Instead of dwelling, I found Zoya still smiling at the energetic kids while they laughed at the bulldog’s antics. The sketchbook was open on her lap. Charcoal smudged her fingers and when she saw me, she brightened.
I took the seat beside her and when she leaned against my side, I melted. “Having fun?”
She nodded, still smiling at the kids but occasionally she turned back to the sketchpad, adding darker clouds or slashes of red to the paper. When she was done, she handed me the pad, staring at me with those big, bottomless eyes.
“This is intense,” I whispered, taking in the details that had started to coalesce into something I understood. The smoke man was obviously the man who was now married to her mother. He’d done something violent based on the red slashes, and she’d been a witness. “Are you scared, Z?”
She looked to me, nibbled her bottom lip and nodded.
“Yeah, me too. But we have each other, so we’ll be okay.” I wrapped an arm around her and held her close. “And your dad will never let anyone hurt you.”
She nodded, accepting my words as gospel.
“You know what you have to do now, don’t you?”
She shook her head.
“To get away from the fear, you have to draw something light and good, something that makes you smile. It’s a rule or something.”
She smiled, but I didn’t get the laugh I hoped for. But she grabbed the yellow colored pencil and started to draw something brighter.
I took advantage of her distraction, pulling out more research for my dissertation, reading the articles while highlighting important parts and writing notes. The sunlight energized me and for the next hour, I worked while Zoya’s slight weight leaned against me and the kids’ laughter provided the soundtrack.
Zoya tapped my knee hesitantly before sliding me another drawing, this one with a bright shining sun, Hoppy and me twirling a rope while Zoya jumped in the center.
I smiled. “You want to jump rope with me and Hoppy? I think we can arrange that,” I promised, closing one journal and picking up another.
“What is this?” I asked no one in particular when a stack of envelopes fell onto my lap. I must have picked up the mail when I grabbed stuff off the kitchen island. Most of it was junk mail, catalogs, and motorcycle magazines but there was an official looking envelope at the bottom and when I saw the sender, I froze. My skin chilled instantly and I was on my feet just as fast.
Zoya looked up with a question in her eyes.
“I just need to give your dad this, it might be important.”
It had to be important, that’s what I told myself as I marched to the office and knocked hesitantly.
I knocked.
Nobody answered.
I knocked again, louder.
The door yanked open and a massive biker with dark, shoulder-length hair glowered down at me. “We’re holdin’ church.”
The tone made every ounce of courage I built up just to knock waver. My throat tightened. But I held up the envelope anyway.
“This was mixed in with some of my things,” I said, forcing my voice not to shake. “And I think Sledge should see it immediately.”
“Mail,” he scoffed. “You interrupted for mail?”
Before my temper could flare, Sledge’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Rebel, stop fuckin’ with her.”
I lifted the envelope higher, almost shoving it in the man’s face. “It’s from the family court. And after everything you said about Trish and the phone call, I figured—” a sigh escaped and the rest of the words died in my throat.
A new voice, deep and somber, spoke from the other side of the door. “Let her in.”
Rebel stepped aside and motioned for me to enter with an exaggerated flourish.
I stepped inside and looked around. The office was nothing like I expected. It wasn’t dark or grim or covered in leather and bullets. It was like any other office, stocked with three high-quality monitors that hung on the wall, severalmore sat on a table in front of an ergonomic keyboard with multicolored lights. My hand shook when I handed Sledge the envelope, hoping it didn’t reveal what I suspected it did.
