Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
FALLON
As soon as the final bell rings, I gather my things as students file out. The hallway buzz feels distant, muffled, like I'm moving through water. I need air. Space.
The drive to Square Plaza passes in a blur of afternoon traffic and radio noise I don't actually hear.
My hands grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles white against tan leather.
Daniel won't be home until late tonight.
The thought should bring relief—it does bring relief—but it also brings guilt for feeling relieved about my husband's absence.
Bath & Body Works smells like vanilla and artificial sweetness when I push through the door.
I navigate straight to the peach section, grabbing three bottles of the body wash that Daniel grudgingly allows because it "isn't too overpowering.
" The salesgirl offers to help but I shake my head, paying quickly and escaping back into the plaza's open air.
The little Italian place next door—Demarco's—calls to me with its familiar comfort. Pizza I can eat without Daniel commenting on carbs or calories or whether I really need seconds. Pizza that's just mine.
"A small six cheese pizza," I say when I reach the counter, my voice steadier than it was in my classroom an hour ago.
"Yes, ma'am." The young guy behind the register can't be more than twenty, his name tag reading Desmond in faded letters. "And would you like a drink?"
"Yes, a fountain drink."
He nods, fingers flying over the register buttons with the ease of someone who's done this a thousand times. "seventeen ninety-eight."
I pull my card from my wallet—the one Daniel monitors, the one where every purchase shows up on statements he reviews weekly—and tap it against the reader. The beep of approval feels louder than it should.
"Here's your number for the table." He hands me a plastic stand with a bold 7 printed on it, along with a clear plastic cup. "And your cup for the drink."
"Thanks. I'll be outside."
"Yes, ma'am."
I walk to the soda fountain and fill the cup with Coke, ice crackling as carbonation fizzes over it.
The sound is oddly soothing, normal in a way my life rarely feels anymore.
I take my drink and the number stand outside to the patio area, choosing a table in the corner where the late afternoon sun hits just right.
My phone comes out automatically, that Pavlovian response to being alone in public. Better to look busy than to look like a woman eating pizza by herself.
Me: I had to stop at Bath & Body Works on the way home so I'm grabbing pizza from Demarco's, do you want me to bring anything home for you?
I know he's going to be late tonight—he told me this morning in that tone that means don't ask questions—so he probably won't want anything.
But it's easier to tell him where I am by offering him something.
Every card has to be played right because anything will push him over the edge. Especially these days.
The phone vibrates in my hand almost immediately.
Daniel: No, I'm having dinner out but you enjoy and don't get home late.
My chest tightens. Even his texts carry commands disguised as concern.
Me: I won't, enjoy your dinner.
Daniel: You too, love you.
The words on the screen look like something from someone else's marriage. Someone whose husband actually means them.
Me: Love you too.
I hit send just as a loud rumble cuts through the plaza's ambient noise. Not one bike—several. The sound is unmistakable, that deep-throated roar like Kade's motorcycle makes. My head snaps up automatically, eyes finding four bikes pulling into the parking area near the plaza entrance.
I watch as the riders dismount, pulling helmets off in synchronized movements that speak of familiarity. They're too far away for me to make out faces clearly, but something about the way one of them moves—
I force my gaze back down to my phone, opening my email app like it matters, like I'm not hyperaware of my heartbeat picking up speed. Just spam. Delete, delete, delete. I drop the phone back in my purse, fingers trembling slightly as they release it.
When I look up again, Desmond is walking toward my table, my pizza balanced on his palm, steam rising from the cheese in lazy spirals that catch the sunlight.
I hear his familiar voice call my name before I see him, and when I look up, Kade's walking toward me with three other guys from the bikes. The leather vests they're all wearing catch the light—Wicked Gods MC emblazoned across the leather.
"Hey," I manage, watching as Kade hops the iron fence around the outdoor dining area in one fluid motion. His friends follow suit, vaulting over like the gate twenty feet away doesn't exist.
Kade takes the seat beside me without asking. Too close. Close enough that I catch the scent of spun sugar and amber. The other three settle across from us, and I get my first real look at them.
The one on the left is built like a boxer—six-two of solid muscle, dark hair buzzed military-short on the sides.
A scar cuts through his left eyebrow, giving him a permanently dangerous look.
