Chapter 5 Elaine
Chapter five
Elaine
The charity ride itself didn’t last long. Just a tour through town and along the outskirts before circling back to the park, draped in lights. But the festivities surrounding it—food, music, games, and an auction—lasted well into the night.
Mikey fell asleep on a seat next to me in one of the heated tents, swaddled like a newborn baby in Wingman’s coat. He rested his head on my lap, with one arm draped over my knee while I stroked his hair.
“I’m surprised he can fall asleep like that.” Wingman returned to our table, with a cup of peppermint tea for me and mulled cranberry cider for him. “After all the sugar he ate today, I expected the poor kid to be operating at full speed for at least two more hours.”
“It’s been a very long day for him,” I admitted, cradling the warm cup of tea in one hand. “We usually spend Christmas together at home, just the two of us. Making cookies and cocoa. Then he races his toy cars all over the house. This is a lot for him to take in.”
“Do you think he had fun though?”
I glanced at Wingman and the genuine curiosity in his tone. My heart skipped at the steadiness of his gaze on me. I looked away, biting the inside of my cheek. I told myself that accepting his invitation today was nothing more than a polite courtesy.
But I still couldn’t deny the attraction I felt for him. Or the way that I kept getting pulled back to him, like a moon caught in his gravitational orbit.
Or a moth, damned to burn in his hypnotizing flame.
The initial problem remained unresolved though, breathing down my neck. Just because I liked Wingman didn’t mean he had any intention of a serious relationship. If I truly wanted to start dating again, I had to ease my way in.
Not latch onto the first man I slept with in the desperate hope that he would be The One.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I think Mikey had a blast. Thank you for reaching out to him. I know it’s not easy to get past his tough shell.”
Wingman shrugged.
“Don’t mention it. I’m not afraid of a bloodcurdling look. I was a Prospect under Ironside’s tyrannical thumb, and that man is downright shit-your-pants scary.”
I laughed softly, trying to stay quiet so I didn’t wake Mikey.
“So, what happened?” I asked. “You didn’t join the Order. You don’t wear their patch.”
Wingman sighed, studying his cider.
“I fucked up. Like I usually do.”
I frowned. He was usually so cocky and charming, with a witty remark at hand. This self-deprecation was a surprise and seemed to come out of nowhere.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I said gently.
Wingman stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles.
“It’s sweet of you to say that. But my father was a big bully. And I grew up into a man who bites the hand that feeds him when it comes to authority figures. I don’t like being told what to do. I just…I get this itch. Like I’ll lose my mind if I don’t make a run for it and escape.”
“What about your mom?” I asked.
Wingman huffed, draining the last of his cider.
“She left when I was two years old. She fell in love with another man who promised her bigger and better things. Dad said she couldn’t get out fast enough.”
What a terrible thing to say to a child. I couldn’t imagine leaving Mikey behind, for any reason.
“I think that’s why I became obsessed with airplanes,” Wingman continued. “The idea that I could just hop into a little jet and fly off to anywhere in the world was exciting for a trapped little boy like me.”
Mikey stirred in my lap and blinked sleepily. I tugged the coat tighter around him, smoothing his tousled curls.
“I don’t blame him for being pissed off at the world, by the way,” Wingman said, gesturing to Mikey.
“It’s perfectly understandable to be a little guarded.
Wary. Those instincts will protect him, keep him safe.
And…” Wingman paused, setting his cup aside with a sigh.
“I know what it’s like to grow up without a father who doesn’t want you.
It eats you up inside like nothing else. ”
My heart ached for him. I reached out and took his hand with a comforting squeeze. When I started to pull away, he caught my hand again and brought my knuckles to his lips with a kiss. My throat went dry and my breath hitched.
“Can I see you again tomorrow?” he asked, so faintly that I almost missed it. As if he was afraid to speak the words too loudly in case they shattered, fragile as a soap bubble.
I opened my mouth to respond then faltered. My shoulders sagged because I knew there would be no way to soften the blow.
“Oh, that’s clearly a no,” Wingman said with a flat tone of disappointment.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…it wouldn’t be a good idea. You’re probably leaving in a few days, and Mikey might become attached.”
I scolded myself for hiding behind Mikey like a shield. I was the one catching feelings when I wasn’t supposed to. I was the one quickly becoming infatuated with this biker who gave me butterflies and made me feel sexy again.
“It’s okay, I get it,” Wingman replied. “Some good things aren’t meant to last. And you’re right. I booked a motel room for the week, and my time is up in three days. So…”
He trailed off. Neither of us spoke, with a weighted silence settling between us. The agonizing stretch of longing. The ache of desire tasted, yet unfulfilled.
“We should head home,” I whispered apologetically. “It’s late. Mikey is exhausted.”
I gathered Mikey into my arms and removed Wingman’s coat, handing it back to him. Our fingers brushed for an electric moment. I remembered what those fingers could do. The way they felt on my skin. The way they touched me.
Mikey lifted his head with a disgruntled noise and a sleepy squint.
“What’s going on, Mom?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
“Time for bed,” I replied.
“Oh, wait, I almost forgot.” Wingman patted his cut pockets until he found what he was looking for and pulled it out. He held up a small silver bell with a soft metallic chime on a length of red ribbon. “This is a present for you, little mobster.”
“Me?” Mikey said, surprised.
“It’s a guardian bell.” Wingman pressed the bell into Mikey’s open palm. “We wear them on our bikes for protection. To keep us safe. Ironside gave it to me when I was a Prospect. I thought a tough kid like you needed it more than me.”
Mikey curled his little fist around the bell with pride.
“But I don’t have a bike.”
“Thank God,” I mumbled under my breath.
I already prayed every day that my son would grow out of his racing fast cars phase before he was old enough to get his driver’s license. Now I would have to worry about him becoming obsessed with getting a motorcycle on top of that. The stress was going to make me gray before I turned forty.
“You still think bikes are cool, right?” Wingman asked Mikey.
“Yeah,” Mikey said.
“Then that counts. You’re one of us. And you needed the right gear to show for it.”
My heart swelled with gratitude. A gesture like this would mean the world to Mikey and impact him for a long time in a good way. Life had clearly been hard on Wingman. But he chose to treat my little boy with kindness and show him what a real, kind man looked like.
Shifting Mikey in my arms, I sidled up to Wingman and kissed his cheek. He slipped his arm around my waist for a moment. The weight of his palm settled at the curve of my hip.
And every bone in my body ached to sink into him. To stay right here, curled up against his side.
But he was leaving. I couldn’t give my heart to another man who was ready to walk away and leave me behind with my boy.
“Good-night, Wingman,” I said. “And thank you again. For everything. Mikey and I had a wonderful time today.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Merry Christmas, little mobster,” he added, giving Mikey a fist bump.