Chapter 4
four
DARCY
The neatly trimmed Hawthorn bushes are in full bloom, lining the pristine walkway to a cheery yellow door. With both hands gripped onto Owen’s carrier, I have to place it on the ground so I have a free hand to ring the doorbell. Pulling in a nervous breath, I pick up the baby again, working my lip as footsteps approach. Eleanor Marks, my old bible study leader, has one of the best hearts. She focuses on being a good human and Christian. I was sad when Dad insisted we start attending a different church in the next town over.
I didn’t give her much notice to prepare. In a moment of anxiety, I texted her a few hours ago to ask if she had any availability at her in-home daycare. Surprised as she was to hear from me, she was more than welcoming.
Eleanor opens the door with a smile, her light hair pulled up in a granny bun that’s started to gray since the last time I saw her. She’s wearing a calf length flowy skirt, something only the more progressive churches allow. At least she’s able to move around easily to attend to the children. Mom used to make me pin the slits in my ankle length denim skirts so the back of my calves didn’t show.
Eleanor’s hazel eyes automatically flick down to the carrier, where Owen is napping, then back up to me. In a low sweet voice she says, “We’ll have to keep it down, I’m afraid. The little ones are all resting.”
“The baby should be out for a bit,” I assure her.
The house smells like Pine-Sol, the floor in the nearby playroom still drying from a recent cleaning. She leads me to a tidy living room, free of any children’s toys or baby gear, leaving the bifold door open. I peek inside the next area to see two white cribs lining the walls and a toddler starfishing on a small cot. Lullaby music comes from a Bluetooth speaker. “Well, you saw the playroom as we walked in. One room for sleeping, one for play,” she informs me.
“Where do you put the infants for tummy time,” I ask.
“They have a special area in the playroom. My sister comes in during the busiest time to give me a hand, too.”
I look around the room awkwardly, not sure what to ask. The equipment is used but in good condition, and everything is clean.
“How are your parents,” she asks politely. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen them in forever.”
“They’re fine,” I say with forced enthusiasm, and wonder what she was told. I ran into someone I knew from church while pumping gas a few days ago, and was asked about bible college. I guess my parents had to come up with some sort of story to save face.
I shake off the bad feelings, wanting to focus on the here and now. “I believe you said you take babies at six weeks? That’s this Thursday.”
“Yes, Maisy Smith decided to stay home, so I have an unexpected opening. Do you know if you’ll be working in the city?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know yet. I just signed up with the employment agency in town. They told me they’ll find something soon,” I apologize. Almost everyone in town commutes an hour back and forth each day, unless you’re lucky enough to get a job at White Dog, like I threw away.
She uncrosses her legs and stands, “If you’d like to leave the deposit and first week’s tuition, he’s welcome to start full-time Monday,” she offers as she walks over to a grey plastic file box on an end table. Rifling through it, she pulls out a stack of paperwork. “I’ll need all of this filled out, his shot records, and the supplies listed on the first page.”
I scan the list to look for any questions that might pop up: diapers, wipes, pacifiers, bibs, swaddle blankets, two changes of clothes, and prepared bottles. It looks easy enough. “I’m the only person who’s ever fed him,” I caution.
“It takes a bit to get used to being with us, but Owen is so young he’ll adjust quickly,” she assures me. Stopping for a moment as if to think, she suggests, “Why don’t you bring him for a bit Thursday and Friday to help him get used to daycare? Just an hour or two?”
“That sounds amazing,” I say. I’ll feel better starting off slow. I haven’t left him with anyone yet. I didn’t even send him to the nursery when he was born so I could sleep.
“Make sure you read the rules regarding parking in the neighborhood,” Eleanor warns. “My neighbors get antsy when my parents block driveways.”
“I was going to ask if I can park here and walk into town? I hate parallel parking,” I confess. “I’ll only be about an hour.”
“Oh that’s more than fine.”
I leave her with a stack of bills and a promise to drop him off on Thursday. I know Eleanor will take good care of Owen while I work. She was always very kind natured and sweet. I just need to find a job that’ll be a steady stream of income, and then I can get a place for us.
