CHAPTER EIGHT
Kye
ITURNED TO REACH FOR A COLORED PENCIL AND KNOCKED MY coffee off the corner of the shelf. Cursing, I pushed to my feet and went in search of some paper towels.
Jericho grabbed his roll and moved toward the spill, mopping it up. “You okay?” he asked, lowering his voice.
“Fine,” I grumbled, picking up the broken pieces of the mug.
“Real convincing,” Jericho shot back. His gaze flicked up to mine as he continued to soak up the coffee. “This about Oren showing up yesterday?”
Any other day, Oren trying to loop us into some fucked-up fight ring again would’ve been my top concern.
Now, it didn’t even rate. I’d spent the morning calling a cleaning service to get the house in shape for a home inspection, pulling financial records in case Fallon needed that for my case, and putting a call into my lawyer so she could adjust my will accordingly.
“It’s not Oren,” I finally said.
Surprise lit Jericho’s features, but I also saw worry. I felt like the biggest ass.
“Are you okay?” I pressed.
He shrugged as he tossed a wad of paper towels into the trash and tore off more. “I can’t risk getting mixed up with him again—or even the appearance of it. I didn’t pull my shit together as quickly as you did.”
Jericho had a few dings on his record for stupid shit after he turned eighteen. But he was sober now, working a program and toeing the line.
“You’ve done great for years. No one’s going to think anything other than Oren’s an asshole.”
But as I said the words, I thought about the risks I was taking. If word got out to the people deciding custody of Hayden, Clementine, and Gracie that an MC member was hanging around my studio, it could have serious repercussions. Fuck. I might need to have a word with Trace.
“I hope you’re right,” Jericho muttered.
“Whatcha doing on your knees, boys?” Penelope called. “Waiting for me?”
Bear let out a snort. “Doll, you are nothing but trouble.”
She clasped her hands under her chin and blinked up at him with faux innocence. “Little ole me?”
Jericho chuckled. “You’re going to send some man to an early grave.”
“And he’ll thank his lucky stars,” Penelope shot back, crossing to my station and hopping up onto the counter, swinging her legs as she lifted my sketchpad. “This is looking good.”
I fought the urge to rip the drawing out of her hands. Only one person got to see my stuff before it was done, and that sure as hell wasn’t Penelope. I crossed to the trash can and poured the shards of mug into it.
Penelope’s nose wrinkled. “You’re extra grumpy today. Didn’t sleep well? You know I could help with that.”
This time, I did jerk the sketchpad out of her hands. She was getting bolder, and I needed to shut that shit down. “Not interested. And I think I’ve made that clear.”
Hurt bloomed on Penelope’s face as she slid off the counter.
“Shit,” I mumbled. “I—”
“No. I get it. Message received.”
I gritted my teeth as she hurried back down the hall. “I am the world’s biggest asshole.”
“Sometimes,” Jericho agreed.
Bear just shook his head. “It needed to happen. Better to have one moment of pain than to keep stringing her along.”
“I wasn’t stringing her along,” I argued.
Bear simply arched a brow. “You’re the king of avoidance. Don’t like to hurt others, so you just dodge and weave.”
“You mean he’s the priest of avoidance,” Jericho corrected.
“Oh, fuck off,” I muttered. But he was one of the few who knew the truth of just how empty my bed had been the past fifteen years.
The bell over the door jingled as a woman who made me feel distinctly un-priestlike walked in. Fallon had her blond hair piled into a messy bun, tendrils of it spilling out and cascading around her face. My fingers itched to snap the band and let it all fall free.
She had on wide-legged black pants and a button-down shirt peeking out from beneath a tan sweater, but the real Fallon shone through in her choice of footwear and the bracelets on her wrist: a pair of white sneakers decorated with little pink hearts, and beaded bracelets in every color under the sun—ones I knew Keely had made for her.
She was a knot of contradictions, and it captivated me. But as I looked deeper, I saw the strain—the dark circles just visible beneath her makeup, the tight grip she had on her tote.
“Fal,” Bear greeted, a huge smile on his face.
She answered with one of her own, even if it was tense around the edges. She leaned across the reception desk and kissed his bearded cheek. “I’ve missed you.”
Bear’s smile only widened. “Made gingersnaps last night if you want one.”
