Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Meghan
The soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the cedar wood floors of our new home.
I stretch lazily in bed, savoring the rare quiet moment before the day truly begins.
It's been almost a week since Tindra and I arrived in Tallahassee, and I'm still getting used to the idea that this beautiful house is ours.
Mine.
A step up from the type of home I could ever afford back in Atlanta.
I roll over and grab my phone from the nightstand, checking the time. 8:30 AM.
Later than I usually sleep, but it's my day off from Beans & Babes.
The new girls are managing the coffee shop today, giving me a much-needed break.
With a sigh, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pad barefoot to the ensuite bathroom.
The cool tile feels good against my feet as I splash some water on my face and study my reflection in the mirror.
My ashy blonde hair is a tangled mess, and there are dark circles under my sage green eyes.
I look tired.
I feel tired.
But for the first time in years, I also feel...hopeful.
I throw on some yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt before heading downstairs.
The house is quiet, which means Tindra is still asleep.
That girl could sleep through a hurricane if you let her.
As I round the corner into the kitchen, I nearly jump out of my skin when I see a figure standing at the counter.
"Jesus Christ!" I yelp, my hand flying to my chest.
Tindra turns, an amused smirk playing on her lips. "Morning, Mom. Jumpy much?"
I let out a shaky laugh, trying to calm my racing heart. "You scared the hell out of me, kid. What are you doing up so early?"
She shrugs, turning back to whatever she's working on at the counter. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd make us some breakfast."
As I move closer, I see she's chopping fruit for a smoothie bowl.
My chest tightens with a mixture of pride and sadness.
When did my little girl get so grown up?
"You didn't have to do that," I say, reaching out to tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.
Tindra leans into my touch for just a moment before pulling away. "I wanted to. Besides, someone has to make sure you eat more than just coffee for breakfast."
I snort, moving to the coffee maker to brew a fresh pot. "Hey now, coffee is a perfectly acceptable breakfast."
"Maybe in your world," Tindra quips, dumping the chopped fruit into two bowls. "But some of us prefer actual nutrients."
As the rich aroma of coffee fills the kitchen, I lean against the counter and watch my daughter work.
She moves with a quiet grace, her pale skin a stark contrast to her nearly black hair.
"So," I say casually, "any big plans for your day off?"
Tindra shrugs, not looking up from the granola she's sprinkling over the fruit. "Not really. Thought I might explore the property a bit. Maybe set up my easel by that little creek we found yesterday."
I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips. "That sounds nice. Just...stay close to the house, okay? And keep your phone on you."
This time, Tindra does look up, her brow furrowing slightly. "Mom, we're in the middle of nowhere. What exactly do you think is going to happen?"
I force a laugh, trying to keep my tone light. "Nothing, probably. I just worry you know that."
"Yeah, I know," she says softly, her expression softening. "But we're safe here, right? That's why we came to Tallahassee in the first place."
The weight of everything I haven't told her settles heavily on my chest.
She doesn't know about her grandfather, about the danger that lives here.
She doesn't know about the club, about her father.
About the past, I've tried so hard to outrun.
"Right," I manage, plastering on a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "We're safe here."
Tindra studies me for a moment, and I can practically see the wheels turning in that brilliant mind of hers.
Sometimes I think she sees right through me, picking up on all the things I try so hard to hide.
But she doesn't push, just nods and slides a bowl across the counter to me.
"Eat," she commands. "Before your coffee gets cold."
I roll my eyes but comply, grabbing a spoon and digging into the colorful concoction.
It's delicious, of course.
The kid has always had a knack for creating beautiful things, whether it's on canvas or in the kitchen.
As we eat in silence, I can't help but marvel at how much Tindra has grown.
"Hey, baby," I start, trying to keep my tone casual as I dig into my fruit bowl. "I was thinking... how would you feel about Odessa coming over later when I have to go out?"
Tindra's excitement visibly deflates.
She turns to me, her eyes narrowing. "Mom, seriously? I'm not a little kid anymore. I don't need a babysitter."
I sigh, "I know, honey. It's just... things are still new here. I'd feel better if someone was with you."
"But why?" she whines, crossing her arms. "I'm old enough to stay by myself. I did it all the time back in Atlanta."
The mention of Atlanta sends a pang through my chest.
I try to keep my voice steady. "This isn't Atlanta Tindra. It's different here."
"How?" she challenges. "Because you're scared of your past catching up with us?"