At least I have some funds. I was able to accrue some paid time off at work, so I have two weeks of my maternity leave paid, the funds carefully hidden in the last place Seth would ever look…the diaper bag. Left to his own devices, Seth would go buy Xbox games and overpriced sneakers with no regard for the bills that were due or the baby’s needs. It’s a tiny nest egg that’s allowed me to buy diapers and wipes. Everything else, from Owen’s seat to most of his clothes, are hand-me-downs from Yolanda’s youngest son.
Step one in cleaning up my life is complete. Owen deserves better than this mess. He’s going to have a good, stable life.
I harbor no dreams of co-parenting. My only expectation when it comes to Seth should be disappointment. With Seth gone, albeit just to jail, I feel like I can finally breathe again. There’s nobody demanding that I cook dinner. No loud music blaring at four a.m.
I know it's just a respite until he’s eventually released. I have zero doubt Seth will soon darken the doorway again—he always finds a way to slither out of trouble. But for now, I’m enjoying the break. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and he’ll be locked up long enough for me to get us out of that house, and away from him.
But I don’t want to think about that right now. The spring air feels amazing, and I’m a five-minute walk from the center of town.
After tying the baby sling to my body like I’ve practiced at home, I move Owen’s pudgy body into the soft cotton wrap. He’s sitting upright, flushed cheeks lying against the exposed skin of my chest. Fresh air is exactly what we need after being locked up so long in the house.
After retrieving the backpack style diaper bag, I look down to check on my back rear tire, groaning inwardly when I notice it’s slightly deflated again. I hope I don’t have a slow leak. The last thing I need right now is a car expense. That adds up quickly. A tire turns into rotors, which turns into an alignment.
And I’ll have to go to the only auto shop in town, owned by the Bayou Dogs.
Shuttering my eyes for a second, I wish away the stressful thoughts. I shove my wallet and keys into the diaper bag and sling it over my shoulders.
Parran looks exactly the same. Main Street is lined with small businesses, not a single chain store in sight. I wonder if the same people own all of them.
I’ve not visited the town center since I’ve moved back. It’s been a year without my favorite latté from Hickory Chicory Dock. My little sister, Delia works there, or did anyway. Maybe if I stop in for a decaf we’ll run into one another. We’re forbidden from contacting each other, but our parents can’t reprimand her for seeing me if it’s a coincidence, right?
Familiar faces I can’t place smile back in greeting as I stroll down the street. As the emblem of the Bayou Dogs Garage and Towing comes into sight, my stride slows as I stare at my former place of employment, a strange ache in my heart.
It’s still the same…three garage bays, and a good size office building connected to it.
Before we moved here, I was only allowed to work for a member of our church. That wasn’t an option here. At first I didn’t make the connection to the company’s name and its play on the club’s symbol, a white werewolf, but I quickly put two and two together on my first day. Dad told me to keep my head down and not interact with anyone. It was okay to work for the club, but we were too good to socialize with them. My father is a man of strong faith..until it comes to money. I was making twice what I was at my previous job, without the expense of commuting.
I take in a long breath as bittersweet memories come back to me. Working for White Dog gave me a taste of life outside of the Evangelical Christian world I grew up in. In the safety of that office, I slowly dropped the facade that had been forced on me. I was like a chameleon, changing its colors based on their environment. At home, I was the dutiful daughter who spent her Saturday afternoons at young women’s bible study. At work, though? I was free. I streamed secular music and skipped saying grace before I ate my lunch. They were tiny things, but for me, they were life-changing.
Before I ran off with Seth, I tried to get away from my parents. Lucy asked me if I wanted her second bedroom when her roommate moved out and I squealed, “Yes,” so fast. But, as head of the family, Dad managed my money. He said I couldn’t afford it. It didn’t make any sense to me, because Lucy was living on her own, had a nicer car, the same salary, and a lot more disposable income than I seemed to have. Dad explained it as simply, “Lucy is clearly living beyond her means. She must have a man paying for it all.” Every day for the next week, I received a lecture from my mother, who insisted Lucy would lead me away from the church.
If she only knew I didn’t need to be led away. I was already attempting to race in the opposite direction on my own.
For once, Mom was right though, and Lucy was trying to get me to leave. More than once, especially after I confessed the situation with Josiah, Lucy suggested I go to the club for help. Dane’s grandfather, Cooker, who was president at the time, made his stance on interfering with another man’s family clear more than once. I didn’t think for a single minute there would be help from the club because they wouldn’t interfere with “family business”.
