Chapter Twelve
Wolf
T he sound of my phone clicking off feels louder in the quiet of my room at the clubhouse. I stare at it momentarily, her voice still echoing in my head. It's been a while since I let someone in like that—since I wanted to. Janelle has this way of making the walls I've spent years building feel more like paper than steel.
I glance over at the clock on the wall. Midnight. I should be asleep, but I’m sitting in the middle of my bed, absentmindedly flipping a knife in my hand. It’s an old habit that calms me when my brain refuses to shut up. Right now? It’s going a mile a minute.
“She makes you soft, Wolf,” I mutter, shaking my head at myself. But even as I say it, the words have no malice. If anything, there’s a strange comfort in knowing someone like her exists—someone who sees through all my rough edges and still chooses to stick around. Not out of obligation or pity but because she wants to.
The door creaks open, and Tank pops his head in. His leather vest is half-off, and he’s holding a beer in one hand like it’s an extension of him. “You talking to yourself again?” he drawls, smirking like the smartass he is.
“Get lost,” I say without any real heat, flipping the knife once more before catching it by the handle.
“Trouble sleeping?” He steps inside anyway, plopping down on the edge of my bed uninvited.
“Nope,” I lie, twirling the knife again.
He eyes me momentarily, his smirk fading into something more genuine. “You’ve been different lately.”
“Thanks for noticing,” I deadpan, not looking at him.
“I’m serious.” He tips his beer back and takes a long swig before continuing. “You’re not as much of a hardass. You smile more. I even laughed the other day. Thought maybe the world was ending, but nah, it’s just you.”
I roll my eyes, but his words hit closer to home than I care to admit. “Maybe I’ve got a secret stash of dad jokes I’ve been practicing,” I shoot back.
He raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Yeah, right. Is this about that woman? Janelle?”
The mention of her name sends a jolt through me, and I hate how easy it is for him to read my reaction. “What about her?” I ask, trying to sound casual but probably failing miserably.
“She’s got you all twisted up,” he says with a lazy grin like he's enjoying every second of this. “You don’t talk about anyone the way you talk about her. Hell, you barely talk about anyone at all.”
I glare at him, but he just keeps grinning like the smug bastard he is. “I talk plenty.”
“Sure,” he agrees sarcastically. “About work, bounties, and how much you hate pineapple on pizza. But this? This is different.”
I let out a long sigh, flipping the knife one last time before setting it down on the nightstand. “She’s been through a lot,” I say quietly, my voice softer than intended. “And she’s still standing. That’s something.”
Tank nods, surprising me by not making another snarky comment. “Sounds like someone worth sticking around for.”
“She’s got kids,” I blurt out, like that explains everything.
“So?” he asks, shrugging. “You like kids?”
“Not really,” I admit with a half-smile. “But hers... they’re a part of her. And I think I could get used to them.”
Tank whistles low, leaning back against the wall with an exaggerated look of shock. “Look at you, Wolf. Thinking about playing stepmom already.”
“Shut up,” I can feel heat creeping up my neck, and the last thing I need is him seeing me blush like some lovesick teenager.
But Tank doesn’t let up. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his beer dangling from his fingers. “You like her.”
“Of course, I like her,” I snap, maybe too quickly. “She’s smart, strong, and she doesn’t take crap from anyone. What’s not to like?”
“No, no.” He shakes his head, pointing at me with the neck of his beer bottle. “You like her.”
"Are we back in junior high, Tank?" I try to sound annoyed.
He snorts, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re dodging the question, which means I’m right. Admit it, Wolf. You’ve got it bad.”
I groan, running a hand over my face. “Fine. Whatever. I like her, okay? Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.” He grins like he just won the lottery. “Man, this is gonna be fun to watch.”
I grab the nearest pillow and chuck it at him. He catches it easily, laughing as he tosses it back onto the bed.
“Are we going to have pillow fights and braid each other’s hair now?” As he rubs his hand over his bald head, laughing. “All jokes aside,” he says, his tone softening slightly. “She seems good for you. You deserve that, Wolf.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond. Tank isn’t usually one for heartfelt moments, so when they happen, they hit hard.
