Chapter 18
?
— Lilac —
The nightmare at the clubhouse changed everything. Hearing about Luca waking up crying, clinging to Colt like his life depended on it—and later, watching Knox refuse to talk about his own bad dreams—I knew we needed more than love and patience.
These boys had been through trauma. Real, lasting trauma that they’d absorbed from living with me.
They’d grown up with a mama haunted by something she couldn’t name or explain.
They’d heard her nightmares through thin walls, felt her flinch at nothing, sensed the shape of a fear she’d never been able to put into words.
And somehow they’d built a story out of it—a man hurting their mama, visiting them in the dark, playing out in their dreams like something inherited.
Something that had happened before they were even born.
Betty noticed me researching child therapists on my phone two days later.
“There’s someone you should call,” she said, settling into the kitchen chair across from me. “A friend of Indira’s. She’s a therapist who specializes in trauma, and she has experience with… unconventional family situations.”
“Unconventional meaning MC families?”
“Yes. She’s worked with MC families before.
She understands the world.” Betty slid a business card across the table.
“Her name is Beatrice Hardy. Goes by Bea. Dutch brought her in a few years back to help one of the brothers through some rough stuff. She’s been part of the extended family ever since. ”
I picked up the card, studying the elegant script. Dr. Beatrice Hardy, LMFT. Trauma-Informed Therapy.
“How does Indira know her?”
“She’s been seeing Bea for a while now. Indira and Dutch came from very different worlds, and even though she’s fully committed to that life now, it took time.
Learning what it means to be part of an MC—the loyalty, the risk, the things you don’t ask about and the things you have to live with—that’s not nothing.
Bea helped her work through the adjustment.
” Betty reached over and squeezed my hand.
“She’s good, Lilac. Really good. And she’ll understand the world those boys are growing up in. ”
I set down the card. “How do you know so much about the Venom Riders?”
Betty smiled as she wrapped her hands around her mug. “I know this world from the inside, Lilac. What it costs. What it gives back. You don’t lose a man to it and walk away without understanding exactly what it is.”
“And the Venom Riders specifically?”
“Once I understood who Colt was, I made it my business to know.” Her eyes met mine, steady. “I’ve been doing this for seven years, Lilac. Keeping you safe. Keeping those boys safe. I wasn’t about to stop paying attention just because circumstances changed.”
“Betty—”
“Don’t.” She squeezed my hand. “It’s what I do. Now call that number.”
I was still at the kitchen table when Colt came in after reading the boys a bedtime story, something he’d been doing a lot lately.
“I’m going to call a therapist Betty recommended.” The words came out too fast, too defensive. “For the boys.”
He set down his beer. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I twisted my hands together, hating how vulnerable I felt. “I can’t—I don’t know how to help them with the nightmares. With everything they’ve been through.”
Colt crossed the room in three strides, and suddenly his hands were on my shoulders—warm, solid, grounding. “Hey. You don’t have to do this alone.” His voice was rough, and when I looked up, his green eyes were fixed on mine in a way that made it hard to think. “We’re in this together. Remember?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. His thumb traced a small circle on my shoulder, and the warmth of it spread further than it should have. I didn’t know what to do with that.
“I’m scared I’m not enough for them,” I admitted, the words coming out barely above a whisper.
“You are.” His hands tightened fractionally on my shoulders—grounding, not restraining. “You’re more than enough. But even the strongest people need backup sometimes.”
“Is that your way of calling yourself my backup?”
“If you’ll let me be.”
“You’re making it hard to say no.” I meant it as a complaint, but it came out softer than I intended.
“Good.” His thumb traced that maddening circle again, and I had to fight not to lean into him. “I’m done making it easy for you to push me away.”
“Colt—”
“I know. Too much, too fast.” But he didn’t move his hands. “Tell me to back off and I will.”
I should have. I should have told him to give me space, to slow down, to stop looking at me like that. But the warmth of his hands on my shoulders, the steadiness in his eyes, the promise that I didn’t have to carry this alone—
“Thank you,” I whispered instead.
His jaw tightened, and for a moment I thought he might pull me closer. Instead, he squeezed my shoulders gently and stepped back.
“Call her tomorrow,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “And let me know how it goes.”
?
I called the next morning.
My finger hovered over the call button for a full minute before I finally pressed it. Asking for help felt like admitting defeat—like confessing I wasn’t enough for my own children.
“Dr. Hardy, how can I help?” The voice on the other end was warm, professional.
“Hi, I’m—my name is Lilac James. Indira—” My voice came out too thin, too fragile.
“Lilac!” The warmth deepened. “Indira mentioned you might call. This is Bea. I’m so glad you reached out.”
“You know about my situation?” I gripped the phone with both hands.
“I know what Indira’s told me, which is that you’ve been through something incredibly difficult, and that you have two sons who might benefit from some support.
” A brief pause. “I’d be glad to work with them—and with you, if you’d like that too.
I already work with several people connected to the club. It wouldn’t be a conflict.”
“The boys are my priority right now. They’ve been having nightmares.”
“Tell me about them.”
I told her about Luca’s night terrors, about Knox’s refusal to talk about his bad dreams, about the way they both tensed up whenever strangers approached too quickly. I told her about the years I’d spent looking over my shoulder, never feeling safe, even though I had no idea what happened to me.
