Chapter 8
Parking the car, I let out a sigh. I pay Zoe, my neighbor’s teenage daughter who is an amazing babysitter for Quinn and watch her make it safely into her home before taking my shoes off just inside my front door and settling in.
Quinn sleeps like the world is perfect. The peaceful life of a child.
How I wish I could relive the innocence of childhood again.
I stand in the doorway of her room for a long moment, watching her chest rise and fall beneath the blanket with the faded yellow daisies on it.
One arm is flung over her head, her stuffed rabbit tucked under her chin, her hair a soft halo against the pillow.
Five years old and somehow already the strongest person I know.
My throat tightens as the guilt hits me once again. I wish I could have given her a better life. A beginning filled with love, safety, and security.
The house is quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional passing car on the road outside. The clock on the microwave reads 9:48.
Later than I planned to be home. Then again, nothing about tonight has gone to plan. I step quietly into Quinn’s room and tuck the blanket back around her shoulders where it’s slipped down.
She stirs. “Mommy?”
My heart squeezes. “I’m here, baby.” Being her mom is the very best name I’ve ever had.
Her eyes blink open, heavy with sleep. “You were gone when it was time to read.”
“I know.” I smooth her hair back gently. “Just ran out for a little bit.”
“You said you had to talk to somebody.” Kids remember everything. “I heard you tell Ms. Zoe.”
“Yeah,” I reply softly. “But it didn’t take long.”
“Was it Daddy?”
The word sits heavy in the air. I swallow because I don’t want to lie to her. “Yes.”
Her little brow wrinkles the way it always does when she’s thinking hard. “Did he come?”
“No.” I sigh. “We crossed wires and had a mix up in times. It’s okay, baby.”
“Okay.” Just like that. No sadness. No questions. Because Quinn remembers him, but doesn’t seek out time with him. The pureness, the naivety of children where they take things at face value. And the part of me that should probably feel guilty about that mostly just feels relieved.
She yawns and snuggles deeper into the pillow. “Night, Mommy.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” I kiss her forehead and slip quietly back out of the room, pulling the door halfway closed behind me.
The living room lamp casts a warm circle of light across the couch and coffee table. My purse sits where I dropped it when I walked in.
For a minute, I just stand here. Breathing. Trying to settle the leftover adrenaline still buzzing under my skin. The anxiety still courses through my body as the fight, flight, or freeze instincts try to settle inside me. My mind just plays it over and over.
The bar. The man grabbing my wrist. The moment everything inside me froze. I hate that part. Hate that even after all this time my body still remembers what it feels like to be trapped.
I walk into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water, leaning against the counter as I drink.
And then, like it’s been waiting patiently all evening, another image slips into my thoughts.
Dark eyes. A scar through one eyebrow. A voice low enough to cut through a crowded bar without shouting. Let. Her. Go.
I close my eyes. That moment replays so clearly it might as well be happening again. The way the drunk man’s hand disappeared from my wrist. The sound of the punch. The crash of wood breaking.
The calm way Tucker—Mellow—stood there afterward like violence was just another language he spoke fluently.
I set the glass down. “Stop it,” I murmur to myself. Men like him are trouble.
Everyone in Freedom Falls knows about motorcycle clubs. Even if you’ve never met one of the members, you’ve heard the stories.
Fights.
Crime.
Chaos.
Freedom Falls apparently is home to the head of the Alabama Kings of Anarchy MC. The same Kings of Anarchy the man had the patches for.
The name alone should be enough warning. And yet…I can still hear the way he asked if I was okay. It was delicate.
Soft.
Careful.
Like the answer actually mattered to him. I rub my temples. This is ridiculous. He helped me. That’s it. A stranger saw someone in trouble and stepped in. End of story.
Except my brain refuses to cooperate. Because the truth is, most strangers don’t step in. Most people look away. I know that better than anyone. My phone buzzes on the coffee table, making me jump.
I grab it quickly so it won’t wake Quinn. Unknown number again. My stomach drops. For a second I consider ignoring it.
