Chapter 21
Lydia, freshly showered and small in Baddy's old sweats, lay curled against him in the dim room above the diner.
The glass company had installed a new window downstairs, and all the shattered glass had been cleaned up.
Hannah and Madison were in their apartments down the hall, and Patty had locked the diner's doors for the night.
Lydia had helped the best she could, but it was obvious her mind was somewhere else. She hadn't said a word since coming upstairs.
Baddy held her tighter, one arm around her shoulders, the other brushing slow circles along her arm. She wasn't crying or shaking or questioning him. She was too quiet. Like she was trying to figure out her next step by herself.
He needed to pull her out of thinking she could outrun Sonny.
"You know," he murmured, "I didn't grow up with much."
She shifted slightly, listening.
"My mom... she was everything. The kind of mom who was always in the kitchen, no matter when I came home. She wasn't the best cook, but man, she tried." He swallowed. "She died in a car accident when I was fifteen."
Lydia's fingers curled into his shirt.
"My dad didn't handle it well. He was already a drunk before she died, but afterward the bottle was the only thing he cared about.
" Baddy stared at the ceiling, remembering nights he'd slept outside to avoid his old man.
"I started working at the junkyard over by the Willamette River.
One of the guys there rode a Harley, and he helped me get a bike up and running.
It was the first time since I lost my mom that I had something that genuinely made me happy. That rat bike gave me somewhere to go."
Lydia's breath hitched softly.
"Royalla found me," he said. "Or maybe I found them. Doesn't matter. They gave me a place. A purpose. A family that didn't die or drink themselves into a grave."
She lifted her head just enough to look at him. Her eyes were soft, sad, and understanding in a way that made something in his chest twist.
"What about you?" he asked gently.
She shrugged. "It was just my mom and me. Even with all the men in her life." A pause. "She tried, but she needed more than what a kid could give her. She made... bad choices. Sonny was one of them."
He nodded slowly. He already knew that part, but hearing her say it as if it didn't matter made him want to track Sonny down and finish what Cusclan started.
"Did you have a dad in your life?" he asked.
"No, he died before I was born," she whispered.
Silence settled again, but it wasn't the heavy kind. More like she was thinking. Processing.
And so was he. The questions weren't asked to torment her.
He wondered if it would be better to track down her mom and send Lydia away. Cusclan was intent on coming after her, knowing she belonged to Royalla. Maybe if she were out of the line of fire, the trouble would settle down.
Royalla didn't need a war on its territory. Hell, outside their front door.
If the cops got a sniff of trouble, they'd get raided. That couldn't happen. The shipments of stolen parts couldn't stop. It was what kept money in their pockets.
He kissed Lydia's forehead. He'd rather keep Lydia beside him than far away where he couldn't protect her.
"Do you think they'll come back?" she whispered.
He tucked her against his chest. It wouldn't matter if Cusclan showed up. Nobody was going to touch her.
"You're safe tonight," he murmured into her hair. "Close your eyes and rest."
He'd stay as long as she needed him. He yawned, knowing Kodiak had already put someone outside to watch for any trouble. Royalla would be ready if Cusclan came back.
At some point in the night, exhaustion finally dragged him under. Lydia's breathing had evened out against his chest, her fingers curled lightly in his shirt, and he'd held her until sleep took them both.
But when he woke, the space beside him was empty.
His eyes snapped open.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft wash of the streetlight spilling through the window. A flash of panic sat him up, thinking someone had come in and stolen Lydia from him. He scanned the room for her.
Lydia sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, legs folded beneath her, a photo album open across her lap. The pale light caught the edges of the pages, turning them silver.
Baddy swung his legs off the bed. "What're you doing down there?"
She didn't startle. Didn't look guilty. Just kept her eyes on the album. "I couldn't sleep."
He rubbed a hand over his face and stepped to the end of the bed, lowering himself to the floor beside her and stretching his legs out in front of him. "Those pictures... your relatives?"
She shook her head.
Then she pointed to a faded photograph. It was of an older man with a wide smile, grease-stained work shirt, and kind eyes. "He's the father. He works at a gas station and comes home every night and sits at the head of the table."
Her finger drifted to the next picture. A woman in a floral dress, laughing as someone snapped the photo. "Richard's married to her. They have two kids. She always wears dresses or skirts and seems nice."
Something in her voice made him go still.
He leaned in, studying the pictures. They were old, with yellowed edges. The people wore clothes from decades ago. Their smiles frozen in time.
"Lydia..." he said quietly. "Who are these people?"
She didn't look at him. Her thumb brushed the corner of a page, gentle, almost reverent.
"I don't know," she whispered.
His chest tightened.
"My mom gave me the album. I've always liked looking at them. Ever since I was little." Her gaze stayed fixated on the strangers in the photos. "I used to pretend they were my family."
He didn't breathe.
"They were always smiling," she said softly. "Always touching. Like they loved each other. Like they wanted to be near each other."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Baddy looked at the pictures again. Everyone smiled at the camera. They had arms around each other's shoulders. The laughter caught mid-moment. Suddenly, he understood exactly what she'd been searching for her whole life.
Not safety.
Not protection.
Not even escape.
She wanted a family.
The kind she'd never had.
The kind she'd only ever seen in other people's memories.
It was fucking sad, man. He had no idea what to say. Anything he could say seemed too small for the weight of what she'd given him.
Instead, he shifted closer, his shoulder brushing hers, and let the silence settle around them as she peered at a life she longed for.