CHAPTER 25 GRETA
GRETA
Caden falls asleep after dinner, so Uncle Sherman drives us back to Jersey rather than having us take the train.
I expect Sherman to pepper Jack with pointed questions, since he has him away from the rest of the family, but Sherman turns on the radio and we drive mostly in silence.
But an old nineties song comes on. I forget who sang it first. It’s called “I Swear.” And even though Sherman hasn’t been talking much, the silence during the song feels intentional.
I glance at the back seat. Caden has slid over to sleep on Jack’s broad shoulder. My belly flips. The evening went well, better than I expected.
When the song ends, Uncle Sherman turns down the radio. “Your Aunt Pat loved that song. I think we can credit All-4-One for us getting married. Or I can, for her being willing to tie herself to a blundering fool like me.”
“I don’t think she saw you as any sort of fool,” I say.
“She took a chance, that’s for sure. We barely had Mom’s deli in the black. Four banks had turned me down for opening my own.” He laughs. “I was still living with my mother, and worked with her to boot.”
“You don’t think Aunt Pat was motivation for you to succeed?”
“Oh, absolutely. I don’t know if I would have built half of what I did without wanting to give her the life she deserved. It was too short. Far too short.”
“It was.”
His gaze moves to the rear-view mirror, and I wonder if he’s looking at Caden or Jack. I don’t have long to wonder.
“Jack, I heard you say your parents have passed,” he says. “How long ago?”
Jack clears his throat. “Three years.”
“You were grown, at least,” Sherman says. “My boys were all teens. Hit ’em hard, but I guess it always does, losing your mother. I’ve been blessed to have mine still.”
“I think Grammy Alma is going to live forever,” I say.
“If she has it her way, she will. Had to move a mountain to get her to stop putting in ten hours a day at that deli.”
“It’s a cute one, though,” I say. “Out of all of them, it’s my favorite.”
Sherman nods. “Mine, too. Shame it’s so far out. But it’s holding up. Chanille’s a good manager. They have a solid crew. I’m keeping it for now. Well, Anthony is. Technically, he’s in charge of the deli franchise.”
“Before long, the next generation can get their start working at them. Caden, Julian, Esme,” I say.
Uncle Sherman snorts. “I barely got my own sons to be involved.”
It’s true. Both Jason and Max rely on good staff. “But now there’s more opportunities beyond slapping mustard on bread. There’s Pickle Media, Pickle Enterprises. Nadia has her charity organization.”
He nods. “We’ve come a long way from Dill Dough and The Daily Dillies.”
“I remember the Dillies,” I say. “Pickle ice cream, pickle fudge, pickle cheesecake. They were all desserts. When did we phase those out?”
“Right before the pandemic, and a good thing, too. Those were always in-person add-ons, like a dare. Nobody Door Dashes unusual food like that.”
“Things sure do change.” We’re approaching the suburbs.
Uncle Sherman has questions. I can feel them, unasked, wanting to come out. But he won’t ask in front of Jack. And certainly not with Caden in the car, in case he’s awake.
I’m sure he’ll call me soon.
We pull onto my street. “I always liked this neighborhood,” Sherman says. “I’m glad you overruled Jude on Jersey.”
“Me, too. I wasn’t up for raising Caden in the city. Maybe once he’s grown, I’ll rethink it.”
“Don’t wish for it to happen,” Sherman says, shifting the car into park in front of my house. “He will grow up soon enough already.”
I lean over and kiss his cheek. “Thank you for the ride.” I turn around. “I can get Caden.”
“I’ve got him,” Jack says. He unbuckles himself, then my son, and easily hefts the boy into his arms. “You might want his bag, though.”
“I’ll get it.” I squeeze Uncle Sherman’s arm and pop out of the car to snag the bag.
Sherman watches us as we walk up to the door. I turn to wave before going inside.
I don’t know what he thinks of me, bringing a man I’ve known so little into my home, and now with Caden as well.
