Chapter 2 - Hannah
The gates swing open and I feel like I'm crossing some invisible threshold into a world I don't understand.
The Iron Phoenix clubhouse looms ahead of me. This massive two-story building that used to be a warehouse, now converted into something that looks half fortress, half home. There are motorcycles everywhere. Nine of them lined up in neat rows, chrome catching the early morning light.
And there are men. So many men. All of them tall, broad, covered in leather, tattoos and blood.
They're all staring at me.
At Theo.
I hold my son tighter against my hip and try not to let them see how badly my hands are shaking.
Wesley stands closest to me. He looks exactly the same as I remember.
Dark hair cut short, gray eyes that see everything, beard neatly trimmed.
Medium height but there's something about the way he holds himself that makes him seem bigger.
More dangerous. Like every muscle in his body is coiled and ready.
He's wearing dark jeans and a black T-shirt under a leather vest, a cut, I think they call it. The back reads IRON PHOENIX MC in large letters with a bird rising from flames. MILLHAVEN underneath. ECHO across the top.
"Come inside," he says again, voice so quiet I have to lean slightly forward to hear it. "We'll talk."
I nod and follow him through the gate. My old sedan looks pathetic parked next to all these motorcycles. Like I showed up to a black-tie event in sweatpants. Which isn't far from the truth, considering the reality of my life right now.
Theo makes a soft noise against my shoulder. Not crying, just aware that everything around us is strange and new. He's usually such a serious baby. Hardly ever cries. Just watches everything with those too-old eyes that look so much like his father's it breaks my heart every single time.
Wesley leads me toward the building. The other men part to let us pass. I feel their eyes tracking me. Not hostile exactly, but not friendly either. Assessing. Trying to figure out what kind of threat I am.
One of them is enormous. Maybe six-foot-five, built like he could lift a car, and tattoos covering every inch of visible skin. He's got blood on his knuckles. Fresh blood. I look away quickly.
Another one is limping. Shorter than the giant, covered in tattoos, dark hair pulled back. There's blood soaking through his jeans on his left thigh. A third man, handsome in a rough way, wearing a medical pack, is trying to get him to sit down. He's refusing.
"Canvas, you're bleeding through the damn bandage," the medic says.
"I'm fine, Saint. It's a through-and-through. I'll sit when we're done here."
They stop arguing when I pass. Everyone stops everything when I pass.
I keep my eyes forward and focus on Wesley's back. On following him. On not running back to my car and driving away like every instinct is screaming at me to do.
The front door is reinforced steel. Wesley opens it and gestures for me to go first. I step inside.
The clubhouse is... not what I expected.
I mean, I don't know what I expected exactly.
Something darker maybe. More threatening.
Instead, it's almost comfortable. Large common room with couches and chairs, a massive TV on one wall, a bar along the other.
Hardwood floors. Decent furniture. It smells like leather and motor oil and coffee.
There are stairs leading up to a second floor. Doors leading off to hallways. Everything is clean and organized despite the fact that these men clearly just came from some kind of battle.
"Phoenix's office," Wesley says to someone behind me. Tall, dark-haired, sharp eyes, scar across his jaw. The president, based on the patch on his cut.
Phoenix nods once. "Take as long as you need."
Wesley leads me down a hallway to a door marked PRIVATE. He opens it and waits for me to enter first.
The office is small but organized. Desk, chairs, filing cabinet, a map of Millhaven on the wall with various marks. Wesley closes the door behind us and suddenly it's just the three of us—me, him, and Theo.
The silence stretches. Wesley stands with his back against the door, watching me. Not saying anything. Just watching with those beautiful eyes that have always seen too much.
I adjust Theo on my hip. My son is getting heavier every day. Eight months old now and already trying to pull himself up on furniture. Already curious about everything. Already so much smarter than any baby should be.
"You want to sit?" Wesley asks.
I nod and sink into one of the chairs facing the desk. Theo immediately tries to twist around to see Wesley better. I let him turn, supporting his back with my arm.
They stare at each other. Father and son. One a dangerous biker, the other teething and drooling on his mother's shoulder.
