Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Meghan
I stare at the clubhouse door, my heart pounding in my chest.
The familiar Viking logo painted on the worn wood seems to mock me, daring me to step inside.
Here I am, Tindra by my side, about to plunge back into a world I thought I'd left behind forever.
"Mom?" Tindra's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Are you okay?"
I force a smile, trying to hide the turmoil churning inside me. "Yeah, sweetie. Just... remembering."
Her brow furrows with concern. "We don't have to go in if you don't want to."
For a moment, I'm tempted to take her up on that offer.
To turn around, head back to our peaceful home tucked away in the woods, and pretend this invitation never happened.
But I can see the excitement dancing in Tindra's eyes, barely contained beneath her worry for me.
I can't deny her this chance to connect with her father's world, no matter how much it scares me.
"No, it's fine," I say, squeezing her hand. "Let's go in."
Taking a deep breath, I push open the door.
The familiar scent of leather, beer, and cigarette smoke washes over me, and suddenly it's like I never left.
The main room is packed, bodies pressed together as music thrums through the air.
Laughter and shouts mingle with the clinking of bottles and the sharp crack of pool balls colliding.
Tindra's eyes go wide as she takes it all in. "Wow," she breathes. "This is so cool!"
I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm, even as anxiety gnaws at my gut. "Yeah, it's something all right."
We make our way through the crowd, and I can feel eyes on us.
Some faces I recognize, weathered by time but still familiar.
Others are new, young prospects eyeing us with curiosity.
I keep Tindra close, my protective instincts on high alert.
"Meghan!" A familiar voice cuts through the noise, and I turn to see Starla pushing her way toward us. "Holy shit, you actually came!"
She wraps me in a tight hug, and for a moment, I let myself relax into the embrace of my old friend.
When we part, she turns to Tindra with a wide grin.
"And look at you, all grown up!" She ruffles Tindra's hair affectionately. "Last time I saw you, you were knee-high to a grasshopper."
Tindra laughs, ducking away from Starla's hand. "I'm not that little anymore!"
"No, you sure aren't," Starla agrees, her eyes flickering to me.
I turn to see Tor making his way towards us, the crowd parting before him like the Red Sea.
My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him.
Seeing him here, in the club, with the brothers around him brings back a mountain of memories.
But his presence is as commanding as ever, filling the room with an almost tangible energy.
His eyes lock on mine, and for a moment, the world falls away.
All the years between us, all the pain and anger and regret, seem to condense into this single, charged moment.
Then his gaze shifts to Tindra, and his face softens into a smile that makes my heart ache.
"There's my girl," he says, his voice gruff with emotion.
Tindra hesitates for just a second before throwing herself into his arms. "Dad!"
I watch as Tor lifts her off her feet, holding her close.
The love between them is obvious, and I feel a pang of guilt for keeping them apart for so long.
But I push it aside, reminding myself that I did what I thought was best at the time.
When Tor sets Tindra down, he turns to me. "Meg," he says, his voice low. "You have no idea how much you've been on my mind these last few days."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
There's so much I want to say, so many questions I need answered.
But this isn't the time or place for that conversation.
"Come on," Tor says, placing a hand on Tindra's shoulder. "There are some people I want you to meet."
As we follow him through the crowd, I can't help but marvel at how easily Tindra fits into this world.
She moves with a confidence that surprises me, chatting easily with the people Tor introduces her to.
I hang back, watching, caught between pride and a gnawing fear.
We reach a table where several familiar faces are gathered.
Runes, the club president and Tor’s father, sits at the head, his weathered face breaking into a rare smile as we approach.
Beside him is his wife, Fern, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of our arrival.
"Well, well," Runes says, his voice a low rumble. "Look who finally decided to grace us with their presence."
I stiffen at his words, but Tor places a calming hand on my back. "Dad," he says, a warning in his tone. "Be nice."
Runes chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. "Just teasing, son. It's good to see you both." He turns to Tindra, his expression softening. "And you must be my granddaughter. I'm your vaarin , your grandfather."
Tindra's eyes light up. "Really? I have a grandfather?"
The excitement in her voice makes my chest tighten.
How much has she missed out on because of my choices?
As Tor continues the introductions, I find myself drifting, lost in memories and doubts.
The noise of the party fades into the background as I struggle with the weight of my decisions.