“Middle room up top,” I tell Jack and follow behind him.
We get Caden out of his shoes and under the covers. Shower will have to wait until morning. Sunday evenings are often like this after Sherman’s dinners, and we adjust the routine.
“I probably shouldn’t stay here now that the boy is back,” Jack says as we descend the stairs.
I don’t want him to go. “I don’t see why you should have to leave.”
“Might send the wrong idea.”
“What idea is that?” I lead us to my bedroom at the back of the downstairs.
“I don’t know. That I’m staying. That this is a new normal.”
I sit on the end of the bed. “I’m not sure he’ll think that. We’ve been through a lot of changes since Jude and I split.”
“Have you dated anyone since then? Or is this the first time he’s seen someone with his mom?”
“You’re the first.”
“That’s probably why he asked if I was marrying you.” Jack sits next to me. “What time does he get up?”
“I wake him around seven. He has to be at school at eight.”
“I can leave before then.”
My heart speeds up. Already? But playtime is definitely over. I’m expected at work. Caden has school.
And Jack has his secrets, which Uncle Sherman is probably already looking into.
I could bring that up. Demand answers.
But I simply say, “You’ll stay tonight?”
He pushes my hair away from my face. “I’ll be here tonight.”
I shift to his lap, pressing my face against his neck.
I don’t like that I’m feeling emotional and clingy.
I’ve never been like that. I was always so independent from Jude.
I had to be. He was needy and petulant, and I would have gone crazy if I felt responsible for his never-ending litany of whining.
Jack is the opposite. He doesn’t need me. Everyone in the Wild Hair has made it perfectly clear that most every woman within fifty miles of the club is ready to take up with him under most any circumstance.
Why is it that I feel like I need him? Because we’re so different?
“You all right, Little G?”
“Why am I different with you?” I ask before I can think better of it.
He wraps his arms around me. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I’m professional. Reliable. I fit in.” I fiddle with the edge of his leather cut, fingering a silver snap. “And yet for some reason, when I’m with you…” I falter.
“You chop vines naked like a wild warrior princess?”
“Among other things.”
He plays with my hair. “I like those other things a lot.”
I sit up and look him straight in the eye. “You think you’re different, too?”
He tilts his head, paying close attention to the red strands in his fingers. “I don’t want to party with the boys. I think more about the future rather than what’s right in front of me.”
“What kind of future?”
He gives the lock of hair a playful tug. “A real family running the club. An ol’ lady. Rugrats.” He leans close to my ear. “I so want to put a baby in you, kiss your fat, round belly.”
Does he? I always imagined having more children. I just got stuck with Jude and his incessant wheedling. I already had one child, and a man-child, and a job and a house and volunteering at school. I didn’t have room in my life for more. Jude didn’t push.
But with Jack… Wait. What am I thinking?
This is Iron Jack we’re talking about. President of a motorcycle club. A thousand miles from where I live now.
And he carried a name on a receipt all the way from Miami. I get bold. “And what about Aaron Nelson?”
“That has nothing to do with you.” His voice has a low, menacing growl to it.
But he doesn’t scare me. Not now. I hazard a wild guess. I don’t think I have anything to lose by saying it. “It does if your convenient visit to me was simply to avoid alerting your club you were going to confront somebody alone, like you did Anarchy at the Kin raid.”
He lifts me off his lap and stands, turning to tower over me.
Oh, no, he doesn’t get to do that. He’s not going to take a power stance on me. I stand up on the bed so that I’m taller than him.
“What do you know about Aaron Nelson?” The growl is dark and threatening.
I’m not scared. “I’m asking you about him.”
Jack’s scowl deepens. “You don’t need to know.”
Then it hits me. “You think he was involved in your parents’ deaths. Is that why that Kin member used his card on the receipt? Have you been called out?”
He doesn’t move, his gaze boring into me.
“It is. What are you going to do?”
