Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Despite myself, a laugh almost gets out. Almost. “She’s in trouble,” I say.
“And you’re interested.”
I hold his gaze. “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“No,” he agrees. “They sure as hell ain’t.”
He rubs his thumb over the edge of the desk. “Just be smart.”
“I am smart.”
“That’s debatable.”
I grunt. Fair.
Chux nods toward the door. “You know what I’m saying.”
Yeah. I do. Single mom means there’s more on the line than chemistry and bad judgment. Means feelings hit wider. Means if I step wrong, I don’t just hurt Lucy. I disrupt a kid’s world too.
I stand. “I’m not doing anything.”
Chux gives me a look so dry it could start a fire. “Sure you’re not. You know the resources go farther if you finally man up and admit you got something worth holdin’ onto with this one.”
I don’t reply. Instead, I head out before the conversation can get any more annoying.
Back in my room at the clubhouse, I shut the door behind me and drop onto the edge of the bed. The place is the same as always—small, sparce, functional. Bed, dresser, chair, scarred nightstand. A life built for motion, not permanence.
I drag both hands over my face and let out a slow breath. Neighborly concern. That’s what this is. A woman in town with a shitty ex and a kid to protect. That’s all. I’d do the same for anybody.
Wouldn’t I?
I picture Lucy in that robe this morning, blinking sleepily down at me on the porch.
I picture her kitchen. Her laugh. The way she looked at me over a mug of coffee like I was both a problem and something she hadn’t decided she minded. Then Quinn at the table, asking if I could come to career day.
My chest does something I don’t appreciate. It tightens. There is real concern, care inside me. And that kind of shit makes me dangerous.
I curse under my breath and stand, pacing once across the room and back.
This is nothing. Concern, sure. Instinct. Maybe a little territoriality because Roger is a punk and punks piss me off.
That’s it.
Not feelings.
Definitely not feelings.
I stop at the window and look out over the yard where two brothers are talking shit to each other. Ordinary. Loud. Easy.
Not like the pull sitting under my ribs whenever I think about Lucy Coe.
I brace one hand on the window frame and glare at nothing. “She’s a neighbor,” I mutter to the empty room. The room, being smarter than me, says nothing back. And because silence is a bastard, my mind offers me one final image anyway—Lucy at her front door last night, shaking and wrapping her arms around herself. Then Lucy this morning, trusting me enough to ask me in.
I exhale hard.
Concern, I tell myself again. Just concern.
But the lie doesn’t sit right. And that’s the real problem here.
ELEVEN
LUCY
By the time I pull up to Freedom Falls Elementary, I’ve already had one full conversation with myself about not thinking about Tucker Bostic. Not about him asleep on my porch. Not about the way he looked in my kitchen. Not about the fact that Quinn liked him instantly, which feels unfair when I’m still trying to decide what exactly to do with him.
So naturally, the first person I see at drop-off is Marlaina. This is my luck. Not that she’s a problem. Ms. Steiner as Quinn knows her is the music teacher at the elementary school. Quinn has the most fun in her class. While I have seen her when she has a rotation in the car rider line I don’t know her. In fact, outside of her calling me the other night, I didn’t realize she was tied to the Kings of Anarchy MC. But if I remember correctly, she said her brother is in the club. She also tried to put me at ease about Mellow. I can’t say she won me over, but I won’t deny the man is hard to get off my mind.
She’s standing near the curb in a floral cardigan with a whistle around her neck, waving kids toward the front doors with the kind of cheerful authority only elementary school staff can pull off before eight in the morning.
She spots my car and grins.
“Well, good morning, sunshine.”
I roll my window down and smile despite myself.
“Morning.”
Quinn unbuckles in the backseat and leans between the seats. “Miss Steiner! Porch man ate breakfast with us.”
I close my eyes. Of course she says that. Marlaina’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Porch man?”
I force a laugh that sounds a little too thin. “Apparently that’s Tucker’s new name.”
Marlaina’s expression shifts immediately. “Oh.” Then she smiles wider. “Mellow.” There it is again. That ridiculous nickname that somehow suits him less every time I hear it.
Quinn grabs her backpack and pushes the door open. “Bye, Mama!”
“Bye, baby. Have a good day.”
She hops out and runs toward Marlaina, who crouches to straighten the strap on Quinn’s backpack before sending her toward the front doors with the rest of the children.