He turns off the truck, and we sit in silence. “Poppy, I was denied parole the first time I tried. The second time, your mom was on the review board. I was asked to explain why I felt I wouldn’t be a risk to the community. What I’d learned about myself while I was inside. What I could possibly offer the board as proof that I wouldn’t eventually end up right back behind bars, wasting the taxpayers’ money.”
I swallow the lump in my throat as I listen. I can imagine my mother, with her perfect razor pixie cut, her sharp eyes, and her stern frown, looking over Phantom at his most powerless. I can imagine Mom demanding answers.
“What happened?” My question comes out in a whisper.
“I told them about Holly and Daisy. About Shayla. I told them that going away and leaving my ex-wife with babies wasn’t the same as leaving them when they were old enough to understand what I’d done. To understand that they could only see their dad across a table once a month because I’d done bad things.”
He’s angry now and hurt. I hear it. All the years I’ve been fighting my mother’s opinions, other people’s disappointment, and my own pain, he’s been fighting too.
“But she voted for you?” I ask.
He nods, opens his mouth, but then stops himself. I’m sure there’s more. Knowing my mother, there’s a zinger in there someplace. I just must brace myself for whatever shitty thing she said to him.
“Tell me, Phantom. I need to know everything.”
He looks at me, and for a minute, I see something so honest, so pure in his face. If it were possible to believe, I’d call it love. “She told me about you, Poppy.”
“Me?” I’m taken aback. “My mother talked about me in a parole hearing?”
“She was the first to cast her vote. Told me, looking right in my eye as she did it, that she was convinced I’d earned early release. She told me her daughter had lost her husband to a terrible accident and that she’d seen firsthand what losing a father does to a child. She said that even if I didn’t give a shit about the community or the people I’d hurt, she believed I loved my girls. And if I cared about them as much as she believed I did, that I should think good and hard about the kind of man I wanted to be once I had my freedom. She said she knew her daughter would give years off her own life if that meant her son could have his father for even one more day. And she told me she expected great things from me.”
Now, that sounds like my mom. I sigh and slump back in the seat. “Mom,” I whisper. “She always knows how to cut to the goddamn bone.”
“No, Poppy. Your mom was right. I haven’t exactly lived up to the faith she put in me.” He waves his hand toward the compound. “Getting out, having the kids, Shayla, dealing with child support and my parole terms. It was brutal. It was easier in some ways being on the inside, but I did the best I could.”
I still don’t understand all the ins and outs of the club, but I understood this much so far.
“Now I’m the club president. I make a fuckload of money. I’ve got my kids. But, Poppy, my hands aren’t clean. Some of the shit we do ain’t on the books. Any day could be the day I wake up and find out something we did went south. I’ll go right back behind bars.”
I don’t say anything. I guess I’m not shocked to hear this. I mean, my client practically told me he was a criminal. But to hear that he could be in real trouble someday and go back to prison…
“That’s partly why I divorced Shayla when I did. I wanted shit to be easy for her if I went back in.” He looks at me. “I can’t marry anyone, Poppy. I can’t put a ring over the tattoo on your finger. If I did, I’d put you at risk. All I can ever offer you is less than what you deserve. And your mother will never fucking approve of me. Never. I will never be good enough for you.”
I bark out a laugh. “Are you serious? You’ll never be good enough for me because, what? You’re not miserable like my dad, who slaved away at a corporate job and dropped dead a year after he retired?”
I shake my head. No little girl grows up thinking she’s going to marry a guy with a criminal past—or a guy with a criminal present, for that matter. But I married a guy who I thought was right for me. I wasn’t happy, and now he’s gone. My dad wasn’t happy, and now he’s gone.
My mother didn’t approve of Michael. She hates that I’m a stylist. So, what am I going to do? I’m thirty-five years old. Am I going to live the rest of my life exhausted, alone, and unfulfilled? I’m happy now. I’ve been happy ever since this tattooed, muscled bikerwalked into my salon to pick up his daughters. Since he took me into his house, his bed, and, I hope, his heart.
“I am not going to pretend I want a ring on my finger after the few weeks we’ve known each other,” I say. “And I’m not going to say it doesn’t scare me that I could lose you because of the work you do.”
I look at him square in the eyes as I say it. “But I want you, Phantom. I want to stay in your house even though it makes no sense, because Idon’twant to leave. I love your kids and the way you listen to Jax. The way you make chicken soup. I am falling for you, and I don’t give a good goddamn who doesn’t like it.”
I turn and look out the front window, but then I figure, you know what? Fuck it. I am tired of never feeling like enough.
So, I unfasten my seat belt, slide across the bench seat, and grab Phantom’s cheeks with my hands. “I want this. I want you to make love to me again—no, to fuck me again like you’ll never get enough. I don’t care what my mother thinks of you. I don’t care about Shayla trashing my house. I mean, I do, but only because that means I get to stay with you. I want you, Phantom. I only hope you want me too.”
He reaches up and puts his hands on top of mine, and he is quiet for a long minute. He holds my hands against his face and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he looks resolute. “Let’s go home. Starting tonight, you’re sleeping in my bed.”
I settle back into my seat and fasten my belt again.
The drive home is short and we’re both quiet, butthe awkwardness is gone. Instead of me feeling like he’s holding on to something, holding something back, I feel like we’re holding on to each other. Our secrets. Our desires. Our truth. I’m prepared to fight for this. Even if that means fighting my mother.
18
PHANTOM
We pullinto my driveway just as I get a text alert from Shadow.
