Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Popeye
From my place in the doorway of the clubhouse, I watched as Trudy drove out of the lot. I waited until her taillights disappeared and then I went in search of my daughter.
I found her on the couch in the main room sitting with a few of the other old ladies.
“Hey, baby girl, got a minute?”
“Of course, Dad.”
She struggled to get up and when I reached to help her, Sam suggested, “We’ll go.”
“It will take longer for Grace to get off the couch than for us to find something else to do,” Beck joked. Grace flipped her the bird as I sat down beside her, and they both laughed.
This was what I’d missed out on. By hiding Christina and Grace from the club, while it had been for their safety, I’d missed out on having the woman I loved and my daughter in my life.
In my home.
In my club.
Virginia had been the only old lady among the officers. The rest of us towed the line, afraid to subject the women we loved to the narcissistic asshole who owned our lives.
Happy had been in love with Virginia for decades, but she belonged to George.
Instead, he met and married Linsey’s grandmother.
When his wife and daughter were killed, his granddaughters had been hidden away from him.
Linsey was in her twenties before Happy saw her again.
He’d spent the rest of his life alone, pining for a woman he couldn’t have.
And once he got her, we realized he wasn’t any better than George had been.
Snoopy had three children with two different women; neither told him about them until they’d grown into adults. He met Tessa when she was in her twenties, after she’d had a kid with Montana. And well, Hemlock he’d only met last summer. His twin brother Shamrock died before he’d met him.
I’d searched for twenty years, trying to find my daughter. When Titan told me Christina had left, I’d held out hope that I would find them both and build a life. I’d assumed George had gotten wind of my family and threatened her.
I didn’t blame her for running; I blamed myself for not protecting her.
The damn journal she left me told a different story. One I was hesitant to keep reading. What I had read told me that Christina ran on her own. She’d made the choice to hide from me. Hide my daughter.
Whatever love I’d held onto for her died when I read that last entry.
“If you knew what I did. The things I let them do to me. The things I did for them.”
I still wasn’t certain what she’d done, but I could guess some of it. I was the VP of a notorious motorcycle club. I knew how MCs treated women. What they expected.
I should never have left her there.
I trusted the wrong people.
“You and Trudy, huh?” Grace said with a smile, her voice filled with warmth.
“That okay?”
She leaned her head against my shoulder, her hand rubbing the top of her stomach as she exhaled. I wasn’t sure what she was about to say.
“You need to tread carefully, Dad. Trudy isn’t what she appears.”
“What do you mean?” I wasn’t ready to hear my daughter tell me she didn’t like Trudy. That she didn’t want me with her. There was no question I would choose her over a woman. Hell, I’d spent my whole life as a bachelor—what was a few more years?
“Trudy comes across as a strong woman. And she is—don’t get me wrong.
But inside, she’s terrified. I was talking to Beatrice after Trudy and Pati left.
Beatrice knew Trudy’s husband. She said he was a good man.
Strong, dependable. He took care of Trudy; he loved her and wanted to give her the world.
When he died, Trudy was devastated. She’d not only lost her husband, but she’d also lost her best friend. ”
I followed my daughter’s gaze to King. He sat at the bar on the other side of the room, talking to Jingles. But his eyes never left Grace.
“Beatrice told me it took Trudy over ten years before she was willing to date. It wasn’t until Pati got married and Trudy started seeing a man named Frank.”
My body tensed up at the sound of the man’s name. Grace smiled at me and shook her head. “You’ve got it bad.”
“Yeah, I do. Go on,” I encouraged her.
“Well, according to Beatrice, Trudy and Frank dated for less than a year before she called it off. She said she liked Frank well enough, but not enough to give up her home and live with someone else again.”
“Does Frank live in town?” I asked, trying to keep my voice soft and even.
“It doesn’t matter,” Grace said with a chuckle. “That was more than a decade ago. And they both agreed what they had wasn’t enough. Frank got married a few years later, and Trudy was at their wedding, wishing them the best.”
“And Harold?” I asked, knowing where my daughter was headed with this.
“Harold was different. According to Beatrice, Trudy and Harold burned hot and fast. They were together for four months before he introduced her to his children.”
“And they didn’t like her,” I guessed.
“No, they didn’t.” Grace held my hand in hers and looked up at me. “Harold hurt her, Dad. As soon as his kids said no, he dropped her like a hot potato and married Edith. Edith didn’t have baggage, according to the kids. There weren’t any children in her life that would compete for an inheritance.”
“Son of a bitch,” I cursed.
“Three strikes and you’re out. That’s how Trudy sees it.”
“Or maybe third time’s the charm,” I said absently.
“What about you?” Grace asked.
I looked down at my beautiful daughter who looked so much like her mother. “What about me?”
Her eyes dropped to where she held my hand and I felt her fingers tighten around mine. “Are you still in love with Mom?”
Now it was my turn to take a deep breath. I closed my eyes and blew it out, stalling while I tried to figure out how to answer that question.
“I will always love your mother, baby girl. But...”
“But she left you.”