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Sometimes I forget how perceptive she is.
I take a deep breath, choosing my next words carefully. "It's complicated, sweetie. There are... things you don't understand yet."
Tindra scoffs. "Then explain them to me. I'm not a baby, Mom. I can handle it."
I wish I could tell her everything.
"I know you're not a baby," I say softly. "But there are some things I need to protect you from. Just for now. Can you trust me on this?"
She's quiet for a long moment, as she chews her food.
Finally, she sighs. "Fine. But I'm not happy about it."
"I know," I reach over to squeeze her hand. "And I promise, it won't be forever. Just until we get settled here. Okay?"
Tindra nods reluctantly. "Okay. But Odessa better bring snacks. And let me pick the movie."
I can't help but smile. "I'm sure she will. And hey, maybe you two can have a little girls' night. Paint each other's nails, do face masks, all that fun stuff."
"Yeah, maybe," Tindra mumbles, but I can see the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “But I still want to paint too.”
I smile adoringly at my artistic little girl, “How about I walk down with you and we hang out while you paint, and then when Odessa gets here I’ll send her down?”
For the next couple of hours, I hang out with Tindra by her easel and watch her work, watch the way she makes every brush stroke.
Before long I get a text from Odessa saying she’ll be here in five minutes.
I say my goodbyes to Tindra and by the time I’m walking up to the house, Odessa is getting out of her car.
“Hey, Tindra’s back by the creek painting. I pinned her location, so I’m going to send it to you.”
Odessa slings her purse over her shoulder, “Okay, sounds good. Have fun tonight.”
Fun.
Yeah, right.
I’m more anxious than I’ve been in years.
“You too,” I say, heading for my car.
The key turns in the ignition, and my heart leaps into my throat.
I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white as I take a deep breath.
The engine purrs to life, but I remain motionless, staring straight ahead at the long dirt road stretching before me.
"Come on, Meghan," I mutter to myself. "You can do this."
My foot hovers over the gas pedal, hesitating.
The trees lining our driveway seem to close in, their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the ominous feeling creeping up my spine.
As I finally ease onto the road, my mind races.
The clubhouse is only five minutes away, but it feels like I'm driving into another world entirely.
A world I thought I'd left behind.
"It's just a building," I remind myself, but the words ring hollow.
It's so much more than that.
It's where I found family, where I was hurt, where my life changed forever.
The familiar landmarks fly by—the old oak with the twisted trunk, the rusted mailbox that's been there for as long as I can remember.
Each one brings a flood of memories, both good and bad.
Before I know it, I'm pulling up to the gate.
My heart pounds as I spot the prospect standing guard.
He's young, probably no older than I was when I first came here.
His eyes narrow as he takes me in.
"Bubba's is around the corner," he says dismissively, jerking his thumb to the right.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. With deliberate slowness, I remove my sunglasses, meeting his gaze directly.
His name tag catches my eye—Ulf.
"I'm not here for Bubba's," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "I need to be let in."
Ulf's expression shifts from bored to suspicious. "Yeah? And who the hell are you?"
The old me would have torn into him, maybe even driven right through that gate to prove a point.
But I'm not that person anymore.
At least, I'm trying not to be.
"Listen, kid," I say, fighting to keep my tone even. "I've got business here. Important business. So how about you do your job and let me through?"
He scoffs, puffing out his chest. "Nice try, lady. But we don't just let anyone waltz in here. Why don't you turn that pretty little car around and?—"
My fingers tighten on the wheel.
The urge to floor it, to show this punk exactly who he's dealing with, is almost overwhelming.
But Tindra's face flashes in my mind, and I force myself to take a calming breath.
"I'm not just anyone," I say quietly, meeting his eyes. "And I'm telling you, I belong here."
Ulf hesitates, uncertainty flickering across his face. "Look, I can't just?—"
"Then call someone who can," I interrupt. "Because I'm not leaving until I get in."
He stares at me for a long moment, then grudgingly reaches for his radio.
As he mutters into it, I close my eyes, trying to center myself.
Ulf lowers his radio, his face twisted with smug satisfaction. "Sorry, sweetheart. No one's expecting you. Looks like you're not as important as you think."
The condescension in his voice ignites something primal inside me.
I feel my lips curve into a smirk, the old familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
"I'm getting in one way or another," I say, my voice low and dangerous.
Before he can react, I slam my foot on the gas.
The car lurches forward, tires squealing against asphalt.
