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Woodrow levels his blue-eyed gaze on my face. “You make him feel the way he wants to feel. Nothing more complicated than that.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
Rubbing his beard, he shrugs. “Rosemary and I have a few things in common, but we have many differences. On paper, I don’t know if we make sense. But in here,” he says and pats his chest, “we’re perfect together. There’s no need to apply logic to your heart.”
His words sound lovely and romantic. Except they mean nothing to me. I don’t know about love or relationships built on anything except necessity. Neal wanted me because I was young and attractive. I had “good childbearing hips” and “nice tits.” That was his logic. I just needed an escape hatch from my old life. Love never factored into it.
“Your boy Beau is on the spectrum, isn’t he?” Woodrow asks in a tender tone.
“Yes, but we’re not supposed to admit that.”
“Why?”
“Neal and the Coppers don’t want defective people in their family.”
“Let me guess, they’re a bunch of social rejects, right?”
Nodding, I share his smile. “I figured Neal would have to get over his denial once Beau was enrolled in school. I wanted to get him into a special preschool for disabled children. I told Neal it was free for kids like Beau. But he kept saying it cost too much.”
“No offense, but it’s probably best Neal isn’t around to say anything anymore.”
I smile at his words, even though I feel guilt over Beau missing out on help. Woodrow watches me as I try to put on a happy face.
“We can get someone to come out here and see what the little ones need. A woman I know runs a program over at the women’s college. She does sessions with special needs kids on the side. If you’re okay with that, I could ask her to come around next week and meet the kids.”
His words lift my heart. Not only about my babies getting help, but also that Woodrow thinks we’ll still be here next week. I’m so afraid of Silas rejecting me.
“Did you know his wife?”
Woodrow exhales hard and nods. “Nomad’s always had a hole inside him. He tried to fill it with violence and the club, but it wasn’t enough. I never understood why he fixated on Kati and the baby she claimed was his. I thought at first it was her youth and beauty. But then I realized it was because she claimed to love him and offered him a child. That’s what he wanted, so he ignored everything else.”
“But she didn’t love him?”
“No. They weren’t so different, I guess. Kati was searching for a purpose. Fixing a broken man might have seemed like a worthwhile project. She wasn’t like the other women around the Pigsty. They just want to party. Most have no interest in dating, let alone loving those guys. But Kati zeroed in on Nomad and said all the right shit. I’ve never seen anyone lie as well as Kati did. She even convinced herself that Nomad would change for her.”
“But he can’t.”
“No one really changes. They improve what they have inside, but they can’t become a new person. Not for long, anyway. I’ve tried to be different men, but it’s like a kid dressing up in a costume. Sooner or later, you want to take it off and be yourself.”
Feeling uneasy, I don’t understand Silas. He’s a terrifying man who lives in a palace. He saved me, yet also seems ready to crush me under his boot. I can’t read him at all. If I could be what he needed, he’d keep me around. My kids could have a better life. Everyone would be happy.
Except I’m not supposed to lie to Silas, and the real me isn’t what he’s been dreaming about for months.
“Sounds like they’re here,” Woodrow says about the approaching roar of motorcycles.
Blair leaves her cup of applesauce and runs to look out the window. “Do you think they found Succotash?”
“If not, we’ll go look for her,” I say, joining her at the window and stroking her head.
Smiling easier since our talk, Blair notices all the people arriving. “There are more now than before.”
“Silas needed help.”
The first one through the door is a tatted biker with reddish-blond hair. He ignores me and looks to Woodrow for where to put everything.
“In the guest room,” he says and guides the men.
The people following the biker are scrawnier. They look right at me, almost daring me to hold their gazes.
