Chapter 19
nineteen
DARCY
Loud feet thump down the stairs behind me. Still working to cover his burly chest, Farm Boy lets out a tired sigh. “Hey Presh—Solomon’s coming to drive you home.” He doesn’t look up from the buttons of his black shirt, his voice untroubled.
Presh watches as he tramples down to the great room below, “You tell him not to bother. I’ll just as soon sleep here.”
In a lightly frustrated tone laced with affection, Farm Boy reminds her, “And then you’ll bitch about the mattress for the next week.”
He ignores the dirty look Presh shoots him, his bloodshot eyes coming to me.
“You need ice?” he asks, fiddling with the buttons on his sleeve.
My stomach starts to knot again. Great. Someone woke him up because of what happened outside. In the chipperest voice I can muster I swear, “I’m perfectly fine.”
I’ve never actually spoken to Farm Boy before—probably never even made eye contact until the night he came with Dane looking for Seth. I’ve only encountered him when he’s hanging around the garage to work on a custom bike. Taking a step closer, he glances down at my right hand. I pull the sleeve down further, covering my wrist, and shake my head no. Presh lifts a dubious eyebrow, “Are you sure? Because if it bruises, Dane’s going to...”
“Sutton’s bringing her a gel pack,” Meadow breaks in, rushing in from the front of the clubhouse. The baby gate must have been left open, because she walks straight through, Owen in her arms. Gris-Gris trots behind, watching suspiciously with each step Meadow takes. He sits alert at my feet as Owen is handed to me. “I think he wants his mama. You can tell he’s fussy but won’t sleep.”
It’s good to have my little man back. As much as I love having the evening off, my favorite place is with him. My shaky hands calm as I rest them against his pudgy body.
I pull in deep breaths rubbing Owen’s back until he goes limp with sleep. The shuffling of people in and out helps the minutes tick away while I wait for Dane to appear again—Solomon coming to collect a reluctant Presh, Farm Boy occupying one of the generous-sized chairs, and at last Sutton half dragged into the room by Folgers. This was done with incredibly dramatic hand gestures and dirty looks. Folgers stands in a badass-biker stance, legs spread wide, arms wrapped across his body. As large of a man as Dane is, Folgers is bigger, taller, and definitely intimidating. Sutton isn’t scared in the least as the bicker back and forth.
“It’s creepy you keep finding me on the cameras,” Sutton argues as she wraps the unnecessary gel pack around my wrist.
“Wouldn’t have to if you were where you were supposed to be.”
“Can’t I get a soda from the bar?”
A muscle flicks angrily in his jaw, “Not when there are men around from other chapters, you can’t.”
He nods to Farm Boy before going back the way he came just as quickly. It’s only the women without a biker of their own and myself left. They must have him watching over us until everything is over and done with…whatever it is that’s going on.
There’s no tension in the air, like this is just another day at the clubhouse. Except for me…I feel my stomach rolling with the slow tick of every minute that passes before Dane walks in.
The girls keep busy playing a card game, Sutton on the couch, Meadow with her shoes off, feet tucked under her body. Gris-Gris is asleep at my feet, his chin lying on the Pooh Bear blanket. “I hope you didn’t leave the party to help with the baby,” I apologize. I’m just now realizing that I didn’t see Meadow or Sutton outside at all.
“Folgers didn’t allow me to stay long after they served dinner,” Sutton complains. She pulls a card from the stack in her hands, placing it down on the table.
“You know why…” Meadow says in a singsong voice.
With a teenage roll of the eyes Sutton huffs. “He said it’s because he doesn’t feel like cleaning up puke, but it’s really because of the prospect from the Alabama chapter.”
“Did he hit on you?” I ask.
“We were just talking. Two seconds later, I’m the one grounded.” She points to her chest with the deck of cards in her hand, aggrieved at being the one punished.
Wait, Sutton's allowed to talk to everybody?
Before I can ask for clarification, Meadow says with a laugh,“Better than the time Band-Aid found me at a party. Dad ordered him to drag me out of there by any means necessary. Duct tape burns when it’s pulled off.”
When I stand to retrieve an extra blanket for Owen, Gris-Gris opens one eye but becomes wary when he notices the baby is being moved. He waits nervously as I settle back on the couch, a heavier blanket thrown over the baby. Gris-Gris, smart dog he is, already learned this means we’re not going anywhere. He lays his tan block head down on top of my feet again, paws resting under his chin.
