Chapter 5
Graves POV ?
Chains pushed away from the railing beside me, finally moving and finally speaking. The bastard had spent the better part of an hour pretending he wasn’t paying attention. Pretending he wasn’t listening. Pretending he wasn’t watching Cleo.
I knew better, known him too long. Long enough to spot every tell he had: the slight tightening of his jaw, his shoulders locking up, and how he suddenly found everything around him interesting except what he really wanted to look at.
Which, unfortunately for him, was my daughter.
“You’re making it weird,” he muttered.
Roman flipped him off. “Mind your business.”
“It is my business.”
That made Cleo laugh, a real laugh, and right away, Chains’ attention went straight to her. The movement was subtle, most people wouldn’t have noticed.
I did. And so did Stella. My wife took a sip of her drink, the corner of her mouth twitching suspiciously.
Traitor.
I looked at Chains, then at Cleo and then back at Chains. The man immediately found a tree fascinating.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
A sinking feeling settled in my stomach, but not because Chains was a bad person. It was the opposite. There wasn’t a brother in this club I trusted more. I’d trusted him with my life, with Roman, and with Stella. Hell, I’d trust him with Cleo, too. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was what this could mean for all of us.
The problem was that she was my daughter and he was my MC brother.
The age difference didn’t bother me. Forty-three wasn’t old, and Cleo wasn’t some kid fresh out of school. She was twenty-eight, a mother, a widow, a woman who’d survived more than most people ever should.
No. Age wasn’t the issue.
Chains was the issue, because in all the years I’d known him, I’d never seen him truly interested in a woman. Not once. The club joked about it. Hell, half the town joked about it. But Stella and I knew the truth.
Years ago, after an accident, a doctor had told him there was a possibility he might never have children.
Not couldn’t.
Might not.
The uncertainty had been enough. Chains built a wall around that part of himself and never looked back.
He told himself that any woman he loved would end up resenting him for not being able to give her the family she wanted, for not being enough. So he never gave anyone the chance. Never got close. Never stayed and now Cleo was here, making that wall seem less solid than ever.
Yet here he was, watching Cleo, Tommy chase Lola across the yard, and Skylar roll her eyes at something Maddox had said.
Watching a family, and for the first time in over twenty years, I wasn’t sure he remembered the wall was supposed to be there.
Oh shit, is this going to be a problem?
Chains finally glanced my way. One look at my expression, and his eyes narrowed.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“You know what.”
Roman looked between us, then grinned. The little shit figured it out instantly.
“Well, this should be fun.”
“Shut up, Rage.”
“Not a chance.”
Stella laughed. She actually laughed, which was completely unhelpful. My family was enjoying this way too much.
Meanwhile, Chains looked like he was considering whether murder would get him kicked out of the club.
It probably would.
I clapped a hand onto his shoulder. Hard. His glare promised violence.
I ignored it. Entirely.
“Cleo,” I called.
Her attention shifted towards us. Those green eyes. My eyes. Jesus Christ. I was never getting used to that.
“I don’t think you’ve properly met our Vice President.”
The look Chains gave me would’ve dropped lesser men. Luckily, I wasn’t one of them. I grinned.
“This is Chains.”
For the first time all afternoon, my Vice President looked genuinely uncomfortable. Then he stepped forward, held out his hand, and met Cleo Hart properly for the first time.
The second their eyes locked, something shifted.
I saw it, Stella did too, and Chains definitely did, because his face tightened just a little. It was like he realized he was standing at the edge of a cliff and wasn’t planning to step back. That look told me this wasn’t just interest. It was the kind that could change everything.
Hell.
This was definitely going to be a problem.
----
Chains POV
The second her hand touched mine, I knew I was screwed. It wasn’t because she was beautiful, though she was. Not because she had the kind of smile that made a man want to earn another one, though she did.
No. It was the feeling.
Warm.
Soft.
Real.
For a split second, neither of us let go. Then she blinked, and the moment was gone.
“Cleo.”
Her voice was quieter than I’d expected.
“Chains.”
I immediately hated how rough my voice sounded, like I hadn’t spoken in weeks. She smiled politely, the kind of smile people gave strangers.
Meanwhile, my brain had apparently forgotten how to work. Right then, Graves looked way too pleased with himself. The bastard.