“You’ve been holding out on us?” Jericho accused.
Bear simply shot him a look. “You heathens would have already eaten every single one, leaving nothing but crumbs for the rest of us.”
“I am partial to gingersnaps,” Fallon said, her lips twitching.
Bear opened one of his desk drawers and handed her a resealable bag. “Here you go.”
“You are the best.”
Jericho scowled at the biker. “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”
Bear chuckled and fished out another bag. “This is only because I don’t want to hear you moaning and complaining for the rest of the day.”
Jericho jumped on the bag as if he hadn’t eaten in months.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
Fal broke off a piece of cookie and popped it into her mouth. “I don’t blame him. They’re worth it.”
That was about as much of an offer of friendship as Jericho would get from Fallon.
Because in her mind, he was linked to something that had almost cost me my life.
She might be glad he’d pulled his life together but she’d always harbor a resentment that he’d been part of the fight ring that had almost taken me out.
I moved toward her as if some invisible tether pulled me in. “You got something?” I asked quietly.
She nodded. “Out back?”
The urge to reach for her hand was strong, but I simply pressed my palm to her back and guided her down the hallway. The contact scalded as if Fal’s heat could burn through layers of clothing. But I didn’t pull away.
Penelope’s door was open, and she looked up from where she was eating lunch over her desk. Her gaze locked on Fal and me, taking in our closeness, but I didn’t drop my hand.
Fallon raised her hand in a small wave that Penelope didn’t return, and a stream of mental curses ran through my head. I knew I’d end up paying for my earlier comment—and I had zero time or energy for the drama.
“Everything okay with her?” Fal asked as we stepped out onto the shop’s small back patio. There was an outdoor table, some chairs, and a couple of aspen trees.
“Everything’s fine. Just had a little dust-up earlier,” I explained.
Fallon arched a brow at me in question.
“It doesn’t matter. What’d you find out?”
Fal’s grip on her bag tightened, and my stomach dropped.
“It’s not good,” I surmised.
“It’s a mix,” she said quickly. “So far, the girls’ birth father hasn’t returned my calls. I called in a request to have him served. We’re just waiting for a response. But we have to wait for the allotted time to pass to see if I can speak to him.”
“But …” Because I knew there was a but. It felt like there always was. As if my life were made up of a series of almosts.
Fallon slipped her bag from her shoulder and deposited it on one of the chairs. “I talked to Rose. She’s all for you filing for custody, but she thinks we could run into issues getting final approval for placement from a judge.”
My back teeth ground together. “Because of my record?”
A wince tightened Fallon’s features. “That and she was honest about the fact that some may not see your job setup as the most stable. It’s stupid and prejudiced, but some of the judges in this county are stuck in the past.”
I started to pace, my motorcycle boots hitting the stone patio with more force than necessary as I raked a hand through my hair. All the stupid things I’d done in the past. All the things I’d been forced into. And now my sisters might pay the price.
Fallon moved into my path, halting me by placing her hands on my T-shirt-clad chest. “You are the most amazing person I’ve ever known. And Hayden, Clem, and Gracie would be so lucky to have you looking out for them.”
Each sentiment was like a hot poker sliding through my chest: the belief Fal had in me, the way she saw things no one else did … “If the judge doesn’t think so, it doesn’t really matter. And my fuckups could keep them from staying together.”
Just speaking the words out loud hurt. Admitting to another failure.
Fallon reached up and cupped my cheeks. The contact lit another beautiful burn in me, scorching me like lava. I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.
“You did what you had to do,” Fallon said quietly. “What you thought was right at the moment.”
Only it wasn’t. It was so far from right it wasn’t even funny. “Tell me what to do, Sparrow.”
Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip as she dropped her hands from my face. I couldn’t help but track the movement. The memory of her taste flooded my mind: spearmint and fresh, clean air. It was as if her taste could cleanse all the badness right out of me.
“I have an idea that might work,” Fallon began. “But it is completely unhinged.”
Energy and something that felt a lot like hope crackled through me. “What? I’ll do anything. Hell, I’ll cover my tattoos with body makeup if I have to. Wear polo shirts and take up golf. Whatever you think will make me acceptable in the court’s eyes.”
Fallon’s delicate throat worked as she struggled to swallow. “Marry me.”