CHAPTER NINE
“So you’re Shade’s granddaughter, huh?”
The deep voice startles me, and I nearly knock over my beer.
Turning to find Eagle sliding onto the bar stool next to me, I offer a smile.
I’d been so lost in watching the prospects clean up around the clubhouse that I hadn’t heard him approach.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I reply, warmth spreading through me at the mention of my grandfather. Pops is my hero—always has been.
Eagle nods slowly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he studies my face. “I knew your father. Sythe was a good man.” His expression softens. “I was really sorry to hear about his passing.”
The familiar ache blooms in my chest, and I have to swallow hard before I can respond. “Thanks.”
It’s been ten years since cancer took my dad, and despite what people say about time healing all wounds, it doesn’t get easier.
You just learn to live with the hole they leave behind.
“He saved my ass once in Daytona, back in ’89,” Eagle continues, a faraway look in his eyes. “Bar fight gone sideways. Sinners had me cornered in the john. Your dad came busting in like some kind of avenging angel.” He chuckles at the memory. “We didn’t even know each other then.”
I smile despite the ache. That sounds like Dad. He was always rushing headlong into trouble, especially when someone needed help.
Like father, like daughter, I guess.
Eagle pats my shoulder gently as he stands. “Better go see if Roxy needs help in the kitchen. That woman thinks she can do everything herself.” His eyes twinkle with affection for his wife. “Been like that for forty years.”
As he walks away, I take a slow sip of my beer, letting my eyes wander around the clubhouse. It’s different from the clubhouse in Jacksonville.
It’s much bigger and more lived-in.
There’s history in these walls.
The clubhouse back home feels like a frat house on most days.
A place for the guys to drink and hook up with the sweetbutts.
This place feels almost... homey, despite the pool tables, bar, and the obvious stripper pole on the small stage in the corner.
The aroma of tomato sauce and garlic wafts through the air, making my stomach growl. The lasagna Roxy’s making smells incredible.
I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in ages—unless you count the frozen burgers the guys throw on the grill back at home.
“Miss Foxy!” Saylor comes racing across the clubhouse, her dark ponytail bouncing behind her. “Grandma says dinner’s almost ready!”
Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I can’t help but grin at her. “That’s great. I’m starving.”
“Me too!” She grabs my hand, tugging me off the barstool. “Come on, you have to sit next to me.”
I let her pull me toward the long tables that have been pushed together in the center of the room. The setup reminds me of those big Italian family dinners you see in movies—the kind I’ve always secretly envied.
Growing up, dinners were usually me and Pops, or me alone with a plate left in the microwave while everyone was off handling “club business.”
“You can sit here,” Saylor announces, patting the chair beside her. “And Jagger’s gonna sit on your other side. Right, Jag?”
Jagger, who’s been helping set out plates, rolls his eyes at his sister but doesn’t contradict her. “Whatever, squirt.”
Before long, the clubhouse is filled with the sound of chairs scraping against the floor as everyone takes their seats.
The tables are crowded with bodies—Tacoma at the head, his officers spread out among the other members.
It strikes me how different this is from what I’m used to.
The Saints get together for cookouts occasionally, but nothing like this—nothing that feels quite so much like a Sunday dinner.
My eyes find Tacoma, and my breath catches at the intensity in his gaze.
He’s watching me, those blue eyes fixed on my face like I’m some puzzle he’s trying to solve.
Roxy emerges from the kitchen, following her husband who’s carrying a massive dish of lasagna that smells like heaven.
He gently places it on the table as Roxy calls out, “Dig in, everyone!”
There’s no hesitation as plates are passed around and food is loaded up.
The room fills with appreciative murmurs and the clinking of silverware against plates.
“This is amazing, Roxy,” Bash says around a mouthful of pasta.
“Best lasagna in Florida,” Journey adds, half his plate already empty and eyes glued to the dish like he’s ready for seconds.
“Thanks for cooking, Ma,” Tacoma says, his deep voice carrying across the table.
I take my first bite and nearly moan out loud.
The flavors are perfect—rich tomato sauce, creamy cheese, perfectly seasoned meat. “This is incredible,” I tell Roxy, who beams with pride.
“Secret recipe,” she whispers conspiratorially. “Been in my family for generations.”
Saylor chatters away beside me, telling me about her school, her friends, and how her Uncle Red’s dogs, Axle and Ralph, follow him everywhere. I listen, nodding and asking questions in all the right places, enjoying her animated storytelling.
On my other side, Jagger is quieter, focused on his food. But I can feel him watching me, curiosity evident in his sideways glances.