His knuckles are bruised, evidence of recent violence, and there's an intensity in his dark eyes that makes my instinct scream predator.
The middle guy is leaner but taller, all sharp angles and expensive cologne that seems wrong for this place. Dirty blonde hair styled too perfectly, green eyes assessing me with calculated interest. He's pretty—looks like he should be modeling designer jeans, not wearing a leather vest.
The third has dark hair falling in perpetual bedhead chaos, grey eyes and dimples that flash when he grins at something his friends say. Athletic build, road rash scars visible on his left forearm, younger than the others but carrying himself with the same casual confidence.
All three wear the same leather that says Wicked Gods, clearly part of whatever world Kade belongs to outside my classroom.
"You know they have this thing called doors," I say.
The guys chuckle, the sound rumbling through the evening air.
"Overrated," Kade says, and before I can stop him, he reaches for my Bath & Body Works bag. His hand disappears inside, emerging with one of the peach body washes.
He pops the top, bringing it to his nose.
"Do you mind—" I snatch it from him, closing the cap with more force than necessary and shoving it back in the bag. The plastic crinkles as I slide the whole thing under my chair, out of reach.
"I knew it," Kade says, that satisfied tone in his voice making my cheeks warm.
"Knew what?" The question comes out more annoyed than I intend, though I can't decide if I'm actually irritated that he and his friends are crashing my quiet dinner or stupidly giddy like a teenager with a crush.
"That the sweet smell on your skin was peach."
For a second I'm speechless. Heat crawls up my neck, settles in my face. He notices. He's been close enough to notice what I smell like, and that realization does things to my composure I absolutely cannot afford.
I recover, forcing my voice into something resembling professional authority. "I'm trying to have dinner."
"Oh yeah, sorry." He doesn't sound sorry at all. "Hey Ash, go grab us some pizzas. We're going to join Fallon for dinner."
"What?" The word comes out sharper than I mean it to.
The three men all stand in unison, moving with the same practiced ease they showed hopping the fence.
"We'll go help him," one of them says, and they all chuckle as they walk away toward Demarco's entrance.
"Kade, this is so inappropriate." I lower my voice, glancing around to see if anyone's watching us. "And I'm your teacher. Call me Mrs. Reid."
"Inappropriate because..." He reaches for my left hand, fingers brushing my knuckles before closing around it. His thumb finds my wedding ring, spinning it slowly. "You're married?"
The contact sends electricity up my arm. Wrong. This is so wrong.
"Among other things." I pull my hand back, tucking it in my lap where he can't reach it.
"Like what?"
"I'm married. I'm your teacher. And I'm too old for you." The words tumble out in a rush. "God, are you even eighteen?"
He laughs, the sound low and entirely too confident. "Yeah, I'm eighteen. So I'm legal. And where was this yesterday?" His finger finds my ring again in my lap, touching just the band this time.
"I forgot to put them back on." The admission leaves me breathless. He's so overwhelming, taking up all the space and air around me until I can barely think straight.
"We're just having pizza together," he says, like this is all completely normal. Like he crashes his teacher's dinner every day.
The guys come back with three pizzas balanced in their hands and beers tucked under their arms. They settle back at the table, and one of them—the tall one with the scar—passes out the beers, pressing a cold bottle into my hand before I can protest.
"Did you two work out your lovers' quarrel?" the lean one asks, smirking.
"We're not lovers," I say quickly. Too quickly.
"Yet," Kade adds, taking a long drink of his beer.
"I'm Ash," the tall one says, his voice surprisingly gentle for someone his size.
"Oh shit, my bad." Kade says.
"Guys, this is Fallon. Fallon, this is Ash, Havoc, and Beck." Kade gestures to each of them in turn—Ash with the scar, Havoc with the ink, Beck with the easy smile.
"It's nice to meet you," I manage, my voice steadier than I feel.
"You too," Ash says.
"Come on, just relax and eat with us," Kade says, his hand finding my knee under the table. Brief. Warm. Gone before I can react.
"Please," Beck adds, opening one of the pizza boxes. "Or this one's going to whine all night." He motions to Kade with his beer.
I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips despite everything. "Fine. Just pizza."
I pick up a slice, taking a bite of my six cheese while they dig into theirs.
"And beer," Kade says, nodding toward the untouched bottle in front of me.