Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Meghan
I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white as I scan the rearview mirror for the hundredth time.
The roads of Tallahassee stretch out behind me, empty in the midday sun, but I can't shake the feeling of being watched.
It's been a month since the club party, a month of relative peace, but the anxiety coiled in my gut refuses to unwind.
Tindra's voice pulls me from my paranoid thoughts. "Mom, you okay?"
She's sitting in the passenger seat, her black hair catching the sunlight streaming through the windshield.
I force a smile, trying to keep the worry from my face. "Yeah, baby. Just thinking."
"About what?" She tilts her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes—eyes so much like mine, it makes my heart ache.
I hesitate, not wanting to burden her with my fears. "Just... life. How things have changed."
Tindra nods, a small furrow appearing between her brows. "Good changes, right?"
"Mostly," I admit, easing off the gas as we approach a red light. "It's just... a lot to get used to."
The light turns green, and I accelerate, the familiar purr of the engine oddly comforting.
As we drive, I can't help but reflect on the past month.
The club party feels like a lifetime ago, yet the memory of it still sends a shiver down my spine.
The faces of the Raiders of Valhalla, the way they welcomed my daughter with open arms, it was more than I ever dared hope for.
"Mom?" Tindra's voice breaks through my thoughts again.
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"Do you think... do you think we're safe here?"
The question catches me off guard, and I glance at her, seeing the worry etched on her young face.
It's a look no child should wear, and guilt gnaws at me for putting her through all of this.
I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "I think... I think we're safer than we've been in a long time. The club, they're good people. They've got our backs."
"But you're still worried," she observes, always too perceptive for her own good.
I can't deny it. "Old habits die hard, baby. I've spent a long time looking over my shoulder. It's not easy to stop."
Tindra nods, her gaze drifting to the window. "I get it. But... I like it here, Mom. It feels like home."
Her words warm something inside me, a feeling I've been trying to ignore.
Because she's right—Tallahassee, the club, Tor... it all feels dangerously close to home.
And home is something I've learned can be ripped away in an instant.
"I'm glad you're happy here," I say softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "That's all I've ever wanted for you."
We lapse into silence as I navigate the familiar streets until I’m turning down our back road, and then our driveway.
The new house looms ahead, a beautiful cedar structure that still feels too good to be true.
As I pull into the driveway, I can't help but marvel at how different our lives are now compared to just a month ago.
"Hey, Mom?" Tindra says as I cut the engine. "Can we have a movie night tonight? Just us?"
I smile, genuine this time. "Absolutely. You pick the movie, I'll make the popcorn."
We climb out of the car, and I watch as Tindra bounds up the steps to the front door.
She looks so at ease, so carefree, and I wish I could borrow some of that innocence, even for a moment.
Inside, the house is cool and quiet.
I drop my keys on the side table, my eyes automatically sweeping the room for anything out of place.
Old habits, indeed.
"I'm gonna go change," Tindra calls, already halfway up the stairs.
"Okay, honey. I'll start on dinner."
In the kitchen, I busy myself with meal prep, the routine motions calming my frayed nerves.
As I chop vegetables, my mind wanders to Tor.
His steady presence has been a constant this past month, a rock in the turbulent sea of my emotions.
Yet, even as I feel myself drawn to him, a part of me resists, afraid to fully trust, to fully let go.
The sound of the front door opening has me freezing, knife poised mid-air.
My heart rate spikes, adrenaline flooding my system.
Tor's deep voice carries through the house, and I let out a shaky breath. "Meghan?"
"In the kitchen," I call back, setting down the knife with trembling hands.
He appears in the doorway, all broad shoulders and kind eyes. "Hey," he says softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Thought I'd stop by, see how you're doing."
I manage a smile in return, even as my pulse continues to race. "We're good. Just about to start dinner. Want to join us?"
Tor steps closer, his gaze searching my face. "You sure? You look a little... tense."
I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears. "That obvious, huh?"
He reaches out, his hand warm on my arm. "Talk to me, Meghan. What's going on?"
I bite my lip, warring with myself.
Part of me wants to confide in him, to share the weight of my fears.
But another part, the part that's been hurt and betrayed too many times, holds back.
"It's nothing," I say finally, turning back to the cutting board. "Just one of those days, you know?"
Tor doesn't buy it for a second.
He gently turns me to face him, his hands on my shoulders. "Meghan, I know you're still getting used to all this. To us. But you're safe here. You and Tindra both. I promise you that."
I look up into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there, the depth of feeling that both thrills and terrifies me. "I know," I whisper. "I'm trying to believe it. It's just... hard sometimes."
He pulls me into his arms then, and I allow myself to sink into his embrace, just for a moment.
His strength envelops me, and I feel some of the tension leave my body.
"One day at a time," he murmurs into my hair. "That's all we can do."
I nod against his chest, fighting back tears.
When I pull away, I manage a more genuine smile. "Thank you. For being here. For... doing all that you’ve done."
Tor cups my face in his hands, his touch impossibly gentle. "Always," he says, and the word holds a weight, a promise that makes my heart stutter.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs breaks the moment, and we step apart just as Tindra enters the kitchen.
"Dad!" she exclaims, her face lighting up. "Are you staying for dinner?"
Tor grins, ruffling her hair as she hugs him. "If that's okay with you."
"Of course it is," I say, turning back to the stove to hide the flush in my cheeks. "Hope you like stir fry."
As we settle into the familiar routine of cooking and setting the table, I feel some of my earlier anxiety fade.
Watching Tor and Tindra laugh together, seeing the easy affection between them, I allow myself to hope.
Hope that maybe, just maybe, we've found somewhere we can truly belong.
But even as warmth fills my chest, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers a warning.
Don't get too comfortable, it says.
Don't let your guard down.
Because the moment you do, that's when everything falls apart.
I push the thought away, focusing instead on the here and now.
On my daughter's smile, on Tor's steady presence, on the home we're slowly building together.
One day at a time, I remind myself.
As we sit down to eat, the conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and the clinking of our forks and knives.
I find myself relaxing, drawn into the warmth of family—a concept that still feels foreign, yet increasingly precious.
"So, how was work today?" Tor asks, his eyes meeting mine over his plate.
I shrug, twirling noodles around my fork. "Busy, but good. Beans I just need to get us away from him.
My foot never leaves the gas pedal as we careen over a median, the car bouncing violently.
Tindra's voice is shaky, thick with tears. "Mom, are you okay?"
I can't take my eyes off the road, can't slow down.
My hands grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles are white. "I'm fine, sweetie. We're going to be okay. Just... just hold on."
My mind races faster than the car.
Where can we go?
Who can we trust?
Can we get to the clubhouse without him following us?
What if he hurts someone else trying to get to us?