"Hey," Fern's voice cuts through my thoughts.
I blink, realizing she's moved to stand beside me. "You look like you could use a drink."
I laugh, the sound a bit hollow even to my own ears. "That obvious, huh?"
She shrugs, a knowing look in her eyes. "Let's just say I recognize that deer-in-headlights look. Come on, I'll get you a beer."
As we make our way to the bar, I cast a glance back at Tindra.
She's deep in conversation with Tor and Runes, her face animated as she listens to whatever story they're telling.
She looks... happy.
At home.
"She'll be fine," Fern says, following my gaze. "Tor won't let anything happen to her."
I nod, accepting the beer she hands me. "I know. It's just... a lot to take in."
Fern leans against the bar, studying me over the rim of her glass. "You want to talk about it?"
For a moment, I consider brushing her off.
But the concern in her eyes is genuine, and suddenly, I find myself longing for a friendly ear.
"I don't know if I made the right choice," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "Keeping her away for so long. She seems so happy here, and I... I robbed her of that."
Fern's expression softens. "You did what you thought was best," she says. "We all make choices we regret sometimes. The important thing is, you're here now."
I take a long swig of my beer, letting the cold liquid soothe my nerves. "Yeah, but how long until shit hits the fan? This world... it's dangerous. I left for a reason."
"Things have changed," Fern says, her voice low. "It's not perfect, but it's better than it was."
I want to believe her, but years of fear and suspicion are hard to shake.
Before I can respond, a commotion near the door catches my attention.
Two men in suits have entered, their presence immediately setting the room on edge.
These aren’t the kind of men who normally hang out around the club, at least not when I was around. "Who are they?"
Fern's expression turns grim.
"Business associates," she says, her tone making it clear that's all the explanation I'm going to get. "Don't worry about it."
But I can't help but worry.
This is exactly the kind of thing I was afraid of, the darkness that always seemed to linger at the edges of club life.
I scan the room for Tindra, relaxing slightly when I spot her still at the table with Tor and Runes, seemingly oblivious to the new arrivals.
Fern and I chat for a while, but eventually, we break apart when Tor flags me over.
I stick with Tindra while Tor and his father go speak with the two men in suits.
Her light gray eyes wide as saucers. "This place is... intense."
I can't help but smile at her reaction, remembering my own first time stepping into this world.
Tindra looks more excited than nervous in her Rolling Stones t-shirt and jean shorts, her dark hair falling in soft curls around her face.
The natural makeup we applied earlier makes her look older, more mature, and for a moment I feel a pang of nostalgia for my little girl.
"Yeah, it is," I say, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.
My own leather jacket creaks as I move, the metal buttons catching the light. "How did the conversation go with your father and grandfather?"
Tindra shrugs, her gaze darting around the room, taking in the crowded tables, the long bar with its intricate carvings, and the massive club logo painted on the far wall.
"Good, I like it here," she says, her voice hushed with awe, "But, is it always this busy?"
I shake my head, guiding her further into the room. "Not normally. They're having a party tonight."
Her face lights up. "A party? Are they celebrating us coming home?"
I can't help but laugh at her enthusiasm. "Maybe," I say, though I'm not entirely sure myself. "But I wouldn't count on it."
"That's still awesome," Tindra says, practically bouncing on her toes. "I can't wait to meet everyone!"
As we make our way through the crowd, I can't shake the feeling of unease that's settled in my stomach.
It's been years since I've been here, and while some things are achingly familiar, others feel completely foreign.
I spot a few new faces among the patched members, their cuts pristine and lacking the wear of the older guys.
"Stay close," I murmur to Tindra, more out of habit than any real concern.
The club may be rough around the edges, but I know they'd never let anything happen to her.
Still, old habits die hard.
Tor comes back over to us, brushing his lips against my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. "I’m so glad you’re both here tonight," he murmurs, before smirking down at our not so little girl.
My heart constricts as I watch him adore her.
Tindra's face is alight with joy, and the guilt crashes over me like a tidal wave. I should have done this sooner.
Tor shifts Tindra in his arms, his bottle-green eyes twinkling with excitement. "Hey, princess, I introduced you to your vaarin , but not your mummo ."
Tindra’s brows furrow in confusion. “What’s a mummo ?”
