. Shadow listens seriously, as if garbage-truck stories were matters of the utmost importance. Eventually, Shadow glances toward the house. He says something, and Owen nods, hugging him before running back toward the house.

Shadow doesn’t look away. His gaze meets mine. Even from across the street, I feel the weight of his eyes. He lifts one hand slightly in a quiet wave. I wave back before I can stop myself.

***

By the time Owen’s asleep upstairs, rain lashes violently against the windows, a full Southern storm now. Thunder cracks hard enough to shake the glass while lightning flashes pale blue across the living room. Shadow is still outside, sitting motionless on the motorcycle in the pouring rain.

“What the hell,” I mutter. “Just go already…” Guilt gnaws at me harder with every minute. Finally, I yank open the front door. Cold rain-scented air rushes inside. “You know there are easier ways to get pneumonia, right?” I shout, my words getting caught in the wind.

Shadow looks up slowly from across the street. Rain pours off his dark hair and leather cut. “I’m fine.”

“You’re drenched.”