Chapter 6 - Hannah
The motorcycle rumbles beneath me, eating up the miles between Mac's and the clubhouse. I've got my arms wrapped around Wesley's waist, my cheek pressed against his back, feeling his breathing through the leather of his cut.
I can't believe this is happening.
I can't believe I'm sitting on the back of a motorcycle heading toward a biker clubhouse where my son is being watched by women I met three hours ago. Can't believe I had breakfast with the father of my child and talked about the future like we might actually have one together.
Can't believe any of this is real.
But it is. The vibration of the engine is real. The warmth of Wesley's body against mine is real. The weight of the check in my pocket, forty-two thousand dollars that will save Theo's life, is real.
All of it is real.
And terrifying.
And maybe, possibly, the second chance I stopped believing in years ago.
I spent months alone. Working two jobs. Sitting in hospital waiting rooms while doctors ran tests on my baby.
Lying awake at night doing math that never added up—how to pay for surgery when every dollar I made barely covered rent and food.
Watching my son's lips turn slightly blue when he exerted himself, knowing his heart was struggling, knowing time was running out.
Eight months of drowning alone because I was too scared to reach out.
Too scared to trust that anyone would actually help.
Too scared to admit that if there's someone I'd drop everything for, someone I'd trust with my life and my son's life, it's Wesley.
It's always been him.
Even when we were kids sitting on opposite sides of that fence at Sacred Heart, I knew he was different.
The only person who understood that specific kind of loneliness.
The only one who didn't try to fix it with empty promises.
He just sat there, back pressed against chain-link, and let me not be alone for an hour.
And when we reconnected as adults, when those weeks of talking turned into something more, I felt it again. Like finding the other half of something I didn't know was broken.
Then I ran. Because that's what I do. Run before I can be left behind.
But Wesley didn't come after me. Didn't push. Just let me go the way he lets everyone make their own choices. And when I showed up months later with a baby on my hip and desperation in my voice, he didn't punish me for leaving. He just said "come inside" and wrote a check and told me I was staying.
Like it was that simple.
Like family was that simple.
Maybe it is. Maybe I've been making it harder than it needs to be my whole life.
The motorcycle slows and I open my eyes, expecting to see the clubhouse gates ahead. Instead, Wesley's turning off the main road onto a smaller one. Then onto an even smaller one, barely paved, more like a dirt path cutting through trees.
I recognize this road. I came to Millhaven a few times when Wesley and I were seeing each other. Stayed in cheap motels on the edge of town, explored the streets while he was working. But I've never been down this particular path.
I tap his shoulder, but he doesn't stop.
We climb higher. The road gets rougher. Trees press in on both sides, blocking out the sun. My grip tightens on his waist and I feel him shift slightly, not pulling away, just acknowledging that he knows I'm nervous.
Finally, the trees thin out. The road ends in a small clearing at the top of what I realize is a hill. Wesley kills the engine and climbs off, offering me his hand.
I take it and slide off the bike, legs shaky from the ride. "Where are we?"
"You'll see. Come on."
He doesn't let go of my hand. Just leads me through the clearing toward the edge of the hill. And then I see it.
Millhaven spread out below us.
The entire city visible from this vantage point: all the buildings, houses and roads laid out like a map. Cars moving along streets look tiny from here, like toys. People are dots. The whole world reduced to something small and manageable.
The morning sun catches on windows, making them glitter. I can see the downtown area with its handful of tall buildings. The residential neighborhoods spreading outward in neat grids. The river cutting through the center like a silver ribbon.
I recognize some of it from my previous visits. The main street where we got coffee once or the park where we sat and talked for hours. But from up here, it all looks different. More cohesive. Like pieces of a puzzle fitting together to make something whole.
It's beautiful.
"I come here sometimes," Wesley says. Still holding my hand. "When I need to think. When the clubhouse feels too crowded. When I need perspective."
"How did you find it?"
"Judge showed me. He comes here when his nightmares get too difficult to deal with. Said it helps to see the whole city at once. Makes problems feel smaller. More manageable."
"Why did you bring me here?" I ask.
"Because I wanted you to see it. The town. Where Theo will grow up. Where we might build something together."
"We're really talking about that, aren't we? A future. Together."