“Thanks,” I manage to say after a beat, my voice quieter than intended. Tank just nods, taking another swig of his beer before standing up.
“Don’t screw it up, though,” he says casually, but there’s an edge of seriousness in his tone. “Women like that don’t come around often.”
I know he’s right. “Noted. Now get out of my room before I start charging rent.”
He smirks, tipping his beer at me in a mock salute. “Night, Wolf.”
“Night, Tank,” I mutter as he shuts the door behind him.
The room falls quiet again, but it feels less suffocating this time. I lean back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling and trying to process whatever is happening inside me. Tank’s words replay in my mind—she seems good for you.
Good for me. The idea feels foreign and almost laughable. People like me don’t get “good.” We get chaos, scars, and excuses to keep people at arm’s length. But Janelle… she’s different. She makes me want to try. To be better. Not just for her but for myself, too.
I groan and grab my phone again, staring at the screen like it holds all the answers to my messed-up thoughts. My thumb hovers over her name in my contacts list. I could call her—hear her voice again, maybe even tell her some of this swirling mess in my head. But what if I scare her off? What if she doesn’t feel the same?
“Damn it, Wolf,” I mutter under my breath. “You’ve faced down armed men without flinching, and here you are, scared of a phone call.”
Before I can chicken out, I hit the call button. The phone rings twice, and my heart races as if I am about to jump out of a plane without a parachute. On the third ring, she answers.
“Onyx?” she says, slightly surprised but not unhappy. “Hey. Everything okay?”
I clear my throat, trying to sound casual and not like an idiot. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. Just... couldn’t sleep.”
There’s a pause on her end, and I hear faint shuffling in the background. “Same here,” she admits softly. “Chloe had a nightmare earlier. Took me a while to get her settled.”
My chest tightens at the thought of her dealing with that alone. “She okay now?” I ask.
“She’s fine,” Janelle says with a small laugh that’s more tired than anything else. “She’s tougher than she looks.”
“Must run in the family trait passed on from her mom.” There’s a pause, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped, but then she laughs softly. The kind of laugh makes my chest feel lighter like maybe I said the right thing for once.
But then Janelle speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”
I let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of my neck even though she couldn’t see me. “Not really. Most of the time, I just wing it.”
“Well,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice now, “you’re doing a pretty good job tonight.”
That warmth spreads through my chest again, and for once, I’m not fighting it. “Glad to know I’m not completely screwing this up.”
“You could never screw this up,” she says softly, and those five little words hit me like a freight train.
I look down at my hand, balled up on my lap. It's like I'm trying to hold onto something. My voice is softer than usual when I reply, "That means a lot to me."
There's a brief silence on the call, and I feel my anxiety rising. Did I say too much? Did what I said sound strange? Just as I start to worry, Janelle's voice breaks through the quiet
“I have to tell you that you mean a lot to me, Onyx,” she says quietly, her words steady but laced with vulnerability. “More than I think I’ve let myself admit, especially since this is extremely new territory.”
My throat goes dry, and I forget how to form words for a moment. My heart hammers in my chest, louder than the silence stretching between us. I know it's my turn to say something, but all I can manage is a weak "Yeah?"
Smooth, Wolf. Real smooth.
Janelle laughs softly, but it’s nothing but warmth, no malice. “Yeah, Onyx, I was with my husband for so long. I never knew that I could even feel this way about someone. Let alone… another woman.” Her voice dips into something shy, almost unsure as if she’s afraid of saying too much or scaring me off, but there’s a strength in her honesty that takes my breath away.
“You’re not alone in that,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees as if sitting up will somehow ground me. “This is new for me too… in its way.”
“Really?” she asks, sounding genuinely surprised. “You? I figured you’d have this whole thing down to an art.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head even though she can’t see me. “Hardly. I’ve had what you would call relationships, some hook-ups, sure, but this... this feels different.” I pause, searching for the right words and hoping I don’t sound like a complete fool. “With you, I want to try—not just go through the motions or keep things safe.”
