Chapter 14
Marissa
An armed guard greets Hawk with a nod, lifts the ramp, and waves us in.
“This is the clubhouse and what we call the dorms. We’ll return here for the party,” Hawk tells me as he gestures to a three-story building that has a bunch of motorcycles parked in front of it.
We then drive up to another ramp, where Hawk presses his ID badge against a scanner, and the ramp lifts.
He wasn’t exaggerating when he said it was military-level safe.
“Is this… a gated community?” I ask, perplexed.
A smile creases his eyes in the rearview mirror. “This is the residential part, and the businesses are on a lot on the other side of that wall,” he says as he points to the left.
“You didn’t make it sound this fancy over the phone,” I mutter as I look around.
“These first two belong to Doc and Red. Red runs the gym, remember?”
“Are they the ones that used to be married?”
Living next door to your ex sounds awful. My face twists into a grimace.
“Yeah, but they’re friends now. They share a daughter, and this is good for her.”
Hard to believe, but okay.
“Red is one of the first female members, right?”
“She and Bev are actually two of the founders,” he says with a nod.
“Do they have their own bikes?”
Hawk seems amused by my questions. “They do, although Bev prefers to ride with her man.”
I already felt intimidated by the two accomplished women, and now that I know that they’re apparently also badass bikers, I’m terrified of meeting them.
Spending time with the women who hung around the Wolves, whether as old ladies, girlfriends, or club girls, was always fraught with a certain tension, as if we were competing with each other for status and resources. The resources, of course, being the club brothers.
And then there was our Queen Bee Boy Mom, Angie, who was constantly trying to convince herself and everyone around her that her relationship was better than theirs, that her child was the most precocious genius, that her tits were the perkiest, you name it.
I sigh at the memory.
The women in this club actually are better than me, and it has nothing to do with their looks or their delusions of grandeur.
“There’s a women-only riding academy in cooperation with Harley-Davidson that you can attend if you care to learn, or when you get bored of riding with me,” he says, oblivious to my darkened mood.
I smile weakly.
“This is Uncle’s house, and here’s me,” Hawk says as he pulls into the driveway in front of a two-car garage.
All the houses are gorgeous. They’re Spanish colonial style, with thick, textured, stucco walls and red-tiled roofs. The doors and windows are arched, and the decorative railings and small gates on the courtyards are made of wrought iron.
I unbuckle DJ and grab his diaper bag before stepping outside. The beds in the gravel yard house various types of agave, succulents, and cacti. Hawk watches me take it all in.
“Those three houses are empty. And the big one over there,” he says as he points to a house on the other side of the street and a little way away from the others, “is Prez and Bev’s.
When they started the club, they had young children, so everything that they did when they built this place was for them.
A safe, nice neighbourhood, their workplaces right next door, the Rio Salado trail nearby so they can get out into nature whenever they want, and only twenty minutes from downtown Phoenix. ”
“That’s wonderful,” I say as I swallow down the envy I feel.
Yes, I admire them, and they’re exactly the type of parents I look up to, but some resentful voice inside me says, it must be nice to be able to build your kid a gated community.
I clutch DJ closer to me.
Hawk seems oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Let’s go inside, and then you guys can do your own thing while I unload the car.”
I nod gratefully, not offering to help this time. I think of the money Susan gave me, and it makes me feel a bit better.
Hawk seems excited as he leads us through the beautiful wooden door.
As he disables a security alarm, Hawk tells me, “Later, I’m gonna show you how to disable or set all of the alarms.”
I take a moment to marvel at the fact that I’m gonna be living with this man.
It still doesn’t feel real. I was hesitant at first because I didn’t want to impose or burden him, but as soon as his insistence showed me that he truly wanted this, I accepted.
Being around Hawk is like a balm for my nerves, which have been on edge ever since New Year’s Eve.
Hawk takes off his shoes and puts on a pair of comfortable-looking house shoes. When he notices that I’m toeing my sneakers off, he says, “You don’t have to take yours off.”
“I was going to take them off in my room regardless,” I admit. “Now that DJ’s crawling, I’m paranoid about floor cleanliness.”
“That’s perfect, then.”
I make a mental note to get a baby gate for the big staircase, before catching myself. It’s not like DJ is going to grow up in this house. I need to treat this as a temporary solution, like we’re in a hotel, and not make any permanent changes to Hawk’s space.