Ulf's eyes widen in shock as I barrel toward the chain-link fence.
The impact jolts through me, metal screeching as it gives way.
My heart pounds, a mix of fear and exhilaration flooding my system.
I don't stop, pushing through until I'm in the compound, driving straight up to the clubhouse doors.
As I screech to a halt, the front door flies open.
Ivar storms out, his face a mask of fury.
"What in the fuck is going on out here?!" he bellows, hands raised in disbelief.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself as I climb out of the car.
This is it.
No turning back now.
Ulf comes running up, face red with anger. "This crazy bitch drove straight through the gate!" he shouts, gesturing wildly at me.
Ivar rounds my car, his eyes locking onto mine.
For a heartbeat, I'm terrified I've made a horrible mistake.
Then his face splits into a wide grin, and before I know it, I'm swept up in a bone-crushing hug.
"Gods! It's damn good to see you," he laughs, spinning me around.
Relief washes over me, and I can't help but laugh too, the tension of the past few minutes melting away.
Ulf sputters, his jaw practically on the ground. "You know her?!"
Ivar sets me down, keeping an arm around my shoulders as he turns to face the prospect. "Know her? This is Meghan. She's practically royalty around here."
I feel a warmth spread through my chest at his words, even as part of me wants to scoff.
Royalty?
More like the black sheep who ran away.
But standing here, with Ivar's familiar presence beside me, I can almost believe it.
"I tried to tell him I belonged here," I say, unable to keep the satisfaction out of my voice.
Ivar shakes his head, chuckling. "Still causing trouble, I see. Come on, let's get you inside. The others are gonna flip when they see you," Ivar pauses and glares down the prospect. "Ulf, you better fix that fuckin' fence and fast!"
As we head toward the clubhouse, I can't help but glance back at Ulf.
His face is a mix of confusion and dawning horror as he realizes just how badly he's fucked up.
Part of me wants to gloat and rub it in his face, but I'm not that person anymore.
I take a deep breath as we approach the door, steeling myself for whatever’s about to happen.
Ivar's arm is a comforting weight around my shoulders as we step into the clubhouse.
The familiar scents of leather, whiskey, and the ever lingering oil hits me like a punch to the gut, flooding me with memories both sweet and painful.
I blink rapidly, fighting back the sudden sting of tears.
Every head in the place turns our way, and for a moment, the only sound is the low hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.
I force myself to stand tall, chin up, meeting their gazes head-on.
I may have been gone for years, but I'll be damned if I let them see me cower.
"Well, I'll be damned," a voice breaks the silence. Charm pushes through the crowd, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Meghan, as I live and breathe."
I manage a smile, though it feels brittle on my face. "Hey, Charm. Long time no see."
She pulls me into a tight hug, and I stiffen for a moment before letting myself relax into it.
When she pulls back, her eyes are searching my face intently.
"It's been so long. Tell me, how are you?" The concern in her voice is genuine, and it threatens to crack my carefully constructed facade.
"I'm okay," I say, aiming for nonchalance. But the words feel hollow even to my own ears.
Charm's eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "Cut the shit, Meg. This is me you're talking to."
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to look away.
My mind races, trying to decide how much to reveal.
How do I tell them that I'm terrified, that I'm running from ghosts both old and new?
That coming back here feels like ripping open a wound that never fully healed?
"I..." I start, then shake my head. "It's complicated, Charm. I'm dealing with some stuff, but I'll be fine. I always am, right?"
The words come out more bitter than I intended, and I see Charm and Ivar exchange a worried glance.
Shit. I need to get a grip before I give too much away.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
Before I can say anything else, a flurry of movement catches my eye.
Several of the other ol' ladies are making their way toward me, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern.
But it's the sight of Starla that makes my heart clench.
My best friend in the whole wide world, the one person who knows me better than I know myself sometimes.
"Meghan!" Starla calls out, pushing past the others to wrap me in a fierce hug. "God, I've missed you."
I cling to her, surprised by the sudden lump in my throat. "Missed you too, Star," I manage to choke out.
As we pull apart, I can see the questions burning in her eyes.
She doesn't know about my father causing all of this chaos, and I need to tell her.
God, I've kept it bottled up for far too long.
But now isn't the time or place.
I need to pick my battles carefully.
"We've got a lot to catch up on," I say softly, giving her a meaningful look.
She nods, understanding passing between us without words.
The other women crowd around with tons of greetings and questions.