But if it’s Quinn’s father again—I answer because I can’t keep running from him. “Hello?”
A pause. Then a voice I don’t recognize. Female.
“Is this Lucy Coe?”
“Yes, what can I help you with?”
“This is Marlaina. I have Quinn twice a week in school. I teach music at the elementary school.”
“Oh—hi.” My shoulders relax slightly.
“I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”
“Um,” I answer unsure where this is going. Confusion flickers through me. “I did.”
“Good.” Another pause. “Earl works for Crystal at the Black Rose Tavern. He called my brother said your name. Paul called me after looking into you and realizing you have a kid at my school.”
I blink. “Your brother? And looked into me?” My mind races.
“Yeah. He’s one of the Kings. He’s the club chaplain.
” She pauses, “Oh my God, honey, I didn’t mean to scare you.
It’s a small town and the Kings they like to know what they can about everyone.
Mellow helped you out, Earl called Paul to look into you because well, things don’t go down in Freedom Falls like that. ”
Of course her brother is in the club. Of course people are talking and connecting dots any way they can. Small town life.
“Anyway,” she continues, “Earl said some drunk idiot tried to grab you at the Black Rose tonight.”
My stomach twists. “Something like that.”
“You all right?”
I sigh hating reliving all of this. “I’m fine.”
“Well good,” she states briskly. “Because if that idiot shows his face around here again my brother, faith or not, will gather up the brother and probably toss him in the Gulf.”
The casual way she says it should probably alarm me. Instead it makes a strange little bubble of laughter rise in my chest. A giggle escapes me. “I think he already got the message.”
“I heard.” Her tone shifts slightly. “You met Mellow. He’s the VP. Solid guy.”
I lean against the couch. “Yes, he did tell me they call him that.”
“Don’t let the road name fool you.” She laughs and keeps on like we are the best of friends.
“I figured that out.”
Marlaina laughs again. “He’s actually one of the better ones.”
Better ones. The phrasing is oddly comforting and concerning at the same time. “Well,” I say slowly, “tell him thank you if you see him.”
“I’m sure he’ll hear it eventually. And knowing how some of them fellas are you will probably get a chance to tell him yourself.”
I hesitate. “Why?”
Another small laugh. “This town is basically a gossip factory.”
Fair point. I chose this country town because it was a slower pace without the distractions of a city. I guess people tend to talk more to one another because of it.
“All right,” she says. “Get some rest. And Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
“If anybody bothers you again, you let someone know.”
“Um, okay.”
Without another word she hangs up. I set the phone down and stare at the dark screen for a moment. One of the better ones. The phrase echoes in my mind. I walk to the window and pull the curtain aside slightly.
The street outside is quiet.
A porch light glows across the gravel road. A dog barks somewhere in the distance.
Normal.
Peaceful.
Nothing like the noise and chaos of the bar earlier. My wrist still aches slightly where the man grabbed it.
I rub the spot absently. Then I hear it. Far off at first. A low rumble.
Motorcycle engine.
My breath catches before I can stop it.
The sound grows louder for a moment, then fades as the bike passes down the road. Probably not him. Freedom Falls has plenty of motorcycles. Why should I think he would come check on me? This was a random one-time thing.
Still…My heart takes a second longer than it should to settle. I drop the curtain and head toward the couch. Sleep doesn’t come easy. Instead my brain keeps replaying the night.
My ex’s voice on the phone.
The smell of whiskey.
The feeling of being trapped.
Then the sudden shift when Tucker stepped in. Danger meeting danger. And somehow that second kind felt safer. I curl up on the couch with a blanket and stare at the ceiling.
Maybe Marlaina is right. Maybe Tucker Bostic is one of the better ones. Or maybe I’m just so used to bad men that a slightly less bad one looks like a hero.
The thought makes me laugh softly. That’s probably closer to the truth. The bar isn’t really set very high given my track record in picking men.
When I finally drift toward sleep, one image lingers in my mind. A tall man under a bar light. Dark eyes steady. Voice calm.
Get home safe.
And for the first time in a long time, I actually felt safe going home.