I shot him a glare and he grinned. Stella looked just as amused.
Traitors. All of them.
Thankfully, before anyone could say anything else, a small body crashed into my side. I looked down.
Tommy.
The kid looked up at me like we’d known each other for years.
“Is that your bike?”
I followed his finger.
My Harley sat parked near the clubhouse.
“Yeah.”
His eyes widened. “That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
A laugh escaped before I could stop it. “Is it?”
“Yep.”
He answered right away. No hesitation, no doubt. Just total certainty.
I found myself smiling. “Well, thanks, buddy.”
Tommy beamed. Then, apparently deciding we’d become best friends, climbed onto the bench beside me. Not across from me. Not nearby, but beside me. Close enough that his little leg bumped against mine every time he moved.
I stared at him. The kid stared back. Completely comfortable. Like this was normal.
Children were weird. Lola climbed onto the opposite bench. “Tommy likes bikes.”
Tommy nodded seriously. “I really like bikes.”
“Clearly.”
His grin widened. “How fast does it go?”
“Tommy.”
Cleo’s warning came right away. The kid ignored it completely. I hid my smile.
“Fast enough.”
His jaw dropped. “That’s awesome.”
Across the table, Cleo looked stunned, actually stunned.
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
She shook her head. “I’m just surprised.”
“About?”
Her eyes drifted towards Tommy. “He’s usually shy around people he doesn’t know.”
I looked down. Tommy was now studying one of the tattoos on my forearm with complete fascination. Definitely not shy.
“Maybe he’s got good instincts.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. For a second, Cleo just looked at me. Then she laughed softly, and something inside my chest tightened because I liked that sound far more than I should.
Beside me, Tommy pointed at my arm. “Does this one mean something?”
I looked down at the tattoo, then back at him. “Most tattoos mean something.”
His eyes widened. “All of yours?”
“Pretty much.”
“That’s cool.”
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever called my tattoos cool with that much awe before.
Across the table, Cleo was still watching us. Not nervous, not wary. Just watching.
Like she couldn’t quite believe her son had attached himself to a six-foot-four biker covered in tattoos in less than a minute. Neither could I.
Yet here he was, talking nonstop, asking questions, settling into my space as he’d always belonged there.
The strange thing? I didn’t mind. Not even a little. In fact, it felt natural.
Dangerously natural. Cleo. She was smiling now, a real smile. Not the guarded one she’d arrived with. Not the polite one she’d given me when we first shook hands.
This one reached her eyes.
Green.
The same damn shade as Graves’.
Hell. I dragged my gaze away.
This was exactly why I kept my distance from women. The moment you started wanting things, you were already in trouble. And Cleo Hart made me want things I hadn’t let myself imagine in years.
Simple things, normal things. Things most men took for granted. Things I’d convinced myself weren’t meant for me.
Years ago, a doctor had told me there was a possibility I couldn't have kids and that had been enough.
So I’d built walls, strong ones, permanent ones and for years, they’d done their job. Until a widow with honey?brown hair and two kids walked into a diner.
Now, one of those kids was sitting beside me, explaining in great detail why black bikes were cooler than red ones. I hadn’t even realized he’d switched topics.
“Dad had a truck,” Tommy was saying.
I froze. The excitement faded a little from his voice, not all the way, just enough. Something flickered across Cleo’s face, too. Pain, quick, practiced.
The kind people carried when grief had become part of them.
Tommy looked down. “Dad liked fixing things.”
For a moment, nobody spoke. Then I nudged his shoulder gently with mine.
“Sounds like your dad was pretty smart.”
Tommy looked up.
A smile returned. “Yeah.” He nodded firmly. “He was.”
Across the table, Cleo’s eyes met mine, and this time, neither of us looked away, and for the first time all afternoon, I felt like the real danger wasn’t the attraction, wasn’t Graves or the club.
It wasn’t even the fact that she was still grieving.
The real danger was how easily sitting here with her and her kids felt right. If I let myself want this, I’d have to face everything I’d spent years avoiding, and that scared me a hell of a lot more than attraction ever could.
I was still listening to Tommy explain why black bikes were objectively better than every other color when Bolt appeared with Mia beside him.
The two of them looked exactly like they always did: comfortable, happy, annoyingly normal. Bolt spotted me and smirked.