Bea listened without interrupting. When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.
“Lilac, what you’re describing is consistent with early childhood trauma.
The good news is that children are remarkably resilient, especially when they have stable, loving caregivers—which your boys clearly do.
The less good news is that trauma doesn’t just disappear.
It needs to be processed, and that’s something I can help with. ”
“How does it work? With kids, I mean. They’re six. I can’t exactly put them on a couch and ask about their feelings.”
She laughed—a genuine, warm sound. “No, we definitely don’t do that.
With children, especially young ones, we use play therapy.
Art, games, storytelling. It gives them a way to express and process experiences that they might not have words for.
” Another pause. “I’d like to meet them, if you’re comfortable with that.
And meet you properly, outside of a phone call.
Maybe we could all get coffee first? Keep it casual? ”
“I’d like that.”
“How about Saturday afternoon? There’s a coffee shop on Main Street with a little play area. Bring the boys. Let them run around, let us talk, and if it feels like a good fit, we can go from there.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“Lilac?” Bea’s voice softened. “I know this is hard. Asking for help, admitting your kids need something you can’t give them on your own. That takes courage. You’re doing the right thing.”
I pressed my free hand against my chest, trying to steady my breathing. “Thank you.”
?
Saturday arrived bright and clear. And I was a nervous wreck.
My stomach churned as I pulled into the parking lot. This was ridiculous—I was meeting a therapist for coffee, not walking into a lion’s den. But my body didn’t seem to care about logic.
The coffee shop was exactly as Bea had described—cozy, with a small fenced play area in the back where kids could burn off energy while parents caffeinated. Knox and Luca were immediately drawn to the climbing structure, giving me a chance to study the woman waiting at a corner table.
Bea was beautiful in a quiet way—delicate features, hazel eyes, chestnut hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She wore a soft sweater and jeans, nothing intimidating about her. When she saw me approach, she stood with a smile that reached her eyes.
“Lilac. It’s so good to meet you in person.”
“You too.” I shook her hand, then sat across from her. “Thank you for suggesting this. The boys were excited about the play area.”
“That’s the idea. First meetings should be low-pressure.” She glanced toward the play structure, where Luca was helping Knox navigate the monkey bars. “They’re adorable. They look just like Colt.”
“Everyone says that.” I couldn’t help smiling. “Especially the stubborn set of their jaws.”
“Oh, I’ve met Colt. ‘Stubborn’ is putting it mildly.” Bea’s eyes sparkled with humor. “Must be a Venom Riders trait. I’ve been working with these guys for a few years now, and they’re all the same—tough as nails, stubborn as mules, and secretly softer than they’d ever admit.”
“You sound fond of them.”
“I am.” Her expression softened, then steadied—like she’d caught herself going somewhere personal.
“They’re good men, most of the time. They just need someone who understands that tough exteriors often hide tender hearts.
” She shook her head, as if dismissing whatever thought had crossed her mind.
“Anyway. Tell me about your boys. Not the clinical version—the mom version. Who are Luca and Knox when they’re not carrying the weight of things they shouldn’t have to carry? ”
I found myself relaxing into the conversation.
I told her about Luca’s seriousness, his fierce protectiveness of his brother, his love of books and puzzles.
About Knox’s boundless energy, his infectious laughter, his ability to make friends with anyone and anything.
About the way they completed each other.
“They sound wonderful,” Bea said when I finished. “And they’re lucky to have a mom who pays such close attention to who they are.”
“I don’t feel lucky. I feel scared.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and suddenly I couldn’t hold back the flood.
“Every time Luca cries, every time Knox goes quiet when he should be laughing—I feel like I’m failing them.
” My hands trembled around my coffee cup. I set it down before I spilled.
“You’re not failing them.” Bea leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm.
“You’re seeing them. Really seeing them.
And that’s more than a lot of parents manage.
The nightmares, the anxiety—those aren’t signs that you’ve failed.
They’re signs that your boys have been through something hard, and they need help processing it.
Getting them that help isn’t failure. It’s love. ”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. Then another. “Sorry.” I laughed shakily, swiping at my face. “I didn’t mean to fall apart on you.”
“Never apologize for emotions in front of a therapist. We live for this stuff.” Bea smiled warmly. “Now, would you like to introduce me to those boys of yours? Just as a friend, nothing formal. Let them get used to me.”
The introduction went better than I’d hoped.
Knox, predictably, was charming from the start—showing Bea his climbing skills, chattering about everything from his favorite cartoon to the bike Colt was teaching him to ride. Luca was more reserved, watching Bea with those old-soul eyes, assessing whether she was safe.
But when Bea asked about his favorite book, Luca’s guard dropped—she’d read it too, and within minutes they were deep in conversation about plot twists and character motivations.
“She’s nice,” Luca said later, as we walked to the car. “She listens.”
“Yeah, buddy. She does.”
“Can we see her again?”
I looked at my serious, cautious son—the one who rarely warmed to strangers, who held everyone at arm’s length until they proved themselves worthy.
“If you want to,” I said carefully. “She could help you with the nightmares. If you’re open to that.”
Luca was quiet for a long moment. “Okay.”
Luca didn’t give that to anyone. One word, and I felt like I could breathe for the first time in weeks.