She’s quiet momentarily, and I can hear her breathing on the other end of the line. It’s steady but slower now, as if she’s processing what I’ve just said.
“I get that,” she finally says, her voice soft but certain. “I feel it, too. Like I’m not just surviving anymore, you know? With you, it’s like... I can breathe again. Like maybe I deserve to be happy.”
Those words hit me harder than I expected, and I forgot how to respond for a second. We have helped so many people and families before, but the thought of being someone who could make her feel that way—like she deserves happiness—makes the walls I’ve built around myself crack a little more.
“You do deserve it,” I say firmly, leaning back against the headboard. “You and your kids. All of you deserve to feel safe and happy.”
Janelle lets out a shaky breath, and I can tell she’s trying not to get emotional. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“Don’t thank me,” I reply quickly, feeling awkward under the weight of her gratitude. “I’m just stating facts.”
She laughs softly, and the sound eases some of the tension in my chest, “Maybe when all of this is over with, and my ex-husband is no longer a threat, we can see how this thing between us works,” she finishes, her voice tinged with cautious hope. “If you’re willing to stick around for all the chaos that comes with me and my kids.”
“Janelle,” I say, my tone serious enough to make her pause. “Chaos doesn’t scare me. Hell, I live in it. And your chaos? It’s nothing compared to what I’ve seen. Besides...” I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself before I say something I can’t take back. “You and your kids aren’t chaos to me. You’re... life. Something real. Something worth fighting for.”
The silence on the other end is heavy—not uncomfortable, but thick with unspoken emotions that neither of us knows how to articulate. Finally, Janelle speaks, her voice trembling slightly. “You have no idea what that means to me.”
“I think I do,” I reply softly, letting the words hang between us.
“Onyx,” she starts, then pauses. I can hear her shifting, maybe lying down or getting more comfortable. “I don’t want to keep you up too late.”
“I called you,” I remind her with a small laugh. “So technically, this is my fault.”
She chuckles, and it’s a sound I wish I could bottle up and keep with me forever. “Fair point. But seriously, you’ve got your stuff to deal with. You don’t need to lose sleep over me.”
“Janelle,” I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. “If talking to you keeps me awake, I’ll gladly trade sleep for this.”
“You know,” she says, her tone lighter now, “I never thought I’d find myself having late-night heart-to-hearts with a biker named Wolf.”
I chuckle at that, shaking my head. “Yeah, well, I never thought I’d be spilling my feelings to a woman who once threw a pot of spaghetti at her ex-husband’s head. Life’s funny like that.”
Janelle laughs, the kind of laugh that starts soft but builds like she can’t help herself. “Hey, for the record, he deserved it.”
“Oh, I have no doubt,” I say quickly, grinning. “Honestly, I respect the hell out of it. Spaghetti as a weapon? That takes creativity.”
“It was all I had at the moment,” she says, her voice still warm with laughter. “I wasn’t exactly in a position to be picky.”
“Well, remind me never to piss you off when there’s pasta in the vicinity,” I tease.
She snorts—a full-on snort—and I swear it’s the most adorable sound I’ve ever heard. “Noted,” she says. “But don’t worry. You’re safe... for now.”
“Good to know,” I say lightly, but my voice softens as I continue, “because I’d hate to lose my chance with you over a poorly timed pasta mishap.”
There’s a pause on her end, and I can almost hear her smiling through the phone. “Your chance, huh?” she asks, her voice teasing but gentle.
“Yeah,” I admit, feeling more vulnerable than I have in years. “My chance to see where this could go. My chance to be the kind of person you and your kids deserve.”
“Onyx,” she murmurs, her tone shifting to something deeper, something more serious. “You already are.”
Those words hit me square in the chest, and for a moment, all I could do was sit there, clutching the phone like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. Janelle doesn’t know it, but she’s breaking down walls I didn’t even realize I still had up.