I take her hand and help her climb down onto the sidewalk. I pull her hips to mine and then cup her cheeks. “Poppy. I’m not leaving you here. I’m not leaving you, period. You hear me? You may be used to people leaving or never even showing up for you. We’re in this together. Come on.”
I take her hand and hold it as we walk inside the house. Once we’re inside, she gasps.
“It’s empty,” she says. “What happened?”
I motion to the place where the couch was. “The furniture that was slashed and cut is at the dump. We took pictures of everything that first night, but I had the guys take more pics so you can send them to your insurance. I’m sorry. We couldn’t save a lot of your stuff.”
I can only imagine how this feels to her. I show her the box where all the papers were carefully placed and follow her into the kitchen.
She opens every cabinet, pulls open the drawers in the fridge. “It’s like we never lived here. This looks like a house that’s up for sale. No food, no mess.” She turns to me, a bewildered look on her beautiful features. “Your bikers did this? This is better than a professional cleaning crew could do if they had a week.”
“There are a few women who hang around the club. They helped,” I tell her.
I don’t know what to say right now. She looks stunned and sad.
“Poppy, are you okay?”
“I want to meet them,” she says. “I need to thank the people who did this. How many women are there? I’m going to do their hair for free for months.”
I take her in my arms and hold her close. “Stop. You don’t have to kiss ass or apologize. These people did it because I asked them to. We’re a family, and if you’re with me, you’re part of it.”
“Am I with you?” she asks, looking up into my face.
“Do you want to be?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, but I still want to meet them.”
I chuckle. “You’re in luck. Stella’s birthday is this weekend. We’re having a party at the compound Saturday night. The girls can watch Jax, and we’ll stop in. Make an appearance. You can thank them yourself, but that’s it. You don’t owe anybody shit, Poppy. You hear me?”
She doesn’t respond. Just takes my hand and heads toward the door. “Can we go back to your place now? This doesn’t even feel like home.”
I do exactly what my woman asks.
Poppy isquiet on the drive to my place, but she doesn’t let go of my hand. “I should call my mom,” she says. “Let her know what’s going on.”
I nod. “You want to invite her over? She might feel better if she sees where you and Jax are staying.”
“Then I’ll have to explain how I know you. Why we’re with you. How long we’re staying.”
I squeeze her fingers. “You want me to talk to Mama Lori? Let her know exactly what the deal is?”
Poppy laughs. “I don’t know that what you’d tell her is any better than what I’d tell her.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Once they get past my tattoos, my bike, and my past, moms love me.”
“My mom would love you,” she says. When I pull into the driveway and click the garage door open, she continues. “Mom never wanted me to marry Michael. She said there was no way I could know what was out there if I married the first man I let under my skirt.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s been a while, but yeah, she actually said that.”
I narrow my eyes and look at the dress that sits just covering Poppy’s thighs. “I love the idea of getting under your skirt.”
Poppy opens the door, shaking her head. I’ve got to get to the club, but first, I’m going to walk her in and make sure she gets settled. I disarm the alarm and we head inside.
“Do you want me to pick the kids up from school? I’m better now, Phantom, and my car is here. I can pick up all the kids while you run to work.”
I shake my head. “Get your fine ass upstairs and in bed. You have one more afternoon to rest. I’ll hit the compound, take care of business, and get the kids on my way back here. Family dinner at six.”
When I say family dinner, she turns and looks at me. “I’d love that. I’m going to go get changed.”
She heads upstairs, and I follow her so I can change out of the dress clothes I wore to court. We walk into my bedroom together like it’s something we’ve done every day. Like it’s normal. Like it’s ours. Not mine. Not my house.Ours.