Tor laughs, “Your grandmother. You also have an uncle and two aunts to meet tonight as well.”
I follow as Tor walks Tindra toward a nearby table, my heart racing.
This is it.
The moment Tindra meets her extended family.
I take a deep breath, calming my nerves.
"Tindra," he says, his voice filled with pride, "I'd like you to meet some more very special people." He gestures to a weathered man with a commanding presence. "This lovely lady is your mummo ,"
I watch Tindra closely, noting how she unconsciously leans into Tor, seeking comfort in this unfamiliar situation.
Tor's introductions continue. "That's Arik, your uncle," he says, pointing to a lanky teenager slouched in his chair. "And these two are Rev and Dalla, your aunts."
Tindra's brow furrows adorably as she processes this information. "I have an uncle and two aunts that are like... my age?" she asks, her voice a mix of confusion and excitement.
Fern's warm laugh rings out, breaking the tension. "Well, not quite, sweetie. Arik here is 17, a couple years older than you. But Rev and Dalla are your age. You'll probably be going to school together. You might even be in the same classes."
Rev pipes up, grinning at Tindra. "It's pretty rad, right?"
Runes chuckles, shaking his head. "Rad? Who knows when the slang goes and comes these days."
I can't help but smile at the easy banter, feeling some of my anxiety dissipate.
Tindra seems to be holding her own, her natural curiosity taking over as she looks around the crowded clubhouse.
"What about all those people wearing the leather vests?" she asks, her observant nature shining through.
Runes leans forward, his voice taking on a hint of pride. "Those are called cuts, little one. They represent the people within our club."
Tindra nods, processing this new information.
Her gaze continues to roam the room. "And what about all the other ladies and kids?"
Before Runes can answer, Arik jumps in. "Some of the ladies are ol' ladies or wives of the bikers, some are their kids, and then some are hóras ."
I tense, knowing where this is going. Tindra's brow furrows again. "What's a hóra ?"
Fern shoots a glare at Arik that could melt steel, but it's Dalla who pipes up. "They're like women who don't have anyone that actually loves them, so they stay at the clubhouse and stir up a lot of trouble."
I can't help but laugh at the blunt explanation, and Fern joins in.
Runes runs a hand down his face, looking exasperated.
"These two definitely have your personality," I say to Fern, nudging her with my elbow.
She grins, unapologetic. "Oh, don't I know it."
Runes groans, his voice a mix of frustration and fondness. "Yeah, doesn't everyone know it?"
As the conversation flows around me, I watch Tindra.
She's soaking it all in, her eyes bright with curiosity and excitement.
For the first time since we arrived, I feel a sense of peace settling over me.
Rev and Dalla exchange a mischievous glance before turning to Fern. "Mom, can we show Tindra around?" Rev asks, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
Fern nods, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Go ahead, but behave yourselves."
The girls squeal with delight, and before I can blink, they're whisking Tindra away, their chatter fading as they disappear into the crowded clubhouse.
I watch them go, a mix of emotions swirling in my chest—pride, joy, and a twinge of anxiety.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Arik slipping away from the table.
Tor notices too, his brow furrowing. "Where's he running off to?" he asks, his voice low and tinged with suspicion.
Runes gives Tor a stern look, his weathered face creasing with disapproval.
"Probably to smoke some fuckin' weed," he growls, shaking his head.
I can't help but snort, remembering my own rebellious teenage years.
As the conversation lulls, I feel like there are so many questions lingering in the air.
Fern, never one to beat around the bush, leans forward, her eyes darting between Tor and me.
"So," she starts, her voice casual but laced with curiosity, "what's going on between you two? Obviously, you're trying to make things work with Tindra... but what does it mean for y'all?"
I freeze, my heart hammering in my chest.
We haven't really discussed this, not in concrete terms.
I look at Tor, unsure of what he'll say.
But Tor doesn't hesitate.
His hand finds mine under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We're together," he states, his voice firm and unwavering. "Plain and simple."
The words wash over me, and I feel a warmth blooming in my chest.
It's like a weight I didn't even know I was carrying has been lifted.
I squeeze Tor's hand back, a smile tugging at my lips.
"Yeah," I add, my voice soft but sure. "We are."
Internally, I'm marveling at how right this feels.
It's like there wasn't even a decision that needed to be made.