"Yeah. We are."
"I don't know how to do that," I admit. "I've never planned for a future with anyone. Never let myself want that."
"Me either."
I look at him. He's staring out at the city, profile sharp against the bright sky. Gray eyes tracking movement below like he's noticing every detail. Always watching. Always aware.
"But you're considering it now," I say. "With me."
"I'm not considering it. I'm doing it." He turns to face me. "Hannah, you came to me with our son. You asked for help. I gave it. That's not charity or obligation or me being nice. That's me taking care of my family. And I don't do things halfway."
"I know."
"So yeah. I'm talking about a future. Where you and Theo stay in Millhaven for good. Where I'm part of his life every day. Where we figure out what we are to each other without running away from it."
"What if I run again?" The question comes out barely above a whisper. "What if I get scared and sabotage everything like I always do?"
"Then I'll let you go. I won't chase you. I won't force you to stay." His voice stays steady. "But I won't disappear either. You'll know exactly where to find me when you're ready to come back."
"That's terrifying."
"Why?"
"Because it means you're not going to leave first. Which means I have to trust that you'll stay. And I've never trusted anyone to stay."
Wesley steps closer. Reaches up and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. His fingers are rough but gentle. "I'm not asking you to trust me completely right now. I'm asking you to try. One day at a time. Stay today. We'll worry about tomorrow when it gets here."
One day at a time. I can do that. Maybe.
"Okay," I say. "One day at a time."
"Good."
We stand there for a moment, close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his body. Close enough that if I leaned forward just slightly, I could kiss him.
I don't. Not yet. We're not there yet.
But maybe we will be.
"Tell me something," I say instead. "Something about you I don't know. Something you've never told anyone."
"I have nightmares. Not every night. But a few times a week. About Sacred Heart. About aging out with nothing. About being alone again."
The confession surprises me. Wesley never talks about fear. Never shows vulnerability. But he's showing it now.
"What happens in the nightmares?" I ask.
"Different things. Sometimes I'm back there and I can't leave.
Sometimes I'm alone in a city that doesn't want me.
Sometimes everyone I care about disappears and I'm the last one left.
" He pauses. "I wake up and have to remind myself where I am.
That I have brothers. A home. A club. That I'm not alone anymore. "
"I have nightmares too," I tell him. "About Theo dying. About not being able to save him. About being completely powerless while he slips away."
"Those stop after the surgery," Wesley tells me. "Once he's better. Once you know he's safe."
"How do you know?"
"Because fear needs something to feed on. Once Theo is healthy, your fear won't have anywhere to go."
I hope he's right. God, I hope he's right.
A breeze picks up, ruffling my hair. Wesley doesn't move. Just stands there solid and steady like he's a part of the landscape. Like he's been here forever and will be here forever.
I look out at Millhaven again. During my previous visits, I stayed on the outskirts. Never felt like I belonged here. Never felt like I could belong anywhere, really. Just passed through, never leaving tracks, never hoping for more than temporary.
But from up here, the city looks different. Like somewhere a person could put down roots. Build a life. Stay.
"I never felt like I belonged here, you know? I was just visiting. Just passing through."
"And now?"
I think about the clubhouse. About the women who immediately welcomed me. About Phoenix saying "you're family now" like it was already decided. About Theo sleeping peacefully while strangers-who-aren't-strangers-anymore watched over him.
"Now it feels different," I admit. "Like maybe I could belong here. If I let myself."
Wesley's hand tightens on mine. "You can. You do."
I want to believe him. Want to believe that this broken, scared woman who showed up at dawn with a sick baby and empty pockets could actually find home in a place like this.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see a text from a number I don't recognize:
*This is Nora. Theo woke up about 20 minutes ago.
I fed him (you left bottles in your bag, hope that's okay).
Grace wants to go to the park, and I was thinking of taking Theo with us so you can have some time to settle in.
Ivy's coming too. He's happy and smiling.
We'll take good care of him. Let me know if that's okay? *
I show Wesley the text. He reads it and looks at me. "Your call. But they'll take good care of him. Nora's been raising Grace for five years. Ivy helped Phoenix through some dark shit. They know what they're doing."
"What if something happens?"