As I slowly meander toward the garage, I chance a look at the open bay, searching for a familiar figure. Each slide-down door is open while men in gray coveralls work inside. No dangerously handsome Viking-looking man in sight. I wish I could hop the side fence and look into the office window to see if he’s there, just to get one more look, to see if he really is as magnificent of a man as he seemed.
My shoulders bump up against someone in the street, unnoticed by me. The woman gives me a scowl and a rude “excuse me” before I can offer one of my own. I turn to look in her direction and say, “Sorry, I was a bit distracted.” She turns back around and frowns at me before striding into the entryway of White Dog. There’s little turn around in the company. The pay is good, and the association with the MC is considered priceless by some. That woman must be my replacement.
My replacement. The words roll over in my stomach, the thought of someone else just stepping into the one part of my life I loved so much with ease. I knew when we moved back the MC wouldn’t rehire me. Not only had I left my job with zero notice, I’m still legally married to someone who is on the club’s shit list. Not to mention how awkward it would be after they came to my home late at night to collect a debt.
Looking around slightly startled, I realize I’ve somehow reached the street corner, so lost in my own head I don’t realize how far down I’ve gone.
Ignoring the completely unnecessary crosswalk light, I pace across the painted lines with one hand resting under Owen’s body.
My feet have just hit purchase on the curb as the door to the storefront opens. My stomach instantly drops when a large frame turns in my direction, carrying himself with a commanding air of self-confidence. Once clear of the doorway, he stands in the middle of the empty sidewalk, tattooed arms crossed around his body, legs spread wide as he waits for me.
The Viking.
Fuck.
Something about this man makes me react like I never have before, like a pheromone induced haze has taken over my senses. My heart gets all jumpy with just a glimpse of his eyes. He’s unbelievably handsome in a rugged kind of way, the type of man who garners attention wherever he goes. Heaven knows he’s the sole object of my focus as I cross the street. His eyes cast a spell over my body, compelling me toward him. My mouth turns dry, and my stomach goes all fluttery. As I stare at the biker named after the God of War, my blood thumps in my ears, the appeal of a latté forgotten. He’s breathtakingly beautiful dressed head to toe in all black, from the tip of his leather boots to the t-shirt that stretches over his defined biceps. Lemme tell you, that hair. It’s a rich shade of dirty blond, with streaks of honey most women would kill for. It falls past his shoulders in waves that I can only achieve with a styling wand. I want to go straight up to him, and run one of the strands through my fingers to see if it feels as soft as it looks.
“Good morning, Odin,” I say in a shaky voice.
He shuffles his body before declaring, “Dane. You call me Dane.”
“Your father told me to call him Solomon,” I point out.
“That’s my father, not me,” he insists.
He looks down at the still asleep Owen. Tiny creases grow around his eyes when he angles his head as if to get a better look. “He’s out like a light.”
In other circumstances, it might unnerve me that a man like him was taking an interest in my child, but when I worked for the club, it was glaringly obvious the guys had a soft spot for kids. “For now. He’s a bit of a light sleeper,” I hint.
“One of the guys just cranked their bike, and he didn’t budge,” he points out, seemingly amused. “Maybe the boy just likes bikes.”
“He likes white noise. Won’t stay asleep without it playing,” I explain.
The side of his lips twitch before he asks, “Finally getting out of the house?”
Great. He’s watching the house. Precisely how much trouble is Seth in?
Or is he watching me? The thought sends my stomach from butterflies dancing around to full summersaults.
“Just getting a little vitamin D. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I attempt to go around him, desperate to escape whatever this suffocating feeling is, but with a half step to the right he blocks my way.
He raises an eyebrow in my direction, “What were you doing at Eleanor Marks’ house?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”
He leans in close to me, his breath warm on my skin, when he whispers, “Everything you do, Darcy, is my concern.”
“Just so we’re clear, I know nothing about whatever Seth’s been up to, I’ve seen nothing, and I want nothing to do with any of it. You seem to know more than I do.”
“He call you from jail?” His eyes narrow at me, accusation filters through his casual tone.
“Twice. I didn’t accept the charges,” I answer airily.
He smirks, pleased with my answer. “And why is that?”
I tilt my head and give him a pointed look. “Because there’s nothing he can say to me I haven’t already heard a thousand times. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to run an errand before the baby wakes up.” Dane’s lips flick with displeasure before a large calloused hand laces into mine. My protests go unheard as I’m dragged off the sidewalk. Dane yanks open the door to Raymond’s Thrift Store like he owns it.
