Chapter Ten
THE RIGGS PLACE sat on the edge of town, tucked behind a long stretch of oaks and a fence my daddy built himself back when I wasn’t tall enough to reach the top rail.
Morning light spilled through the branches, turning everything gold and soft at the edges.
A thin fog still clung to the ground, curling around tires and fence posts, and the smell of breakfast drifted across the yard before I even made it up the drive.
They were home.
I parked beside their RV, the old beast lookin’ like it still had a thousand miles of trouble and stories left in it, and killed the engine. The early air held that cool bite before the Carolina heat settled in, and somewhere inside the house, laughter rolled out low and familiar.
The second I opened the door, Ma’s voice rang out like she’d been waitin’ on the exact moment my boots hit the porch. “Calder Riggs, if that’s you, you wipe those damn boots before you track mud through my clean floor.”
Some things never changed.
“Nice to see you too, Ma,” I said, doin’ exactly what she told me anyway.
She stood in the kitchen with an apron tied tight at her waist, dark hair pulled back, still pretty as ever.
A wooden spoon stayed raised in her hand like a warning.
Daddy sat at the table, coffee mug in one hand, engine manual in the other, lookin’ exactly like he had my whole life.
Broad-shouldered. Weathered. Solid as a damn boulder.
“Look what the wind done dragged in,” he said without liftin’ his eyes.
“Wind’s got good taste,” I shot back.
Ma turned then, eyes lighting up, and before I could brace for it she wrapped me in a hug that smelled like flour and vanilla and home. “You look thin,” she said into my shoulder.
“I look the same,” I muttered. “You only saw me a month ago.”
“Then you looked thin last time too.” She smacked my arm and went back to stirrin’ whatever magic she had goin’ in that pot. “You stay for breakfast. Briar’s out back with the dogs.”
“Still feedin’ every stray in the county?” I asked Daddy.
He chuckled, deep and warm. “You know damn well that girl ain’t never quittin’.”
Right on cue, the screen door squeaked open and Briar strode in, dirt smudged across her cheek, a shepherd mix tailin’ her like a shadow. “Speak of the devil,” she said, kickin’ the door shut with her heel. “Ma, tell Daddy to quit lettin’ Spark drink his coffee.”
Daddy lifted his mug, innocent as sin. “He earned it.”
Briar rolled her eyes and hauled me into a hug. “Where you been, big brother?” She pulled back, grinnin’, long dark hair pulled loose, blue eyes bright. “You spend all your time at that bar.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Still herdin’ drunks and tryin’ to keep Gatsby from burnin’ the place down.”
She snorted. “You love it.” Then her grin sharpened. “Heard you got a new woman at the clubhouse.”
I groaned and dropped into a chair. “You been talkin’ to Lucy again?”
“Lucy talks to everybody.” Briar snagged a piece of bread off the counter like she was stealin’ it. “Word is, you been spendin’ a whole lotta time lookin’ in one direction lately.”
“Jesus,” I muttered. “You sound like Ma.”
Ma didn’t even turn around. “That’s ’cause she’s right. You got a tell, Calder. Always have.”
Daddy folded his paper and leveled that look at me, the one that said he’d heard every rumor twice and already dug the truth out from under it. “Ain’t one of the sweet butts, I hope. Don’t be a dumbass, boy.”
“Hells no,” I said quick. “The new woman. Lark. She was rescued from a cult. Club business.”
Daddy just nodded, understanding born of years patched in leather and loyalty. He didn’t ask questions that weren’t his to ask.
Briar smirked. “Heard you carried her out yourself. Real hero stuff.”
Ma set the eggs down hard enough to rattle the silverware. “You can chase ghosts all you want, Calder Riggs, but don’t you go chasin’ after a vulnerable woman unless you mean it.”
That stopped me cold.
“Who said anything about chasin’?”
“Nobody,” she said, sittin’ down. “Just a mother’s instinct.”
The room settled after that. The scrape of spoons. The soft whir of the ceiling fan. The dog floppin’ under Daddy’s chair. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just the kind of quiet that came when everyone at the table was lost in their own thoughts.
Daddy broke it. “You know,” he said, leanin’ back, “when I was your age, hell, younger even, I thought freedom was the road. Turns out, it’s just findin’ a woman worth comin’ home to.”
Ma smiled at him, soft and sure, like she’d heard it a thousand times and loved it every one.
Briar nudged my boot under the table. “Hear that, big brother? Might learn somethin’ if you’d ever sit still long enough.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Maybe you will too.”
But the truth settled heavy while we ate.
I’d always wanted what they had. Somethin’ unshakable.
Honest. My old man never once strayed from Ma, not even back when the clubhouse was wild and untamed.
I knew because I used to follow him at club parties, hidin’ behind coolers and stacks of tires, waitin’ to catch him flirtin’ or disappearin’ somewhere he shouldn’t.
He never did.
He’d have a drink, stay awhile, then come home to her.
He chose her. Every damn time.
I didn’t know if I’d ever find that, but I’d sworn I wouldn’t claim any woman until I did.
When breakfast wound down and the laughter eased into that warm Riggs-family lull, I hugged Ma, nodded to Daddy, kissed Briar’s forehead, and headed outside. I swung a leg over my bike, the leather seat still cool from the morning air, and fired it up.
The ride back felt different in the early light.
Softer. Slower. Like the world hadn’t fully woken yet. Sunlight cut through the trees in broken strips, warm against my shoulders. The Harley hummed beneath me, smooth and sure, carryin’ me down roads etched into muscle memory.
I should’ve felt settled.
I didn’t.
Breakfast had been too good. Ma fussin’. Daddy’s dry humor. Briar’s smart mouth. It filled a space in me I’d been pretendin’ wasn’t empty. The club gave me purpose. The bar gave me routine.
But my parents’ house?
That gave me peace.
And suddenly, peace didn’t feel like a luxury. It felt like a hunger I’d ignored too damn long.
Daddy and Ma had a love that could anchor a storm. And me? I wanted that. Always had. Just never thought I’d find it.
The road curved through the back fields, sunlight shimmerin’ across tall grass, turnin’ the world gold. I eased the bike slower, breathin’ in the warm air. It should’ve been enough. The morning. The road. The freedom I’d clung to my whole life.
But it wasn’t.
Every time I blinked, I saw her.
Standin’ under the glow of the clubhouse lights the night before. Chin high. Spine straight. Eyes burnin’ with that quiet, stubborn bravery of hers. A woman who shouldn’t have fit in my world and somehow did. A woman who looked at me like she wasn’t scared of a damn thing I could say or do.
A woman who’d already rooted herself somewhere deep.
By the time I pulled into the clubhouse, the air hung thick and warm, the kind of heat that promised a brutal afternoon. The place looked the same as always. Red siding. Black trim. Bikes lined up like loyal soldiers.
But somethin’ in me shifted the second I killed the engine.
I should’ve gone inside. Grabbed coffee. Let the noise drown me out. Instead, my eyes drifted to the stretch of woods behind the clubhouse. The same path where she’d walked beside me the night before.
Empty now. Quiet. Still.
But the pull was there. Sure. Tuggin’.
“Ghosts,” I muttered, shakin’ my head.
Hell. Maybe I wasn’t the one huntin’ anymore.
Maybe I was the one bein’ found.