“Elaine. She works at the clubhouse strictly for the paycheck, brother. She’s not in this life.”
“I just thought…”
I trailed off with a shrug. What had I been thinking when I invited her here anyway? I knew the rules of a one-night-stand—don’t get attached, don’t develop feelings.
Maybe it was the weight of remorse after hanging out with the Reckless Order yesterday. Seeing them so close, so familiar with each other. They would always welcome me into their clubhouse, pull up a chair, and pour me a drink. My bike gave me that privilege of camaraderie among fellow bikers.
But I wasn’t one of them. I would never be part of their family.
Sometimes, it killed me that I failed my probationary period as a Prospect with them. Just like I did with so many other clubs, before I finally gave up and accepted my fate that I didn’t belong anywhere.
It was the same story with the air force. I loved flying. Soaring through the skies at top speed was exhilarating. I felt weightless, untouchable in that cockpit with nothing above or below me except the endless expanse of the horizon.
But I continually butted heads with authority figures. And eventually, I found myself too stifled by the rules until I packed my shit and left.
That’s because no one wants you, boy.
I closed my eyes and sucked in a steadying breath. No matter how many years had passed since my father’s death, the son of abitch’s voice still echoed in my head. Taunting and torturing me, just like he did when he was alive.
I crossed my arms and shifted in place, scuffing my boot through the snow. Maybe that’s why I invited Elaine to the charity ride. With her, I felt…right, peaceful, settled in a way that I never felt in my life. And I knew it wouldn’t last—hoping for a different outcome than that would only lead to heartbreak.
I guess I just…wanted to savor it a little longer before I moved on. Again.
“The ride begins in thirty minutes,” Ironside said. “Better grab a spot.”
Dozens of bikers lined the road. The Reckless Order MC was among them, along with bikers from neighboring clubs, nomads who had no club affiliation, and joy riders, who simply joined in the fun for the hell of it. Some bikes were swathed in Christmas lights, while others were decked out with garlands of greenery and ribbons.
Then I saw her. Elaine. Standing beneath a towering oak, with her breath frosting in the air as she scanned her surroundings.
She gripped the hand of a little boy at her side, about six or seven years old.
Her searching gaze landed on me and her spine straightened. She lifted her hand in a small, hesitant wave. That brash, coy confidence she’d had when we hooked up was absent in the light of day.
Abandoning my bike in the lineup, I jogged across the park to meet her.
“Hey, good to see you,” I said. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t take me up on my offer.”
Elaine pulled the boy in front of her, resting her hands on his shoulders.
“Well…” She paused and cleared her throat as if gathering her courage. “My son, Mikey, was thrilled to hear he might getthe chance to see some motorcycles. As his mother, I probably shouldn’t be encouraging his love for fast cars and speed racing, but I couldn’t resist putting a smile on my little boy’s face.”
Her son. Oh, shit. No wedding ring on her finger though. Where was the kid's father? Was he in the picture?
My gaze flicked down to Mikey who stared at me with a menacing scowl.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
I crouched down in front of him and tapped the patch on my chest, displaying my road name.
“My friends call me Wingman,” I said.
Mikey narrowed his eyes.
“That’s not your real name.”
Smart kid,I thought.Nothing gets by him.
“No, it’s not. My real name is Reese. Reese Meyers. I used to be obsessed with planes when I was about your age. So I worked hard and I saved my money to take flying lessons. When my biker buddies found out I was in the air force for a while, everyone started calling me Wingman.”