There are none of the usual odds and ends on display, and the sign has been removed.
“What are you doing?” I whisper yell.
“Getting you somewhere we can talk.”
It’s not like it’s that much more private, really. The storefront is all glass, and on the corner of Main Street. Anyone can walk by, but not hear our conversation. I’m not scared at all to be alone with him, just out of sorts from being cornered by a man as powerfully virile as Dane. And…from the nostalgia and regret of leaving the life I was building here. Running may seem like it’s easy, but sometimes it’s the only way to save yourself.
“Linc finally convinced Raymond to sell?” I remark as I look around the empty space. The store has been completely emptied except for a wooden sales table that’s covered in clear plastic. I shouldn’t be surprised. What the club wants, they eventually get.
“I handled the negotiations,” he informs me. Crossing his arms around his body again, he accuses, “That was club business. Who told you about that?”
“Raymond did. I walked in one day during lunch, and he talked my ear off about it.” I know better than to ask what he’s going to do with the space. I asked Linc at the time and was shut down quickly because…club business.
“We’re opening up an automobile supply store. There’s a warehouse in the back we’re going to use to ship parts to the other White Dog garages. Forty new jobs in town,” he says. I know he doesn’t mean it to be, but it feels like a carrot dangled in front of me.
His eyes flick down to Owen and then back up at me before he closes the distance between us. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
My heart begins to pound in my ears, and I’m not sure I heard him right. “Excuse me?” He can’t mean that. The tone wasn’t a “have a meal with me so we can discuss your husband’s debt” either. As little romantic experience as I have, even I know he’s asking me out.
“I’d like to drive us into Thibodaux so we can get a good meal,” he says. When I raise a dubious eyebrow he assures me, “Nothing too fancy, so it’s no big deal if Owen starts screaming.”
Nobody knows Seth and I aren’t together, except for Yolanda. Dane’s trying to get me to cheat, driving into the nearest big town so we aren’t caught. My face flames red hot. “I’m married,” I draw out.
He snorts. “You’re sleeping in the guest bedroom, and you don’t wear your wedding ring,” he points out. “Given that Seth’s never mentioned he’s married to anyone in town, I bet he doesn’t consider himself married, either. You’re living in the house until you can save up enough to get your own place.” He says it like it’s a fact, which it is, but he can’t know that for sure.
Am I that transparent? At least he isn’t trying to get me to cheat. If a wedding band and baby won’t scare him away, maybe I should just be honest. “My life is kind of chaotic right now. I don’t need to complicate things further,” I admit.
“There are no complications. It’s very straightforward—You, me, the baby, and dinner.”
I stifle an amused snort. “You’ve never had a meal with an infant, have you? Believe me, the words baby and dinner promise to be chaos.” I look down at my toes because I’m terrified I’ll give in with one glance at that charming smile.
“I’m a biker, babe. I live for chaos,” he says as if he lives for the possibility of Owen screaming in the middle of the restaurant. Like eating with one hand while holding a baby is the thrill of a lifetime. The sound of his voice entices me to follow him down whatever path he leads me down, his stance so confident, even though I bet he’s never even held a baby.
And then I do the worst thing I have ever done.
I imagine Owen in Dane’s arms.
The protective shell I’ve surrounded myself in starts to crack. When I look up, laughing at his proclamation, his eyes are twinkling with truth and boyish delight at the promise. The current between us returns in the blink of an eye, and I start to melt right there, in the middle of Raymond’s old thrift store.
Fuck.
I break our gaze, knowing if I keep looking into their depths I’ll give in. Surrender to whatever his bidding is, a victim to this man’s charm. I’m a breath away as it is.
The interruption of the creaking door is a relief. It pulls Dane’s gaze off of me, and onto the muscular figure approaching, my favorite prospect, Band-Aid.
I’ve always liked the former combat medic. He’s charming when he wants to be, funny. He’d started out as a civilian employee, a friend of Folgers, and became a prospect right before I left.
He once found me in the parking lot at lunch trying, unsuccessfully, to crank my car. Right before I got off for the day, he came inside, handed me my keys, and told me in an amused voice, “You just needed spark plugs to get it running again. Oil changes aren’t a suggestion.” I brought him lunch as a thank you the next day, and after that, I had a new work friend.
