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So what choice do I have?
Spinning on my heels, I head for the door, my feet pounding the floor. “Don’t forget to ice,” I call out to her.
“Thank you… for taking such good care of me.”
I glance over my shoulder. “My pleasure. I’ll see ya ’round.” Then, I start the journey back to the clubhouse with an ache in my chest and a knot in my stomach.
I’ve waited for a fucking eternity to kiss Ingrid, and as quickly as the opportunity came, it’s snatched back out from under me.
I get it.
I do.
But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Because I don’t.
I fucking detest it.
CHAPTER SIX
South
My feet hurt from walking back to the clubhouse, but the fresh air has done me good.
Given me time to think.
While Ingrid can’t see that we would be good for each other right now, I need to show her that, despite the odds, we could be.
I just don’t know how to do that.
For now, I will give her the time she needs to wrap her head around this because she has a lot going on. I want her to know I will be there to support her in whatever capacity that may be.
In the immediate future, though, I need to focus on the club. Keep my head in the game because I am the newbie, and Hurricane is my president first and foremost. I have got to make an impression on him to ensure I can stay for as long as possible.
That kiss, though.
Shaking my head from the amazing memory, I try to wipe the smile from my face as I walk into the clubhouse. Everyone is going about their usual shit, barely even noticing me. I spot Hurricane sitting with Bayou. His daughter, Immy, is on his lap giving him daddy snuggles.
I must admit, seeing Hurricane with his daughter shows a side of him I’m not sure the rest of us thought we’d ever see. One thing is for sure, he’s a good father.
Walking over, I stand in front of the twins, who glance up at me. I bob my head in acknowledgment as Hurricane glances around like he’s looking for his stepmother. “Where’s Ingrid?” he asks, confirming my suspicions.
“Dropped her back at her place. She was tired after her appointment. So I got some dinner sorted and then walked back here.”
Hurricane raises his brow in curiosity. “Did her appointmentnotgo to plan? Somethin’ I should be concerned about?”
Shaking my head, I wave him off. “Nah, she’s all good. She said she didn’t sleep well last night and is tired today. Wanted to get some rest this afternoon. She’s fine, no need to worry.”
“Why’s she not sleepin’? Do I need to go ’round there and check up on her?” Hurricane asks.
Bayou snorts out a laugh, slapping his brother on the shoulder. “Leave her alone, asshole. You hover too much. Everyone has a bad night’s sleep. Doesn’t mean shit. And if she needs some rest, then you going over there bossing her around is only gonna make her more tired,” Bayou chides.
I smirk because Bayou is more sensible than he realizes, and he’s saved our asses. Because if Hurricane went over there and found out what Ingrid did today—why she needs to rest—he would blow a fuse.
“Fine, I’ll stay here with my seven-month-old. At least she doesn’t mind me fussin’ over her, right, littlecheri?”he asks Immy, to which she promptly replies by slapping her tiny hand into his bearded chin, accompanied by a belly giggle.
Bayou smiles, leaning in and gently caressing Immy’s cheek. “Uncle Bayou thinks you have your daddy wrapped around your little finger. Yes, he does. Yes, he does,” he says in a baby voice.