“She did. And she took you with her. I missed out on your whole life because she ran away from me. I almost missed out on this.” I placed my other hand on her protruding belly and felt my grandchild kick. “She took everything away from me.”
“She was scared.”
“Of what?” I asked, wondering if Grace knew more than Christina realized.
“Everything.” Grace closed her eyes, and I felt her body tremble. “I’m not sure how much you want to know. I don’t want to hurt you.” She looked up at me with tears in her eyes and suddenly, every last bit of emotion I held for Christina was gone in an instant.
Grace knew something. Something she’d been holding onto for years.
“I have a journal, baby.”
“What?” Her eyes widened as she turned in her seat.
“When we were in New Orleans, Gator gave me a journal your mother wrote. She started it when she got sick. I haven’t read it all yet, but the way she wrote it was like she was confessing her sins.
She was talking directly to me. She gave it to Gator so if I ever came looking for you, he could give it to me. ”
“Gator knew you were my father?” Her voice rose as she tried to stand. King was across the room in a heartbeat, pulling her into his arms. The glare he turned on me would have had George Stone shitting his pants.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Gator gave my dad a journal my mom wrote. He’s known all this time.”
“Grace, he didn’t know who I was. She never told him; she only said if your father ever came looking?—”
“But he had the journal. He had the answers I needed.”
Suddenly, Grace’s tears were gone. She looked around the room, for what I wasn’t sure, but then her eyes landed on Romeo.
“You Cajun son of a bitch!”
Romeo’s old lady turned toward Grace, her eyes wide, then she turned back to Romeo. “Jasper, what did you do?”
“I didn’t do shit. I swear.” Romeo held his hands up in surrender as Grace stomped across the room.
“Did you know my mother gave your fucking cousin a journal?” Grace yelled.
“Grace, baby.” My daughter spun around on King and snapped, “Don’t baby me right now. That Cajun motherfucker kept secrets from me.”
Grace pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at me. “We will discuss the fact that you have had this for six months and said nothing later. Right now, go talk to Trudy!”
“You’re okay with me pursuing her?”
Grace’s shoulders slumped as she walked back over to me. “I am more than okay with it. I love Trudy. The whole town does.”
“I love you, baby girl.”
“I love you too, Dad.” She kissed my cheek and then placed the phone to her ear as she walked away. As she left the room, I heard her growl, “Devlyn, you tell that Cajun bastard I’m going to kick his lying ass as soon as this baby is born.”
King pointed a finger at Romeo and said, “That fucker is a dead man.” Then he left the room, following Grace.
“Fuck,” I cursed as I ran my hands over my face.
“Trudy, huh?” Romeo asked, pulling his old lady into his arms. “Think you could put in a good word for me?”
“Why do you need a good word, Jasper?” His old lady pulled out of his arms and turned to face him. She placed her hands on her hips and waited for his answer.
I slipped away, not wanting to get caught in the middle of a brother and his old lady.
The night air hit me as I stepped outside, cool and sharp. My bike sat in the lot, chrome gleaming under the security lights. I swung my leg over and fired up the engine, the familiar rumble grounding me.
The road stretched out ahead of me, dark and empty. I knew where she lived, had driven past her house more times than I cared to admit over the past six months. A small place on the edge of town, neat and tidy, with flower boxes in the windows and a porch light that stayed on until late.
She might slam the door in my face.
The thought made me grin despite myself. She probably would. And I’d stand there and take it, because that was Trudy. She didn’t make anything easy.
I thought about Harold as I rode. The man who had her and let her go. The fool who’d chosen his children’s approval over the woman he claimed to love. I’d seen the way Trudy had looked when she talked about him, the hurt buried under layers of sarcasm and deflection.
Harold had broken something in her. Made her believe she wasn’t worth fighting for.
Fuck that.
I’d spent twenty years searching for Grace. Twenty years of dead ends and false leads and the crushing weight of not knowing where my daughter was. I’d lost that time. Lost her childhood. Lost the chance to be there when she needed me.
I wasn’t losing again.
Not Trudy. Not this.
The houses started to thin out as I reached the edge of town. Hers was the third one on the left, a small ranch-style with white siding and a red door. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow over the front steps.
I killed the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at that door.
I swung off the bike and walked up the path, my boots heavy on the concrete. The night was quiet except for the distant sound of crickets and the pounding of my own heart.
I raised my hand and knocked.
Inside, I heard movement. Footsteps. A pause.
The door opened, and there she was.
Trudy stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with surprise. She was still wearing the blue dress from the baby shower, her hair slightly mussed, her expression caught between shock and something else. Something that looked a lot like hope.
“It’s late,” she said, though we both knew that wasn’t the point.
“I know.” I held her gaze, letting her see everything I felt. Everything I’d been holding back for six months. “I needed to see you.”
Her breath hitched, and her hand tightened on the doorframe.
And standing there in the darkness, with the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us, I realized she felt it too.
This pull. This inevitability.
She knew this was more than flirtation. More than attraction. More than two people circling each other in a small-town bakery.
This was real.
And neither of us could deny it anymore.
Not to each other.
Not to ourselves.