Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
L yla was imagining things. There was no other explanation for it. She’d been sitting in the basement of her childhood home for hours. The men who’d come to take a look at what needed to be done had left a long time ago. Why was she still here?
She’d gone to her car, grabbed her satchel, and had been sitting in the basement on the floor, leaning against the wall, sketching for hours. She could have sworn she’d heard a bike engine at some point, but she hadn’t moved an inch. She’d paused, listened, and shuddered.
Surely she’d imagined it. Probably because she’d done nothing but think of Rock since she’d arrived here that morning. Was he still in town? Was he married? Did he still belong to the local MC? Had he ever thought of her again after that night they’d spent together?
Most likely, he didn’t remember that night at all. It would be ridiculous to think he even remembered her name. Why would he? They’d had one night together, rolling in the sheets. That was it. He’d had countless other women. How many of them had been young and na?ve? How many of them had been a virgin like she’d been?
She glanced down at her sketchpad, surprised to see that she’d been sketching images of Rock the way she remembered him. Five pages of him as a matter of fact.
Groaning at her idiocy, she shut the book and pushed to her feet. She looked around. This basement held so many memories. She couldn’t believe the blue carpeting was still stapled to the wall. It was a dingy shade now, almost gray, but it was still there.
She turned around and stared where she’d been sitting the first time Rock had entered her line of sight. She’d been sketching a basket of fruit, and Jackson had ruined it by eating one of the apples.
She’d been sixteen. Most people would say she hadn’t been old enough to know her mind, but she’d known a lot of things that day. She’d gotten close enough to Rock to inhale his masculine scent—the predominance of leather seeping into her memory.
He’d tucked her hair behind her ear, making her shiver then…and now. He’d smiled at her and looked her in the eyes. Even though he’d been rough, a biker, already a member of his MC at eighteen, she’d also known he was intelligent and wise.
That day had launched a crush she’d held for two years until the night he’d taken her to his apartment and shown her what it meant to be loved by a real man.
He’d ruined her for other men. She hadn’t had sex again for many years because every time she’d gotten close enough to anyone to allow them to kiss her, she’d never felt the sparks she’d felt with Rock.
Had it all been an illusion? Maybe.
Yes, she’d eventually met Mike and gotten married. He’d been a math teacher at the high school where she’d taught art. He’d been kind to her and pursued her for two years before she’d finally given in and gone on a date with him. They’d become friends, and that friendship had grown into more.
Lyla had moved in with Mike the following year, and eventually, they’d gotten married. She’d been happy. Content. Things had been good until they hadn’t been able to get pregnant.
Mike had wanted to see more doctors and try expensive infertility methods, but Lyla had never been dedicated enough to spend thousands of dollars on IVF. In the end, they’d separated and divorced. He’d moved to another state to start over.
Maybe everything that had gone wrong in their relationship had been her fault. It was possible she’d harbored feelings for another man and had never been able to fully invest in her marriage.
It didn’t matter now. That was a lifetime ago.
Lyla took a deep breath and headed for the stairs. It was probably a horrible idea to have returned to Shadowridge to prepare her childhood home for sale. Feelings she preferred to leave deeply buried were rising to the surface and making her nervous.
There was no way she would seek him out. Nothing good could possibly come of it. He would be fifty-eight years old. If he was still in the MC, he was probably married. The best thing she could do would be to get this house ready for sale as fast as possible and get out of town. It would probably take a few weeks. She’d meant to stay and oversee everything, but maybe she should speed up her timetable for her own sanity.
After climbing into her rental car, she started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. Unable to resist, she drove toward the MC. The entrance looked the same as it had forty years ago. Maybe the fence had been replaced, but that was about it. There were a lot of bikes out front, but she didn’t slow down. She simply drove by, her heart racing, wondering if Rock was in the compound. Her skin tingled at the thought that she might be yards away from him, a man she hadn’t seen in decades. A man she’s never forgotten.
Gripping the steering wheel, she headed toward the motel on the edge of town. She would be staying there until she was finished dealing with the house. If it weren’t for the fact that her father really wanted her to make sure the house was in excellent condition so it could be sold at the proper market value, she’d lowball it, unload it to a house flipper tomorrow, and get the hell out of dodge.
But her father was all about making the most money on every transaction, and she had no legitimate excuse for not seeing this through. After all, she was a fifty-six-year-old retiree with nothing but time in front of her. She was in the prime of her life as far as she was concerned. After she got this house sold, she could take a long vacation somewhere, maybe hook up with a silver fox, and remind herself she was still alive.
Yep, that was an excellent idea. Why didn’t it sound more appealing than it should?
She was dragging as she hauled herself into her motel room, dropped her satchel on the bed, and flopped down next to it. For a long time, she simply lay there, unable to stop thinking about Rock. Were the memories bombarding her just because she’d returned to town?
When she finally pulled herself up to get ready for bed, she shuffled into the bathroom, turned on the light, and stared at herself in the mirror. Who was she?
Lyla crossed her arms, suddenly feeling chilled. She didn’t really know the woman staring back at her. She didn’t think she looked as old as she was. She’d always taken care of herself. She was blessed with brown hair that hadn’t turned gray yet. There were lines at the corners of her eyes, but most people had laugh lines.
She wasn’t sure her lines were from laughing, though. Had she laughed enough in life? She’d done everything that was expected of her. She’d gotten a teaching degree like her parents had encouraged. They’d compromised between art and teaching when she’d agreed to pursue the combination.
She’d worked hard for thirty years. The students and other faculty had loved her. She could have kept working, but she hadn’t wanted to. Instead, she’d spent the last few years working on her own art, though she hadn’t shared any of it with the world yet.
“You’re boring,” she told her reflection. “You’ve wasted your life away.”
She knew it wouldn’t look like that to an outsider. She had friends. She belonged to a gym. She had her book club. She had wine night with the other teachers her age. Bunco nights. Christmas parties. Vacations with friends or her parents.
“But have you lived?”
A tear came to her eye, and she quickly reached up to swipe it away. There was no need to cry or feel sorry for herself. She’d had a full life, and for fuck’s sake, she was only fifty-six. She had many more years to enjoy herself.
“Doing what, Lyla?” she asked the mirror. “Huh? What are you going to do?” With a huge sigh, she went through her nightly routine of makeup removal, teeth brushing, flossing, and combing through her hair. She still kept it past her shoulders because she liked to be able to put it up in a ponytail.
Finally, she dropped into bed. When the sun came up, hopefully, she wouldn’t feel so lost.