"He has my eyes," Wesley says. Not a question. A statement.
"Yes." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "His name is Theo. Theodore, actually, but I call him Theo."
"How old?"
"Eight months."
Wesley does the math. I watch him do it. Watch the exact moment he realizes when I would have gotten pregnant. When I would have known.
"You were pregnant when you left." Still quiet. No anger in his voice, which somehow makes it worse.
"I didn't know," I say quickly. "Not when I left. I found out two weeks later. I took a test because I was late and..." I trail off, looking down at Theo's dark hair. "I didn't know what to do."
"You could have called me."
"I didn't know how." It sounds like an excuse even to my own ears.
"I heard things, Wesley. About what you do.
About the club. I saw your vest and looked up what that meant.
I knew you were involved in something dangerous and I didn't want to—" I stop, trying to find the right words.
"I didn't want to drag you into something you didn't ask for. I thought I could handle it myself."
"Handle what?" Now there's an edge to his voice. Not loud. Wesley is never loud. "A baby? Our baby?"
"Yes." I meet his eyes. "I've been handling everything else my whole life. I thought I could handle this too."
He pushes off the door and moves closer, crouching down so he's at eye level with Theo. My son watches him with solemn attention. Wesley lifts one hand slowly, not threatening, just reaching, and Theo grabs his finger with tiny fists.
The expression on Wesley's face is something I've never seen before. Wonder, maybe. Or fear. Or both at once.
"Why are you here now?" he asks, still watching Theo. "You said you needed help. What kind of help?"
This is the part I've been dreading. The part where I have to admit just how badly I've failed at handling everything myself.
"Theo is sick," I say, and my voice breaks on the words. "He was diagnosed three months ago with a congenital heart defect. It's serious. He needs surgery. Specialized surgery with a pediatric cardiac surgeon, and then ongoing treatment and monitoring for years probably."
Wesley's head snaps up. "How serious?"
"Very." I blink back tears because I've been crying for three months and I'm so tired of crying. "He could die without the surgery. And even with it, he'll need constant medical care. Medications, checkups, maybe more procedures down the line."
"When is the surgery?"
"Two weeks. We have a date scheduled at a children's hospital three hours from here.
They're the best in the region. The surgeon is one of the top pediatric cardiac specialists in the country.
" I swallow hard. "But I can't afford it.
I've sold everything I own. I took a second job.
I maxed out credit cards I didn't even know I could get approved for.
I'm still thousands short and the hospital won't operate without payment guarantees. "
Wesley stands slowly. Theo still has his finger. "How much?"
"Forty-two thousand." The number sounds impossible.
Insurmountable. "After insurance, which barely covered anything because the policy I have is basically worthless.
I've raised maybe eighteen on my own. I need the rest by next week or they'll postpone the surgery and I can't—" My voice cracks completely.
"I can't wait. The doctor said his heart is getting weaker.
Every week we wait is another week something could go wrong. "
Silence falls over the office. I hear voices from the main room. The other bikers talking, someone laughing, the normal sounds of people who aren't watching their world collapse.
Wesley pulls his finger gently from Theo's grip and walks to the desk. He sits on the edge of it, facing me, and his expression is completely unreadable.
"You should have told me,” He says. "When you found out. When he was diagnosed. Any point before you ran out of options."
"I know." Tears are falling now and I can't stop them. "I know I should have. But I didn't want you to think I was trapping you. We weren't together anymore. You didn't sign up for a baby. I thought I could figure it out alone the way I've always figured everything out alone."
"We grew up in the same place, Hannah." His voice is softer now. "Sacred Heart taught us both that being alone was safer. That counting on people meant getting hurt. But I'm not them. I'm not the system. I'm not someone who would have walked away."
"I didn't know that." I wipe at my face with my free hand.
"I still don't know that. I don't know anything about your life.
You never told me everything about what you do here.
I never asked because I could tell you didn't want me to.
We kept walls between us the entire time, and maybe that's why it felt safe. "
He looks at me for a long moment. Then at Theo, who is starting to get fussy because it's past his morning nap time and this is all too much stimulation.
"Forty-two thousand total," Wesley says. "You need twenty-four more to reach that."