It's just... natural. As if all the years apart, all the pain and uncertainty, were leading us back to this moment.
Fern's face breaks into a wide grin. "Well, it's about damn time," she says, reaching across the table to pat my arm. "You two have been dancing around each other for far too long. It's nice to see you together, even after all these years."
I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in years. "Yeah, I guess we have," I admit, leaning into Tor's solid presence beside me.
As the conversation shifts to catching up on lost time, I find myself lost in thought.
This clubhouse, once a source of so much pain and fear, now feels different.
Not entirely comfortable, not yet, but... possible.
Like maybe, just maybe, I can push all of my bad memories aside to make new ones with my daughter and man.
The laughter, the clink of bottles, the low rumble of conversation.
It's all so achingly familiar, yet somehow different.
Changed, just like everything else has in these last fifteen years.
That's when I spot them again.
Now the two men are at the bar, out of place in their crisp suits amidst the sea of leather and denim.
One nurses a whiskey, his posture rigid and alert despite his seemingly relaxed position.
The other leans in close, speaking in low tones.
I nudge Tor, keeping my voice low. "Who are they?"
Tor follows my gaze, his expression darkening slightly. "The Irish," he says, his voice gruff. "Liam Mackenzie and his brother-in-law, Aleksandr Volkov."
My brow furrows. "Irish? What are they doing here?"
Tor takes a long pull from his beer before answering. "Club runs drugs for them now."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Drugs?
The club I remember steered clear of that shit.
But then again, the club I remember is long gone.
"A lot's changed in the last few years," I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.
Tor's hand finds mine under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We do what we have to," he says softly. "To survive. To thrive."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Part of me wants to rail against it, to demand answers, explanations.
But another part... another part understands.
This world, it's never been black and white.
And survival... well, sometimes survival means making hard choices.
Before I can dwell on it further, a whirlwind of excited energy descends upon our table.
Tindra, Rev, and Dalla, their faces flushed with excitement.
"Mom! Mom!" Tindra exclaims, practically bouncing on her toes. "Can I stay over at Rev and Dalla's tonight? Please? They want to have a sleepover!"
I blink, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift. "I... uh..."
Fern chuckles. "It's fine with me, as long as Meghan's okay with it."
Three pairs of hopeful eyes turn to me.
I hesitate for a moment, old instincts warring with the new reality I'm trying to embrace.
"Please, Mom?" Tindra pleads, her eyes wide and earnest. "It'll be so much fun!"
I look at her, really look at her.
She's so happy, so alive.
This is the childhood she deserves, the one I've always wanted for her.
Friends, family, a sense of belonging.
"Okay," I say finally, a smile breaking through. "Yeah, that's fine."
The girls erupt in squeals of delight, hugging each other and chattering excitedly about their plans.
I can't help but laugh at their enthusiasm.
"Just... behave, okay?" I add, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.
Tindra rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "We will, Mom. Promise!"
As I watch Tindra's retreating form, her laughter mingling with Rev and Dalla's, a wave of guilt washes over me.
My smile falters, and I feel a heaviness settle in my chest.
"You okay there, sweetheart?" Tor's deep voice rumbles beside me, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back.
I turn to him, struggling to find the right words. "I just... I can't help thinking about all the time we've lost. All the moments like this that Tindra missed out on."
Tor's eyes soften, and he pulls me closer. "Hey, don't do that to yourself. You did what you thought was best."
"Did I?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the noise of the clubhouse. "Look at her, Tor. She's thriving here. She has family, friends her own age. I kept her from all of this for so long."
I watch as Tindra animatedly talks with Arik, her face lit up with excitement.
It's a stark contrast to the quiet, reserved girl I've known for years.
"You protected her," Tor says firmly. "And now you're giving her this. That's what matters."
I shake my head, unconvinced. "But all those years..."
"Meghan," Tor interrupts, turning me to face him fully. "You can't change the past. But you're here now. I’m here now. That's what counts."
I nod, trying to let his words sink in.
But the guilt still gnaws at me, a persistent ache that won't quite let go.
"I just wish..." I start, then trail off, unsure how to finish the thought.
Tor waits patiently, his presence a steady anchor amid my swirling emotions.
"I wish I'd been brave enough to come back sooner," I finally admit, the words feeling like a confession. "To give her all of this earlier."