Page 2 of The Biker and the Single Mom

Beautiful in a way that makes my pulse kick harder than it should.

"Thank you," she whispers. "God, thank you. I didn't know what else to do. I was driving and she started coughing and then she couldn't catch her breath and I saw the sign for Saint's Hollow and I remembered—" She cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her mouth.

"Remembered what?"

"That there's an MC here. That sometimes they help people." Her eyes meet mine, and desperation mixes with hope in equal measure. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have broken in. I just—she needed help and I didn't know where else to go."

"You did the right thing." I stand, offering her my hand. She takes it, and her skin is ice-cold against mine. "But we can't stay here. The clinic's not set up for overnight, and if your daughter has another attack⁠—"

"I'll leave. We'll leave. Just give me a minute to⁠—"

"I'm not kicking you out." The words come out harder than I intend. I gentle my tone. "I'm taking you somewhere safe. My place. It's above the clinic. I've got a bed, medical supplies if she needs another treatment, and nobody's going to bother you there."

She stares at me like I've offered her something impossible. "You don't even know us."

"Your daughter needs to rest somewhere safe. That's enough." I scoop Luna up—she's light, too light, all fragile bones and trust. "Come on. Let's get you both upstairs."

The woman grabs a backpack I hadn't noticed before—looks like everything she owns stuffed into one bag—and follows me out of the clinic.

My apartment sits above the clinic, accessed by a narrow staircase most people don't know exists. It's not much—one bedroom, a couch that's seen better days, a kitchen barely big enough to turn around in. Clean, at least. Safe.

I settle Luna on the couch while her mother hovers. The nebulizer treatment has the kid fighting sleep, her eyes drooping even as she clutches Mr. Hops tighter.

"Let me heat up some soup," I say. "Both of you need to eat."

The woman opens her mouth to protest, but her stomach betrays her with a loud growl. Her cheeks flush.

"Soup it is," I mutter, heading for the kitchen.

I make noise on purpose—running water, the clatter of a pot, the creak of the cabinet—normal sounds to remind them they're somewhere safe now. When I bring over bowls, the woman coaxes Luna to eat a few bites, but the kid's eyes keep closing.

"When's the last time you ate?" I ask, settling into the chair across from them.

She has to think about it. "Yesterday morning, maybe? We've been driving."

“What are you running from?”

Her spoon freezes halfway to her mouth. "What makes you think I'm running?"

"Everything you own is in that backpack. Your daughter had an asthma attack severe enough that you broke into a biker clinic instead of going to a hospital. And you look like you haven't slept in days." I keep my voice gentle. "Not judging. Just want to know what we're dealing with."

She sets down the soup, her hands clenching in her lap. When she finally speaks, barely a whisper.

"My ex-husband. Matt. He's a cop. Two counties over—no jurisdiction here, but he doesn't care about that."

Everything in me goes cold and sharp. "He hurt you?"

"Not physically. Not where anyone could see." She wraps her arms around herself. "But he controlled everything. What I wore, where I went, who I talked to. When I finally got the divorce finalized six months ago, I thought I was free. But he won't—he can't accept it."

"He's been following you."

"He uses his badge to track me down. Every time I think I've gotten away, he finds me." Her voice cracks. "I've moved three times in six months. I just want him to leave us alone. I just want Luna to have a normal life."

"He won't find you here." The words come out harder than I intend. "Saint's Hollow is off his radar. And even if he does track you down, he's got no jurisdiction in this town. No authority."

"You don't understand. He doesn't care about jurisdiction. He⁠—"

"I understand perfectly." I lean forward, making sure she hears me. "You've been running and you're exhausted and you're scared. But you're safe here. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you or your daughter. That's a promise."