Never a good sign.
“Chains.”
I didn’t like his tone right away. Mia ignored him entirely and smiled at Cleo.
Before anyone could say more, Graves wandered over, apparently deciding I hadn’t suffered enough.
“Cleo, you’ve met Bolt.”
Bolt lifted a hand. “Hey.”
“And this is Mia.”
“It’s nice to meet you properly,” Mia said warmly.
“You too.”
While the women started talking, I noticed movement behind them. Maddox was coming our way, with Skylar beside him. The two of them looked deep in conversation, or maybe arguing.
Honestly, with kids that age, it was hard to tell.
The second Maddox spotted Cleo, he lifted a hand. “Hi, Cleo.”
The kid had apparently skipped Mrs Hart entirely, straight to first names.
Bold.
“Cleo?” I heard Mia repeat. Bolt looked entirely unsurprised. Mia shook her head.
“You all move fast around here.”
That earned a laugh from Cleo. Then Skylar noticed Tommy, more specifically, she noticed Tommy sitting beside me.
The look on her face was priceless.
Confusion. Suspicion. Mild disbelief.
Like she couldn’t quite understand why her little brother was attached to a biker twice the size of everyone else.
She approached cautiously.
“Tommy?”
Her brother didn’t even look up. “Busy.”
Skylar blinked, I held back a smile. Then she looked at me, a little shy and a little unsure.
“Hi.”
She glanced between Tommy and then offered a small smile.
“I’m Skylar.”
There was a pause.
“I’m Tommy’s sister.”
As if that wasn’t immediately obvious.
I suddenly had no idea what to do. Kids usually either avoided me or asked about my bike. Nobody had prepared me for introductions.
Did I shake her hand? That felt weird. Did I not? Also weird.
Hell.
“Hi,” I said finally. Smooth, real smooth. “I’m Chains.”
The kid smiled. Thank God. Then I noticed the oversized blue sweater she was wearing. It practically swallowed her whole. The sleeves hung past her hands. The collar stretched slightly at one side.
Clearly old. Clearly worn, clearly loved.
Before I could stop myself, words came out.
“Cool sweater.”
I immediately regretted everything. What kind of response was that? Cool sweater? I was forty-three, not twelve.
Internally, I groaned.
Then Skylar’s face lit up. Really lit up.
“It is.”
The smile stayed for a second before softening just a little.
“It was Dad’s.”
The words landed somewhere deep in my chest. I saw the same understanding pass across Cleo’s face.
The same sadness.
Quick, quiet, but still there. Always there.
Before I could think of a response that didn’t sound completely stupid, Maddox nudged Skylar.
“Come on.”
“But”
“Come on.”
He grabbed her sleeve. Skylar rolled her eyes. The kid clearly thought he was annoying. The kid also clearly followed him anyway.
Interesting.
As they walked off, I caught Cleo watching me. She was smiling, not laughing or amused. Just smiling. Like she’d seen exactly how badly I’d fumbled that conversation and still appreciated the effort.
Great.
Now I was embarrassing myself in front of children.
Mia watched Maddox and Skylar disappear towards the yard. Then she looked at Cleo, a grin spreading across her face.
“Well.”
Bolt immediately sighed. “Mia.”
“What?”
“Whatever you’re thinking.”
“I’m not thinking anything.”
She was absolutely thinking about something. Mia looked towards Skylar and Maddox again. Then back at Cleo.
“They seem to be hitting it off.”
Cleo laughed.
Bolt groaned.
Mia ignored him.
The conversation moved on, everyone talking and laughing. Stories were exchanged. At some point, Stella joined us, then Graves, and Rage.
The noise around the table grew louder.
Warmer.
More familiar.
The kind of family chaos I’d spent years pretending I didn’t want. Then I felt something heavy against my chest. I looked down. Tommy was asleep.
At some point during the conversation, the kid had climbed onto my lap.
No permission. No warning. He apparently decided I was furniture. One small hand still rested against my cut. His head was tucked beneath my chin.
Completely out cold. For a moment, nobody said anything.
Then I looked up and every single person at the table was staring at me.
Hell.
Even Cleo looked surprised. I looked back down at Tommy, then at the faces around me.
“Don’t.”
Rage immediately started laughing.
The bastard.