Page 62 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

I frown slightly, confused.

“You didn’t notice that all of his tattoos cover scars?”

I think of the sheer number of tattoos—and therefore scars—that Trigger has and put my hand to my mouth. “How is that possible? From fighting?”

I feel ashamed that my first assumption is that the scars are from fighting when Shadow replies: “Some. Some are from being a dumb, reckless idiot, but most are from when he was a kid.” His eyes darken, brow twitching with displeasure.

“What do you mean?”

“Some people shouldn’t have kids,” he says softly.

I gasp. “His parents?” I ask in disbelief, wondering how anyone could hurt their child, how someone could leave scars all over their baby’s body.

He nods. “Trigger will tell you the rest if you ask, when he’s ready. But just…” he searches for the words. “Go easy on him.”

I nod, understanding it’s not his place to tell me. “Of course,” I murmur.

“He was starved of love for most of his life. The first time he thought he found that, he didn’t know how to handle it. He loved his ex so much. Maybe too much. He loved her more than he loved himself. It became dangerous for him. The heartbreak when she left almost killed him,” Shadow explains gently.

My heart breaks a little for Trigger then. “Trust me, I don’t want to hurt him. To hurt anyone. That’s the last thing I want.”

“I know.” He kisses me softly, and I lean into his touch. It’s been so long since I’ve been treated with tenderness.

I look at Shadow, feeling a newfound sense of respect and understanding for this kind, complicated man. “Thank you for sharing your story with me, for being so open and honest. For what it’s worth, I think that man deserved what he got.”

“Me too,” he says softly.

***

Pale morning sunlight filters through the curtains, turning everything soft and golden. For a moment, lying there tangled in blankets, I forget about the notes, the fear, and the chaos of the last few weeks. I just feel… content, which is probably the most dangerous thing of all.

When I open my eyes, Shadow is fully dressed, holding a cup of coffee.

“Sorry to wake you, but we should probably get going. Trigger’s been blowing up my phone all morning, no doubt yours too,” he says.

I groan, glancing at my phone to see that he has indeed been messaging far too many times for comfort, the others too. “Thanks, gimme five, and I’ll be down to sort breakfast.”

“Already done,” he says with a soft smile.

I gape at him.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d mind if I fed Owen, it was just some porridge and fruit, nothing unhealthy,” he says, looking stricken.

I shake my head. “No, I don’t mind at all. I’m just surprised, that’s all. Thank you.”

His shoulders visibly relax. “Good.” He turns and heads back downstairs, giving me a moment of peace to get ready, one I’m absurdly grateful for. I’m so used to mornings being chaotic, with Owen dominating my time to the point where I don’t get a second to myself. I haven’t had a lie-in for four years. I savor my coffee while lying in bed and listening to Owen chat animatedly with Shadow.

When I finally drag myself out of bed and head downstairs, I discover Owen happily sitting at the kitchen table.

Shadow sits opposite him, a mug of coffee in hand, listening with complete seriousness as Owen explains something earnestly to him.

I pause in the doorway. Neither of them notices me yet. Warm morning light spills in through the open curtains. Steam rises from the mugs on the table. The smell of coffee mingles with the scent of cinnamon from Owen’s porridge. A normal, domestic scene, so normal it feels as if Shadow has always been here. The realization catches me off guard. There’s something so comfortable and easy about how Shadow has slipped into our routine, all of the guys really, as if this is something we do every day.

Something twists unexpectedly inside my chest. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed this. Not having someone in the house, not sex, or even companionship, but having someone actually being present. Ethan lived here for years, but toward the end, he was barely here at all. Even when he was sitting across from me at the dinner table, part of him always seemed somewhere else. Checking emails, watching television, looking at his phone, waiting for conversations to end. I can’t remember the last time he sat and listened to Owen ramble about his latest interest. I can’t remember the last time he made breakfast because he wanted to help, or noticed when I was tired, or simply existed beside us without making it feel obligatory.

Guilt immediately follows the thought. Comparing Shadow to Ethan isn’t fair. I’ve known Shadow properly for what? Days? But despite that, I find myself smiling despite everything.

Owen spots me first. “Mommy!” He launches out of his chair and wraps himself around my waist. “You were very sleepy this morning. Lazy.”