I paste on a smile, answering as vaguely as I can.
My mind is racing, trying to figure out how much to reveal, how to navigate this minefield of old relationships and new secrets.
Suddenly, the crowd parts, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.
Tor is striding toward us, his green eyes locked on mine.
My heart does a little flip in my chest, and I silently curse my body's reaction to him.
He comes to a stop in front of me, a smirk playing on his lips. "I didn't expect you'd be here so soon," he says, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine.
I try to play it cool, falling back on the flirtatious banter that's always come so easily between us. "What can I say? I could never stay away from you for too long," I reply, aiming for a lighthearted tone.
But as soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize how they sound.
My cheeks flush as I see Tor's eyebrows raise slightly, his smirk widening.
Damn it.
I didn't mean for it to come out so... suggestive.
Tor takes a step closer. "Is that so?"
The air between us seems to crackle with tension.
I swallow hard, suddenly very aware of all the eyes on us. "I, uh... I meant the club, of course," I stammer, trying to backpedal. "You know, the bond, the... the sense of family that the club has."
Even as I say it, I know it's a weak excuse.
The truth is, a big part of why I came back was standing right in front of me, all six feet of tattooed, muscled biker.
But admitting that, even to myself, is terrifying.
Starla clears her throat loudly, breaking the tension. "Ladies, why don't we give these two some space?" she says, her voice tinged with amusement.
She begins herding the other women away, throwing me a knowing look over her shoulder.
I'm grateful for the intervention, even as my heart races.
This is it.
The moment I've been dreading and longing for at the same time.
I need to tell Tor everything, but the weight of my secrets feels like it's crushing me.
Tor's green eyes lock onto mine, his expression softening. "Want to head somewhere more private?" he asks, jerking his head toward the hallway.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
As we walk, I can't help but notice the changes in the clubhouse.
The main room seems larger, the wall with the Raiders of Valhalla logo even more imposing.
Magnus's handiwork is evident everywhere, from the intricately carved bar to the wooden sculptures of Norse gods scattered around.
Tor leads me to one of the private rooms, closing the door behind us with a soft click.
The sound feels oddly final, like the period at the end of a sentence.
We settle onto a worn leather couch, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
The scent of leather and whiskey clings to him, achingly familiar.
"I meant it," Tor says, his voice genuine. "It really is great to see you, Meghan."
I force a smile, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. "It's good to see you too, Tor," I reply softly.
There's so much I want to say, so many words crowding my throat.
But where do I even begin?
How do I tell him about the years of running, about Tindra, about the constant fear that's become my companion?
Tor leans in, his bottle green eyes searching my face. "Why have you come back to Tallahassee after all these years, Meghan?" he asks, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern.
I pause, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The weight of my secrets feels almost crushing, and I struggle to find the right words.
My fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt as I try to gather my thoughts.
"I..." I start, then falter.
How do I condense years of fear, running, and motherhood into a simple explanation? "It's complicated, Tor."
He doesn't push, just waits patiently, his presence both comforting and unnerving.
I can feel the heat of his gaze on me, and it takes all my willpower not to fall back into old habits, to flirt and deflect.
"I needed a fresh start," I finally say, the words tumbling out. "But also... I needed to come home."
The admission feels raw, vulnerable.
Tor nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Home can be a loaded word," he says softly.
I let out a shaky breath. "Yeah, it can be."
My mind flashes to Tindra, to the life we've built, to the constant looking over my shoulder. "Tor, there's more. So much more."
He reaches out, his calloused hand covering mine.
The gesture is so unexpectedly gentle that I almost break right there. "I'm listening, Meghan. Whatever it is, you can tell me."
I look into his eyes, seeing the man he's become.
The boy I knew is still there, but there's a steadiness, a strength that wasn't there before.
It gives me courage.
"Tindra," I blurt out, the words hanging in the air between us. "She's amazing, Tor. Smart, funny, stubborn as hell." A small smile tugs at my lips despite the tension. "But she's also the reason I've stayed away for so long. I've been trying to keep her safe."
Tor's brow furrows. "Safe from what? Or who?"
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what comes next. "From my father," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "He's been... he's been threatening us."
Tor's hand tightens on mine, and I see a flash of that fierce protectiveness in his eyes. "Tell me everything," he says, his voice low and intense.
I need to unravel the tangled web of my past, hoping that I'm making the right choice by telling him everything, and praying he can forgive me.