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How long has it been since someone looked at me like that?
Cam ducked her head and turned back to Joel. I could see her lips form the wordsgotta gobefore she grabbed her bike and jogged over to me. Hoisting her bike into the back, she hurried around and climbed into the passenger seat.
“Mom, I—”
I cut her off.
“No. We’ll talk about this when we get home. After I’ve had a shower. After I’ve had a proper meal instead of a power bar on-the-go. But you can get comfortable with the fact that you will be grounded for months because of this.”
Cam frowned and turned away. As I stepped on the gas, I couldn’t stop my gaze from straying back to where Joel stood in the parking lot, watching us go.
Chapter Three
Red
I stood frozen in place long after Abby’s car had disappeared from view. The passenger window had obscured much of her face, but I could make out her eyes and a few stray wisps of caramel-colored hair that had escaped from her ponytail.
You’re my dad.
Cam’s words continued to echo in my head. I had a daughter. No matter how many times I repeated that realization, it wasn’t fully sinking in. The concept of a family—parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, sons, daughters—it never truly felt real for me. Growing up in the foster system, I’d been a sullen, silent little boy, too shy and brooding to say much. Families looking to adopt didn’t want a boy like that.
When I reached my late teens, a few kids my age talked about how much they longed for a family of their own. They wanted to get married, have children, and build the life they never had.
I didn’t allow myself to entertain that idea. I couldn’t grasp it. When I tried to imagine what it would be like to have a wife, to raise my children, it slipped through my fingers like water.
Until Abby came along.
Everything was so damnclearwith her. It felt right.
All of that clarity shattered when Abby left.
I was still standing there when the Prospect turned into the parking lot. Diablo’s flaming orange motorcycle was impossible to miss as he pulled up alongside me and cut the engine. As he removed his helmet, he shot a concerned glance in my direction and raised an eyebrow.
“What the hell happened to you, brother? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I swallowed hard and shook my head, dragging myself back to the present.
“Something like that, yeah.”
My skinned knuckles still burned, reminding me what a shock it had been to hear Abby’s name again. The bleeding had stopped at least but I should probably disinfect it.
“Come on,” Diablo said, jostling me with his shoulder as he passed. “You’re probably hallucinating from all this heat. Let’s get you a beer.”
I’ll need something stronger than that,I thought.
Once we were inside, it was easy to lose Diablo’s attention with a handful of other club members scattered throughout the room who could distract him. I owed my club my life and I would do anything for them. But I didn’t need them sticking their noses into my business right now.
I slipped away to one of the back rooms where I usually slept. I lived in a camper parked on the outskirts of Merry Field but I rarely spent any time there. It was too quiet, too lonely. At the clubhouse, a few brothers always wandered through, day or night, playing pool or poker, busting each other’s balls over something stupid, or bragging about their families.
As I passed the small storage closet in the hallway, I swiped the first aid kit. With nine men in the club, there were always plenty of medical supplies in stock to fix the damage we got ourselves into.
When I reached the back room and closed the door, I dropped onto the edge of the plain, spare mattress. My duffel bag of clothes was tucked into the corner. Despite having my own space to live in since I was eighteen, I couldn’t shake the habit of keeping all my few worldly possessions in one bag, as if I never expected to stay long.
The murmur of voices from my club was muffled by the walls, rendered to a low, comforting white noise. I set the first aid kit on the bed beside me.
You’re my dad.
I closed my eyes, trying to remember every detail I could of Cam—her ripped jeans, well-worn converse sneakers, unruly curls, sharp hazel eyes.