“So,” he finally says, setting down his fork. “Your bike’s pretty cool.”
I smile, surprised by the compliment. “Thanks.”
“Most of the girls I know won’t even get on the back of a bike, let alone ride their own,” he continues.
“Well, I grew up around motorcycles,” I explain. “My grandfather taught me to ride when I was fifteen. Drove my dad crazy.”
Jagger’s lips twitch. “I bet. My dad says I can get my motorcycle license next summer.”
“Not a day sooner,” Tacoma calls from across the table, clearly eavesdropping.
I laugh at Jagger’s exaggerated eye roll. “Hey, it’s not that long to wait.”
“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles. He pushes his food around his plate for a moment before adding, “We were supposed to go to Yellowstone for fall break this year. Mom promised.”
“That should be fun.”
He looks up, hurt shining in his eyes. “She canceled. Like always.”
I nod, understanding flooding through me.
“My mom was always breaking promises. She left when I was little,” I share, not sure why I’m telling him this, but feeling like he needs to hear it.
“Just packed up and disappeared one day. My grandfather raised me mostly. My dad was always wrapped up in club business.”
Jagger’s eyes widen slightly. “That sucks.”
“It did,” I agree. “But you know what? She’s the one missing out.” I gesture towards him and his sister. “You guys are great.”
A small smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah, I guess we are.”
The conversation shifts to easier topics after that, but I can’t help noticing how Jagger seems more relaxed, more engaged.
It’s a small thing, this connection, but it feels important somehow.
I glance around the table, watching the interactions—the teasing between brothers, the easy camaraderie, the way Roxy fusses over everyone, making sure they have enough to eat.
My chest aches with a longing I haven’t acknowledged in years.
This is what I’ve been missing.
Family.
Belonging.
A place where I fit.
Back in Jacksonville, things are changing.
Mason is building a life with Cora, starting a family of his own.
And I’m... drifting.
Alone in my fancy RV, moving from job to job.
Across the table, Tacoma catches me watching everyone, and something in his expression tells me he gets what I’m feeling.
There’s an unspoken understanding that passes between us.
Heat spreads through my chest, and it has nothing to do with physical attraction—though there’s plenty of that too.
After dinner, everyone pitches in to help with the cleanup.
I find myself at the sink with Roxy, washing dishes while she dries.
“Thank you for such an amazing meal,” I tell her. “I haven’t had homemade lasagna like that... well, ever.”
She smiles, the lines around her eyes crinkling. “You’re welcome, honey. It’s nice having another woman around. These boys can be a bit much sometimes.”
I laugh, passing her a clean plate. “I can imagine.”
“You should come by the house tomorrow,” she suggests. “I could show you my garden. I grow all my own herbs for cooking.”
Before I can tell her that I’m leaving tonight, Eagle appears in the doorway. “We’re heading out, Rox. Taking the kids back to our place.”
Roxy nods, hanging up her dish towel. “You coming, Saylor? Jagger?”
Saylor bounces into the kitchen. “Can Panda come too?”
I hesitate. “I’m sorry, sweetie. We’re leaving.”
Saylor’s face falls, and her blue eyes, a carbon copy of her father’s, turn glassy. “But, I don’t want you to leave.”
My heart twists at her crestfallen expression.
I’ve only known this little girl for a day, but somehow she’s already wormed her way into my heart.
“I have to get back to Jacksonville,” I explain gently. “My brother is expecting me.”
“Can’t you call him?” she pleads, grabbing my hand. “Please stay. Just one more day?”
I look up to find Tacoma leaning against the doorframe, watching us with an unreadable expression.
“Saylor, don’t pressure our guest,” he says, but there’s something in his voice that makes me wonder if he wants me to stay, too.
Jagger appears beside his sister, ruffling her hair. “Come on, squirt. Let’s go with Grandma and Pop.”
Saylor’s bottom lip trembles slightly. “But—”
“I’ll walk you guys out,” I offer, hoping to soften the blow.
The little girl nods reluctantly, taking my hand again as we follow Eagle and Roxy toward the door.
Panda scurries after us, chittering as if sensing something’s happening.
Outside, the night air is warm with a gentle breeze coming off the Gulf. The stars are brighter here than in Jacksonville, away from the city lights.
Saylor throws her arms around my waist in a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you.”
Something tugs at my heart. “I’m going to miss you too, sweetheart.”
Jagger surprises me by giving me a quick, awkward hug. “It was cool meeting you,” he mumbles.
“You too,” I reply, genuinely meaning it.