Chapter 35
Lydia's legs shook. The hallway seemed longer on the way out than it had going in to see her mother.
She inhaled through a tight chest. Her mind still spinning after everything her mom told her about the past.
When she stepped into the main room of the clubhouse, she found Baddy leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on the door like he'd been guarding it.
The second he saw her, his shoulders dropped a fraction. She walked straight to him.
He pulled her against his chest. His hands checked to see if she was still intact. Without a word, she gathered the strength he offered, needing every bit she could get. It wasn't easy to talk to her mother. It was going to be even harder talking to Baker.
"I need a favor," she said softly.
"Anything."
She swallowed. "Would you ride back home and get the photo album for me?"
His brows pulled together. "You sure?"
She straightened his beard. "Yeah."
"Will you be okay staying here while I'm gone?"
"I think so."
He studied her for a moment, then squeezed her hand. "I'll be right back. Ten minutes, tops."
She watched the door swing shut behind him. A mix of relief and fear settled in her chest. She needed him close, but she also needed answers.
And there was only one person who could give them. She turned and walked toward the kitchen.
Baker stood at the counter, drying a mug with a towel. He looked up when she entered, and he stopped what he was doing.
"Lydia." He put the cup down.
She swallowed hard. "Do you have time to talk?"
He didn't hesitate. "Absolutely."
She stayed near the doorway, arms crossed tight over her chest. "I talked to my mom."
"Good." He nodded emphatically. "Good."
"She told me what you believed happened after she was sent away," Lydia continued. "That you thought we were safe. That you thought she was using the money to take care of me. That you didn't know—"
"If I had known Cusclan Motorcycle Club had you," Baker cut in, voice rough, "I would've started a fucking war."
His violent declaration was fierce and full of a kind of love she didn't know how to accept. It reminded her of something Baddy would say. He displayed that defensive quality of protecting what he loved, and she liked that.
He stepped closer, slow and careful, like he was afraid of scaring her. Then he cupped her face in both hands, his palms warm and rough, his thumbs brushing her cheeks.
"Listen to me," he said.
Her breath caught.
His voice deepened. "I spent twenty years thinking you were out there living a life I helped give you.
I thought you were safe, loved, and happy.
I thought you had everything I couldn't give you here, and that's the proudest thing I have ever done in my life.
And finding out a few days ago that I was wrong all this time is killing me.
Finding out you were struggling and fighting to survive while I was back here, surrounded by a club that had my back—" He shook his head, emotion tightening his voice.
"I don't expect you to ever forgive me."
Lydia's throat burned. He seemed sincere, but she was twenty years old. It was a lifetime without a father.
Baker continued, softer now. "I can't go back and change a damn thing, but you're here now, and I'm not going anywhere."
Her eyes stung.
He rested his forehead against hers. She swallowed, understanding that he was asking permission to exist in her world.
"I'll keep being here," he whispered. "Every damn day, until you decide what you want from me."
Lydia closed her eyes, letting the words settle deep inside of her. She didn't know what she wanted yet. But she believed him.
Footsteps echoed in the room. She opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder, seeing Baddy. She held out her hand.
Baddy approached her. The worn leather photo album was tucked under his arm.
She inhaled deeply, taking his hand and holding it to her chest. Baddy's gaze flickered between her and Baker, trying to read the mood.
He handed her the album. Her fingers brushed his as she took it, and suddenly the weight of the book seemed heavier. She turned toward Baker and held the album out to him.
She cleared her throat. "I believe this belongs to you."
Baker's face drained of color. He stumbled back a step.
Baddy moved fast. He grabbed a stool, set it behind Baker, and guided him down with a steady hand on his shoulder.
Lydia placed the album on the counter beside him.
"Mom gave this to me when I was a baby," she said quietly.
"I can't tell you how many hours I've spent looking at it.
Too many to count. When life got too hard, I'd open it and.
.. I don't know. I guess it sounds stupid, but I'd pretend I belonged in those pictures.
I pretended that the people in them were my family.
They always looked so happy and carefree. "
Baker's hand trembled as he opened the cover. Her gaze went straight to the photo that made her believe in love.
"These are my parents on their wedding day," he whispered. His thumb brushed the edge of the photo like he was afraid it might crumble. "My mom and dad."
He turned the page to a photo of a little boy and a girl sitting on a porch. The same picture Lydia had stared at her whole life and had only seen the sign on the house last night.
"That's me," Baker said, voice cracking. "And my sister. Her name was Elizabeth. She died when she was thirty-two. A semi crossed the road and hit her car as she was coming home from school. She was a teacher. My parents... they're all gone now."
Lydia's chest tightened. Not only had the album brought her comfort through the years, but the pictures were also the only memories Baker had of his family. His loving family.
He was alone. He'd been alone for the last twenty years when he sent the woman he loved away while she was pregnant with Lydia.
It was all making sense to her. Lydia blinked hard, clearing her vision. They'd all suffered.
He kept flipping, slower now, reverent.
"I forgot..." Baker swallowed hard. "I forgot I gave this to Maureen."
Lydia blinked, stunned. "You gave it to her?"
He raised his glassy gaze to her. "I wanted you to have a piece of us. A piece of me. I wanted you to know where you came from. Even if I couldn't be there with you."
Her breath hitched. All those nights she'd clung to the album, thinking she was borrowing someone else's happiness, and she'd been holding her own history.
Her own blood.
Her own family.