“You still can. Faith doesn’t always have to coincide with religion. Dad believed in people first and a rigid set of church rules second.”
Mom’s eyes search my face. She’ll be looking for absolution long after I tell her that she’s forgiven and mean it with my whole heart. “Everything I’ve done has been deeply flawed.”
“I love you. Flaws and all.” I run my finger over the back of her hand.
“I love you too. So, so much.” She pauses, deep in thought. I give her time without interrupting. “I know you said that theman who saved you likes his privacy, but I’d still like to thank him too. Somehow. Even if it’s not in person. Without him that night, I would have lost you, and my life would have had no meaning.”
I have to get up and pull Mom out of her chair and hug her tight. She clings to me. If I thought Shadow looked fragile and broken last night, this is exactly how Mom appears, in a completely different way. I’m taller than she is by an inch. She feels so slight and small in my arms.
“Words will never be enough,” she whispers against my shoulder. “Maybe your dad knows of something that this man has always wanted to do, but never got the chance to. We could give him the means to do it, even if he wants to experience it on his own.”
That’s an amazing, brilliant idea. One I wouldn’t have had on my own. I tried to use words, knowing all the while that Mom was right. They’d never be enough.
“I have no idea what that would be or where to start.”
“I’ve felt like that for a long time.” Mom laughs wetly and gives me a watery smile, but it’s real. It’s there. “I really want to change that.”
Chapter 9
Shadow
Ishould’ve thrown the cookies in the trash. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. It’s not like I’ve got a history of making smart choices when it comes to people. Especially not the kind of people who look at me like I’m not a hazard sign.
But I didn’t throw them away. I carried them back to my bike and when I got home, I stared at the plate on my kitchen table for longer than I should have. I acted like an ass. I know I did. I told myself it was the right thing to do. That I was saving her the trouble of finding out later. But she ran after me.
Who does that?
She shoved the cookies into my hands like I didn’t get to refuse them, like she’d decided I was taking something good whether I liked it or not. And before I could step back, before I could put distance between us like I always do, she kissed me.
God. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the softness of her lips and the vanilla coconut fragrance of her shower gel or shampoo or whatever it is.
Fawnie.
Coming to Hart was supposed to be a new start. Or at least an escape. Same difference. I wasn’t looking to reinvent myself. I just needed somewhere I wasn’t the loser whose own mother looked at his scars and decided they were proof of something rotten underneath.
I figured if I kept my head down, earned my place in the club, stayed useful, I could exist without being looked at too closely. After a lifetime of being invisible, it was hard to be seen.
Because that’s what it is, isn’t it?
First Preacher taking me in, treating me like I mattered before I knew what to do with that. Giving me a place at the table without making it feel like charity.
Now Fawnie.
But she didn’t just see me.She really saw me. And I don’t know how to deal with that.
So I deal with it the only way I can, I ride through the dark winding roads. The chill night air cutting through the leather of my vest, but it’s not enough. She’s there at every turn, and that’s how I find myself at the clubhouse gym at two in the morning. It’s not fancy. Concrete floors, a couple racks, free weights, a heavy bag that’s seen better days.
I come at night.
I tell myself it’s because the equipment’s free, but that’s bullshit. I come at night because I don’t have to make small talk. I don’t have to sit at the bar and pretend I’m not half outside the conversation.
Five years in this club and I still skulk in the shadows like I’m waiting for someone to notice I don’t quite fit.
It’s shitty. I know it is. After five years I should be more a part of things. I should be in there with the others, arguing about nothing, laughing at stories I’ve heard before.
Instead, I orbit. Close enough to belong, far enough to pretend I don’t.
I load the bar with more weight than I probably need and lie back on the bench. The metal is cool under my palms.