This house wouldn’t be out of place in one of those magazines about celebrity homes that I sometimes leaf through while waiting in line at the grocery store checkout:
The gorgeous tile flooring in the hallway gives way to dark hardwood as we pass through the first arched doorway.
In the living room, a massive, carved-wood coffee table holds center stage.
If you sit down on the large, inviting couch and put your feet up on the table to watch the flat-screen TV that’s mounted high on the white wall, on your right, there’s a wood fireplace mantle, and on your left, two wide, brown leather armchairs that look like they can easily seat two people each.
“All the food in the fridge, freezer, and pantry is fair game,” Hawk rouses me from my thoughts.
“I don’t want you asking me to use things or telling me you ate something.
The magnetic board on the fridge is for writing down when we’re out of stuff or low on essentials, so we can get it on the next grocery run. ”
He closes the pantry door. “Also, feel free to write down anything lil’ man here may need, or throw it in the cart next time we’re at the store.”
I’m determined to get my own groceries, but I nod and pretend to agree. He narrows his eyes at me.
“What?” I feign confusion.
“I’ve had hours and hours of training to detect deception and evasion.”
I’ll give him evasion, then. I leave the laundry room without waiting for him and pass through the arched glass doors in the kitchen out onto the covered patio in the courtyard.
“How do you keep all these windows so clean?”
“I have a cleaning lady, Marla, who comes in once a week, on Friday mornings. If you don’t want her to touch your room, simply leave the door closed.”
“Oh. I can clean while I’m here.”
“No,” he says firmly. “You have enough going on with DJ and work.”
I press my lips together and examine the little oasis in front of me.
Flagstone on the patio, and gravel paths through the yard.
A fountain with birds drinking from it. A mesquite tree with gnarled limbs and trunk, two olive trees, and a creosote bush with bees buzzing around it.
Various other plants that I do not know the names of.
“This is beautiful.”
He nods as he looks over his little kingdom. “I was debating getting a pool for the longest time. Now that DJ’s here, I’m glad I didn’t.”
I remember what happened to his sister, and I want to put my hand on his arm.
“Still, let’s sign him up for swimming lessons as soon as possible.”
“Sure, good idea,” I reply, distracted by the warmth spreading through my limbs.
The word that I’ll probably always associate with this home is light.
Whether it’s the giant windows, the French doors opening into the enclosed courtyard, or the balcony doors in the bedrooms, everywhere you turn, there’s light bouncing off the white walls, illuminating and elevating the entire space.
It makes the bedroom Hawk shows me look enormous.
The dark furniture in our room matches the hardwood, and both the nightstand and the large, solid closet look antique.
I decide to put DJ’s crib on my left; that way, he hopefully won’t be woken by the sunlight too early.
I never close the blinds anymore, not since the kidnapping.
“And here’s the ensuite,” Hawk says as he opens a door, “I wanted to put you two in the master because I figured DJ needs space for his things, but I knew you would never agree to that.”
I cannot hide my smile. “You know me so well.”
He shakes his head disapprovingly as he leads me to his room. “You shouldn’t be so proud of that particular habit of yours.”
“Thank you, Randy,” I say teasingly. “No, seriously. The room you gave us is more than enough. And the terrace, oh my God.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he says warmly.
“Wow,” I breathe as I look around his room.
“Do you still stand by your comments, or do you want this one after all?” He says with a huge grin.
“Almost the entire wall is glass!”
“I like a view,” he says with a shrug.
“And large electric bills, apparently,” I mutter, and he laughs.
“I have good insulation, external wood shutters, curtains, and solar panels on the roof, so that’s not an issue.”
“Can’t everyone see inside your room?” I ask as I step into the bathroom and try my best not to imagine a naked Hawk standing under the rainfall showerhead in the walk-in shower.
“Sometimes.” He shrugs.
I focus on the mosaic tiles on the shower floor. I wonder whether installing those is like a fun puzzle or a nightmare job.
I walk over to the vanity and try to discreetly check out his stuff. I manage to decipher the words Creed and Irish on a perfume bottle.
It feels so intimate being here together. My mind conjures an image of Hawk and me in the mirror, brushing our teeth together.