Talk about love at first sight. From the moment Gris-Gris came tearing down those stairs, he’s been as near to Owen as permitted. His eyes are always attentive, carefully watching after the baby. When the poor pooch needs to rest his eyes, it’s sleeping on top of the feet of whoever is holding Owen. It’s downright adorable.
I should adopt a dog when things settle down, maybe an adult, from the shelter. One big enough for Owen to run around with as he grows up.
The moments seem to drag by until Dane appears, coming in through the opposite end of the clubhouse.
All six foot four of Dane stands across the room from me, hands flexing at his side, jaw ticking. His hair, which had been loose, is pulled up into a man bun. Eyes heated, he dismisses Meadow and Sutton, “Thank you for sitting with Darcy until I came back. You can find your beds now.”
With one look at his steely expression, Meadow and Sutton scurry off with polite “nice to meet you’s”, leaving us alone. Farm Boy follows behind, presumably to walk them to their tiny house.
As the back door shuts behind them, Dane lifts an eyebrow expectantly, and saunters over to the couch. I look up and down his body, searching for any signs of injury. He sits next to me, crosses one leg over his ankle, eyes blazing when he proclaims, “You know I had to do it.”
I nod, “Presh explained everything.”
“Does it bother you?”
I start to bite on my thumbnail before confessing, “I’m not upset you beat a man for doing what Relic did. If he’s going to be around women, he needs to learn he can’t do whatever he wants.”
“Didn’t beat him. I shattered his hand so he can’t ride for a long time. Can’t ride, he loses his brothers’ respect and privileges in the club. He has a few shitty months ahead of him.”
“I didn’t think you were allowed to tell me these things.”
“Usually, no, but this time you were there. It’s different.”
Nothing about my upbringing taught me how to act with a man two minutes after he breaks another man’s hand just for touching you.
I know what I’m signing up for with Dane—a biker who smells like the wind but holds me tight, a worthy adversary in any disagreement, a sweetheart who spoils me in a thousand tiny different ways. Along with all those things, I’m also getting Odin, the President of the Bayou Dogs. Road names, from what I’ve seen, are earned, and you aren’t named after the Norse God of War without some defining violent act. This isn’t the first time he’s hurt another human, and I doubt it’ll be the last.
But he did it to protect me. Who’s to say anything else he did wasn’t equally justified?
Dane has moved mountains so we can be together. He’s even attempted, in his own way, to woo me. That’s telling for a man who can have any woman he wants.
Thanks to him, I’ve been given a fresh start, and after tonight, I’m even more certain how I want to spend it. Dane is a good man that sometimes does bad things. That’s something I need to accept for this to work.
I’m a lucky woman for Dane to choose me. In the blink of an eye, I’ve gone from “I deserve better than this” to “I want to be a woman worthy of him.”
As Dane said, maybe I should start planning for our future instead of for ‘what if it ends.’ I still get a little nervous thinking about how bad it will be if he decides that I am not his future. That fear gets smaller in the face of Dane’s overwhelming possessiveness.
Those same hands that just inflicted immense pain on someone lift Owen from my shoulder, holding him with a gentleness he reserves just for us. Kissing me softly he says, “Let’s get you and my little buddy to bed.”
As we gather Owen’s things, including the breast milk from the freezer, Gris-Gris starts carrying the baby blanket in his mouth while pacing impatiently from the entryway to the baby, then back to stare at the door expectantly. The determined expression on Gris-Gris' face makes it clear— he’s coming with us.
“How did he end up with Owen’s blanket?” I ask. It has to be the same one. It’s too weird that it disappears from the diaper bag then when I see it again, Gris-Gris’ carrying it everywhere.
“I gave it to him so he’d get used to Owen’s smell. I think it went a little too well though.”
There it is, that hint of sweet. It’s impossible not to view tonight differently when you know he has that side to him.
As Dane loads the baby in the truck, a diaper bag over his shoulder, Gris-Gris follows behind without being given permission. Waiting until Owen is carefully snapped in, he jumps up, laying with his chin on the edge of the car seat.
The drive is so short we should have walked it. The little cabin on pilings is on the edge of the water, the path lit with solar lights. “Dad built it for Mom since she was a light sleeper,” he says, pulling Owen out of the seat. Owen’s head looks tiny cupped in Dane’s palm. The baby stirs awake with a disgruntled cry that Dane tries to soothe, rubbing his hand in circles on Owen’s back. Dane lowers his head, a strand of his blond hair that escaped the elastic covering his face as he whispers “It’s okay little buddy. It’s almost night-night time.”
