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“Was that him?” Wolf’s shoulders square, bulging with muscle. My chest aches from how safe I feel in his powerful embrace.

He suddenly looks down at the scattered papers at our feet, which he kicked through on his way to us. “It was him. Asshole.”

Artie puts his arms around Wolf’s neck. Wolf gently touches the back of my son’s head. “Did your daddy scare you?”

Artie shakes his head. “Malcolm’s not my daddy. Mommy says I don’t got a daddy.”

Wolf freezes. His face is still twisted with rage, his body tensed. That’s only a shell, the lingering remnants of emotions as he draws inside himself to question everything he thought he knew.

I’m sure he filled in the gaps in what little I’ve told him, that he assumed I got married to Malcolm very shortly after leaving town. That I got pregnant by Malcolm and had Artie. That would be a tight timeline but since he doesn’t know the exact dates, it’s possible for it to have worked out like that.

The house of lies begins to crumble.

But how can I tell him?

When he broke up with me, he broke my heart. He made me feel like I was nothing to him. I couldn’t bear to stay there any longer and Dad had been wanting me to get out of Helena for some time. My aunt and uncle were willing to take me in, to see me out of the town and into the city, so I went. And it was while I was living with them, mostly alone day after day because they both worked long hours, that I found out I was pregnant.

For weeks, I was torn, deliberating on whether or not to tell him. The child was his. Didn’t he have the right to know?

But he had pushed me away. Made it clear we had no future together. So what future did I think my child would have if I went back to Wolf to tell him? Would he even care? Would I be signing up for more pain for not just me, but the unborn baby growing inside of me?

I was angry, but it wasn’t a decision made out of anger. It was what seemed logical.

I pressed on. I moved out of my aunt and uncle’s place. I started baking out of my apartment’s tiny kitchen, then bought the bakery. I focused on setting my son up for a better life than what I’d had. It was only after a few years that I met Malcolm and started down the long path that would bring me right back to Helena in the end.

I could tell him right now. I could fill in the gaps for him. But it’s not the right time. Not when he’s worked up and unlikely to listen or understand. If there’s going to be a right time, it’s going to be later. Especially now Malcolm has made it clear he’s going to fight me every step of the way.

“Wolf.” I set my hand on his cheek to give him something to focus on. He turns his eyes to mine. They’re like blue swords, cutting through the bullshit, through my veil of bravado, slicing straight to the heart of me. I can tell he doesn’t suspect that he’s Artie’s father. He thinks there are other aspects to the story. That doesn’t matter, not right now.

“He’s gone,” I say. “Malcolm’s gone. It’s okay.”

“It ain’t okay,” he snaps. “He’s gone for now. He’ll come back.”

“No, he’s gone for good,” I insist. “I told him not to come back.”

“You think lawyers like him get successful because they listen to what others tell them to do?” He shakes his head. “Hell, no.”

“Can we drop it?” I switch to pleading. If this goes on, he’ll see how truly rattled I am. These MC men, they aren’t the best at impulse control. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if Malcolm was able to use his connections to cause Wolf trouble.

Wolf growls again.

Artie blinks up at him. Wolf stops growling and looks down. The harsh lines carved onto his face by anger slowly fade out, like a river stone softened by running water and time. Once more I feel something soften inside me when I see them together.

“Well, I’m here now. Came to do some yard work. I see I’m late to the party.”

“You can also see there’s still plenty to do.” I know there’s a risk that Malcolm will come back and see him. At the same time, I want him here in case my husband does come back. It’s all very confusing for me.

Artie wriggles around in Wolf’s arms and he bends down to let him go. Artie wipes the rest of the tears from his face and grabs Wolf’s hand, and then mine. “Let’s play!” he insists.

“So much for that,” Wolf says, and I have to smile. When did he turn into such a pushover?

My son takes us over to where he has his figurines spread out. He hands me a panda and Wolf gets, predictably, a wolf. He begins to explain what the game is, the story that he’s made up to act out with the toys. Even while I’m listening to his sweet voice, my ears are pricked to pick up on any potential Mercedes Benz engine sounds. I have a feeling like cold, wet fingers on my spine, a dread that this is only the beginning and things are going to get much worse before they get better.

If they ever get better.

Chapter 9

Wolf