“Hey, problem in the back, ” Band-Aid says with panting breaths as he walks through the door. He does a double-take, noticing me for the first time. “Hey, Darcy. Heard you were back. Long time no see.” His voice has a new distance to it, but I guess it’s to be expected with the way I left.
“Hey,” I say warmly as he approaches “They still have you working for that patch?”
Band-Aid gives me a quick shy smile that hints at pride, “Yeah, but it’ll be worth the wait.”
As I begin to approach the prospect, intent on hugging him, a low growl comes from next to us, stopping us both in our tracks. I’ve hugged Band-Aid before, and it was always returned. Are there rules about physical contact in their cuts that I don’t know about, or is it me?
Dane’s eyes, alight with fury, are trained on the prospect, his lips in a straight line. His nostrils flare, legs spread wide as he stares at Band-Aid, a sudden air of danger around him. Dane’s jaw tightens, his hands clenched tightly into fists at his side. When Dane cracks his neck, Band-Aid’s face pales.
Neither Band-Aid or I move, not a hair out of place as if waiting for permission.
“Did you need something, prospect?” Dane grits out, the last word clearly meant as a correction, reminding Band-Aid of his position.
Taking a step back from me, the prospect turns to look directly at his VP.
Band-Aid mutters, “Archer and Ziggy decided to race on the motorized pallet jacks again. There’s a bit of a mess.”
Something crashes, echoing around the empty space so loudly that Owen startles in his sleep. I look down to check on him, relieved to see him dozing back off.
When I look back up, Dane’s angry eyes are on the baby’s sleeping face. “Tell them to fucking stop whatever it is they’re doing until I get there,” he says low to Band-Aid.
There’s another crash, the sound of breaking glass, followed by a small sleepy whimper of protest from Owen.
“They umm kinda ran into one of the shelving beams,” Band-Aid says reluctantly.
Dane’s eyes are trained on Owen, who’s wiggling restlessly, but asleep in the sling, and mutters a string of profanities under his breath. “Are they still drunk from last night?” Dane accuses.
Band-Aid clears his throat awkwardly, “Well…”
Dane pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “I’ll be right in to deal with it.”
Moving faster than I’ve ever seen him, Band-Aid jogs into the back and out of sight.
“Stay right here,” Dane orders as he strides toward the back. He jerks the metal door open, pausing to look over his shoulder. His jaw tightens with determination, blue eyes blazing when he steps into the warehouse, softly closing the door behind himself.
What do you do when a badass biker tells you not to move? Most women wouldn’t dare.
Me? I consider my options.
He wants me to stay because he knows he’s close to wearing me down, and I want to let him.
A white van catches my eye as it drives past. It parks in a fire lane, like they used to do in Houston. I freeze as my pulse starts to pound in my ears. I feel like I can’t pull enough oxygen into my lungs. Should I run?
Staring at the van, I can’t see who’s inside. I try searching the interior for a Virgin Mary statue on the dashboard. There’s no way they’ll come here to Bayou Dogs turf. They have no reason to…we did exactly as they asked.
I move away from the picture window, and put my back flat against the brick wall, so that I can see outside but hopefully they don’t see me. Drawing shallow breaths, I wait for a driver or occupant to appear, my mind racing with options. Two minutes pass, or maybe twenty. I have enough cash in the diaper bag to pay for a night or two at a motel if necessary.
My body jolts when a nearby door slams. My hands tremble as I peek around the brick wall again. A man walks out of the florist next door carrying a large arrangement. The driver’s side door opens and a second man hops out and goes around to the back. It’s a delivery van.
Relieved tears prickle my eyes as I start to move on autopilot, my hands trembling as I open the store door. I barely notice another prospect standing outside as I swiftly move back to my car, holding Owen tight.
Seeing the van is a wakeup call. A reminder of what happens when I make dumb choices, and dinner with Dane isn’t exactly a smart one. I need to get away, quickly, until the lust filled fog between us clears.
My legs feel like jelly as I turn the corner, headed back the way I came. The surge of adrenaline wears off, leaving me more exhausted than I’ve ever felt in my life.
Once I get back to my car, I check the tire before getting in, making sure it’s safe enough to drive on.
Someone’s already inflated it for me.