He nods because I know he gets it. We all do. I don’t have pretty promises or an inspirational slogan. All I’ve got is the truth. We don’t know who we are until we do.
We pull up to the diner parking lot. Tank knows the drill. I hand him a hundred-dollar bill, and he hops out and runs inside while I idle in the lot.
As I wait, I look through the rolled-down passenger window at the activity inside. There are waitresses andbusboys. Families at tables and people sitting solo at the long counter. Tank props one ass cheek on a stool at the counter while an older woman with thick white hair gives him a warm grin.
He makes small talk with her, and she stuffs extra condiments and napkins into the bag. She looks happy and healthy, at least from this distance. It’s as close as I ever allow myself to get to her.
I blink at the sight and look away as Tank heads back through the lot carrying a big plastic bag with the name Savage written in black marker. He sets the bag in the back, then climbs into the front.
“She said I have to stop overtipping her,” Tank chuckles. “Threw in a year’s supply of napkins and shit.”
The scents of my food, Claire’s, and Tank’s turkey dinner fill the truck as I head back toward the compound. “As long as she took it.”
That’s all that matters.
After everything I did to her, it’s the least I can do.
4
CLAIRE
Aurora’s hadher first decent meal in a while. I didn’t have to water down the powder, and she loved every bit of it.
I have to imagine being in an air-conditioned room with a comfortable crib—not to mention a full belly—is going to give her one of the best nights of sleep of her life. I’m in the bathroom washing my hands and cleaning the baby food off the towel Aurora used as a bib when I hear a knock.
As I rush to open the door, I look at Aurora. She’s still sound asleep, her little mouth open as she dreams. I take a breath and open the door just a crack to Savage. He’s holding a large plastic bag in his arms, and he narrows his eyes as he looks past me.
“Oh shit,” he whispers. “Did I wake her? I’m so sorry. I should have texted you to let you know I was headed back. I didn’t think.”
I stare at him for a second, notsure what’s more shocking. That he apologized. That he noticed Aurora was asleep. Or that he would bother to text me to let me know he was heading back. I don’t know how to process any of this. I stare at him, unblinking.
“What should I do here?” he asks, looking so genuinely confused that I have to smile.
It’s then that I notice how unbelievably handsome Savage is. His dark brown eyes are on the small side, but they show a warmth of light and sincerity as he stares at me. He has dark brown hair that curls slightly at the ends. He’s not wearing his sunglasses so I can see his whole face, and it’s a gorgeous face, the face of a man who has sharp edges but softness underneath. He has a square jaw, bristled from a day or two of not shaving. His nose is large, but in a good way. He looks like the hero in an action movie—not perfect in a forgettable, symmetrical way.
He swallows, and I see his Adam’s apple move in his throat. “Claire,” he says, his voice a thick whisper. “Should I leave your dinner? Do you want to have one of the girls stay with the baby so you can eat somewhere other than your room?”
I can’t believe he’s giving me a choice. I want so badly to say something. I want to invite him in, but it’s like my brain and my body are in a war. I think about what Anthony would have said or done, and it’s like I go on autopilot.
“Whatever you want, babe,” I say, looking down at the floor.
I realize what I said as soon as the words leave mymouth. My eyes fly to Savage’s, and I duck my chin, not sure if he’s going to scream or worse. To my continued surprise, he laughs.
“Babe?” He lifts a brow. “Better than asshole, I guess.” He nods toward the baby. “You want to eat alone, or you want some company? I can join you or give you space. This is not my call, Claire. You’re the boss in this room.”
I swallow back a hurricane of emotions—fear, confusion, and, most of all, gratitude. “Come in?” I say quietly. “I think she’s in a food coma.”
Savage practically tiptoes into the room, and he sets the plastic bag on the coffee table so quietly that I almost laugh out loud.
“Savage,” I tell him. “We lived with bikers. Way worse noises than what you all have here. She could probably sleep through a tornado.”
He nods thoughtfully, like he’s paying attention and actually learning a little something about babies. “That’s a real useful skill to have in a compound full of loudmouth idiots.” He smiles at me. “I can’t promise I won’t be one of them, but I will try to keep my voice down.”
He starts setting up the food on the table, handing me the straw that goes along with my soda. “If that’s watered down too much, I’ll have Stella bring you another one. She’s the one who went to the store for the diapers. She works for us, so you need anything—food, drinks—just let her know, and she’ll add it to the list.Don’t feel bad asking. We pay her for her work around here.”
I’m slowly starting to develop a picture of this club. The guys who live here, the women in their lives. I’m not sure how I ended up in this place and how I’ll ever find my way to independence, but I’m relaxing just enough to feel more than fear, stress, and resentment.
Savage unpacks a smaller bag from within the big bag. “This,” he tells me, “is a burger that you’re going to dream about. And the sweet potato fries have salt flakes.” He shakes his head as if this is a true culinary wonder. “Now, I know you asked for regular fries, but I got both. I hope you don’t mind sharing, because I’m telling you…the salt flakes add something special, Claire.”