His breath is hard and fast. It turns me on, actually, seeing him so angry and tall and menacing. Why is that? Every man I’ve ever dated has been lean and well dressed and if he lifts anything heavier than a briefcase, it’s at a well-lit gym.
But not Jack. He’s a seething, wild, unpredictable beast.
And he’s still not talking.
“Tell me, Jack.”
He glares at me.
I kick off my shoes. “Are you going to kill him?”
Now he speaks. “I might.”
Damn. I was right. “What if he kills you?” I whip my sweater over my head.
He watches my clothes hit the ground, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “Then it’s over either way.”
I unzip my pants and slide them down. “And I can’t do anything to stop you?” I kick the fabric away to the floor, now standing only in a red bra and matching panties.
“No.”
I reach behind my back. “Not one thing?” I hesitate with my hands on the hook of my bra.
“Fuck,” he says. “Goddamn it, Greta.”
I’m not sure if I’m more hysterical or furious as I unhook the bra and hold it loosely against my chest. “Fuck you, Jack, for going it alone with no back up. For putting yourself in pointless danger.”
“Take your clothes off.”
“I already did.”
“The rest of them.” He steps closer.
“No. Not if you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Take them off.” He’s at the base of the bed now, breathing so hard I can feel it puff against my bare thighs.
“Jack, I can’t bear it.”
He pulls me closer, catching me off balance. I let go of the bra to clasp his head to avoid falling.
The red lace slides down my arm and lands on the floor.
“Your naked body will be the last thing I see before I go,” he says, his finger in the elastic band of the panties. “You crying my name will be the last thing I hear.” He pulls them down. “And this is the last thing I will taste.” He lifts my leg by the knee and buries his face between my thighs.
I cry out, gripping his hair. He’s turned the tables here. I wanted him to know what he had to lose.
And he’s showing me instead how he wants to go out.
Fire licks through me as he thrusts fingers inside me, sucking on my clit. How are we so compatible this way, and what will I do once he’s gone?
If he gets himself killed?
I don’t get the chance to dive back into that line of thinking, because my body is responding, and Jack is shucking his boots and pants and cut and shirt.
Then he’s naked and lying over me. My legs hang off the end of the bed, my chest heaving with my labored breaths.
I think he’s going to pound into me, be merciless and wild.
But then he brushes hair off my forehead. “My Little G,” he says. “If only we had more time.”
“We can have more time. You just have to stay.” Damn it, my voice has cracked. “Stop this madness. It won’t bring your parents back.”
I think my words will anger him, but he simply leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Not all of us act out of fear, my city girl. Some of us insist on righting a wrong. Of stopping evil in its tracks. And stepping in when no one else will.”
Then he slides into me, gentle and slow, like I’m the last bite of dessert he needs to savor before it’s all gone. Both hands cup the top of my head, and his face hovers over mine.
He can’t stop looking at my face, his thumbs tracing my eyebrows.
Emotion rushes through me like a falling meteor, beautiful, bright, and doomed. I want him here, but I have to let him go. What I admire about him is the same thing that will take him away.
This isn’t love, not yet, just seeds we’ve planted that could grow into it. Passion. Attention. Care.
Our bodies respond to the motions, the friction and chemistry. But more importantly, our hearts recognize each other. Hope and possibility, all waiting for their time to bloom.
Tears squeeze out of my eyes. I can’t believe I’ve found something like this, only to lose it if things go wrong. I want to go with him, but I know I can’t. I might get in the way. I have to think of Caden.
So I hang on, wrapping my arms around his neck, closing my eyes, and feeling him, letting every sensation drench my memory, my emotions, every sense.
I may have to let go of the man, but I don’t have to relinquish the way he’s changed me, how I’ve grown and expanded beyond the narrow vision of the world I had before I spent a week at his club and in his bed.
We don’t stop at this act but keep going long into the night, moment after moment, sin after sin, until dawn begins to break.
Then he quietly slips from my bed, slides into his clothes.
I lie there, listening, until the roar of his motorcycle fades into the distance.