Holy man candy. The sight of my Viking soothing Owen is enough to send any woman into a hysterical fit. I’m definitely not leaving them alone in public together. I’ll go one aisle over for a loaf of bread and come back with a strange woman latched to his ankle, holding on for dear life.
I grab the diaper bag and give Gris-Gris permission to jump down. “Do we need to get Owen’s bassinet?” I ask, praying it’s already set up.
“Everything you need for tonight’s already inside,” he assures me, pulling out a set of keys from his pocket. Do I offer to carry the baby? Absolutely not. I’m enjoying watching the two of them together way too much, Dane’s gentle croons continuing as we walk inside.
After flipping on the light, he makes a sweeping gesture, telling me to go first. The cabin is small but clean. There’s a kitchen area with a fridge from the nineteen eighties. I’m relieved to find it turned on, but empty. I toss Owen’s milk inside and look around the small space.
There’s a blue and cream plaid sofa and a makeshift coffee table. The windows are covered with roll-down shades that have yellowed with time. The baby’s bed is against one wall already put back together.
Dane heads straight into the only bedroom. “Time for night-night,” he pronounces.
Owen’s changing pad is on the dresser, all of the ointments, diapers, wipes, and such are organized next to it. I reach for Owen, earning a scowl from Dane, “Go wash your face and stuff. Your overnight case is in the bathroom.”
After the longest day of my life, the reprieve sounds nice. My bladder’s ready to burst, and my mascara is giving a lovely raccoon effect. “I’ll be right back,” I promise.
My toiletries are lined up on the bathroom sink, undoubtedly the work of one of the many prospects. As I splash water onto my face, I remember what Dane said when I asked where he hid them in such a small town, since I’ve never seen any of them before tonight. “We lock them in the basement and let them out to mow the lawn,” he boasted loudly for the others nearby to hear. After brushing my hair back and placing a kiss on my shoulder he reminded me, “No asking questions.” I’d bitten back my retort, a smart-ass comment about how tired they must be from swimming because any basement in Louisiana would be constantly flooded.
When I inspect my bare face in the mirror, it’s red, but I think it has more to do with the reminder of Dane’s lips on my shoulder than from scrubbing. Digging into the duffel, I try to piece together an outfit I don’t feel completely matronly in…the man’s seen my nursing bra—I can’t let him think I’m a complete frump. There’s a bundle of underwear in the bag as if someone just dumped all of my clean panties inside. Is it weird I’m nervous walking out in front of him in my pajamas? All of the ones I own right now are nursing sets, a gift from Yolanda. I end up in a tank top with a built-in bra and a matching pair of knit shorts. Subtly sexy.
Owen is freshly diapered and in a clean sleeper when I leave the bathroom. I’m impressed. Dane’s voice is a rumbly whisper, the baby cradled in one arm. “I know. I kept you out too late. It was an important night for us though. You’ll understand when you’re big.” Nothing is more beautiful than Dane with a burp cloth thrown over his shoulder, Owen slowly surrendering to the long night enveloped in the comfort of protective arms. I’ve been held by them myself and know the sense of safety and contentment.
My new mommy fingers twitch over the messy swaddle blanket but I leave it alone. Children Owen’s age usually have two parents, plus relatives visiting, all excited to see the newest member of their family. Owen’s only had me. He needs to interact with other people or I’m going to have a toddler with terrible separation anxiety.
“Can I put him down yet?” Dane whispers.
“Slowly.”
Dane and I walk Owen back into the front room. “Gris-Gris, watch,” Dane commands. Gris-Gris’ nails click along the vinyl flooring. Eyes more attentive than I’ve ever seen them, Gris-Gris sits directly in front of Dane.
Tall enough to see inside the bassinet, the Rottweiler peeks over the edge, tail wagging rapidly, while Dane lowers the baby inside. “The baby has to go night-night,” I explain when the dog looks at me with an anxious glance.
“Wait, we should move it closer to the bedroom,” I whisper.
“Absolutely not!” Dane whispers back with a scowl. His attention goes back to the bassinet, making sure Owen keeps his pacifier.
“Why?!” I ask, imagining trampling to the front of the cabin all night. It’s only a few feet, but man, in the middle of the night, closeness matters.
Dane’s long legs cut the distance to the door with three paces, locking it with certain movements, before sauntering back to me.
He wraps his arms around my waist, his eyes suddenly hungry. Leaning down til his forehead touches mine, a slow sinister grin grows on his face, “Because once the baby is in bed it’s my playtime with Mama.”