I nod.
"And the surgery is in two weeks."
"Yes."
He stands and walks to the filing cabinet, pulls out the top drawer, and removes something. When he turns back around, he's holding a checkbook.
My heart lurches. "Wesley, I'm not asking you to just give me money. That's not why I came. I just… I needed someone, and you're the only person I've ever known who felt like—" I stop because I don't know how to finish that sentence.
"Felt like what?" He sits back down on the edge of the desk, pen in hand.
"Like maybe you'd stay," I whisper. "Even if it was just long enough to help me figure this out."
Theo starts crying in earnest now. I bounce him, shushing him, but he's tired and scared because I'm scared and babies can sense that.
Wesley sets down the pen and holds out his arms. "Can I?"
I hesitate. Then nod. He takes Theo, supporting his head and body like he knows what he's doing even though he's never held his own son before right this moment.
Theo stops crying almost immediately. Stares up at Wesley with those gray eyes that mirror his father's perfectly. Wesley stares back with the same serious expression.
"Hey," Wesley says, so soft I almost don't hear it. "I'm your dad. I know you don't know that yet, but that's what I am. And your mom brought you here because she needed help and she didn't know where else to go. So, we're going to help. You understand?"
Theo makes a gurgling sound that might be agreement or might just be gas.
Wesley looks at me. "I'm writing the check. For all of it. Forty-two thousand."
"Wesley, no. That's too much. I can pay you back somehow, I'll—"
"You'll take the money," he interrupts, still quiet but firm. "And you'll get our son the surgery he needs. And then we're going to figure out what comes after that."
"What do you mean what comes after?"
"I mean you're not leaving." He says it like it's obvious. Like there's no other possibility. "You're staying here. At the clubhouse. Where I can keep you both safe and help with whatever Theo needs."
"Wesley, I can't just move into a biker clubhouse. I have a life. A job. An apartment."
"You have two jobs you're working yourself to death at and an apartment you probably can't afford anymore because you spent everything on medical bills." His voice stays level. "And our son has a heart condition that requires constant monitoring. You need help. I'm offering it."
"I don't want charity."
"This isn't charity. This is me taking care of my family." He says it so simply. Like it's already decided. "You came here asking for help. I'm giving it. But I'm not just writing a check and sending you away. I'm a father now. I want to be part of his life."
"You don't even know him."
"Then let me get to know him." Wesley looks down at Theo, who has grabbed onto his shirt with tiny fists. "Let me be here for the surgery. For the recovery. For whatever comes next..."
I want to argue. Want to say I can handle it myself, that I don't need anyone, that letting him help means opening myself up to getting hurt when he eventually leaves.
But I'm so tired. And Theo needs surgery. And Wesley is offering exactly what I came here hoping for even though I didn't let myself believe it was possible.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "Okay. We'll stay. For now. Until after the surgery and he's stable."
"For now," Wesley agrees, though something in his tone suggests he's thinking longer than that.
He hands Theo back to me and picks up the pen again. Writes out a check in quick, precise handwriting. Tears it from the book and holds it out. I take it with shaking hands. Forty-two thousand dollars. Made out to Millhaven Regional Bank. More money than I've ever seen in one place.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"You're welcome." He pauses. "I meant what I said. You're staying here. There are rooms upstairs. We'll get one set up for you and Theo. Whatever you need: crib, supplies, anything, we'll get it."
"Wesley…"
"Hannah." He looks at me and I see something in his eyes I haven't seen before. Something raw and unguarded. "You showed up with our son asking for help. I'm giving it. That's what family does. And whether you planned it or not, we're family now."
Family. I've never had family. Not really. Not the kind that stays, but maybe, just for a little while, I can let myself pretend.
"Okay," I say again.
He nods and stands. "Come on. I'll introduce you to everyone. They're going to want to meet him."
"The men outside?"
"My brothers. They're good men. You're safe here." He says it with absolute certainty. "Both of you are safe here."
I hope he's right.
I follow him back toward the door, holding Theo close, the check folded in my pocket, and my heart beating too fast in my chest.
Everything is about to change.
Again.