Chapter Sixteen
? Holly ?
September blurred into spit-up, sleepless nights, and the kind of diaper blowouts that deserved their own crime scene tape.
I’d submitted my college application at the end of August, hit “send,” and nearly threw up in the process.
Now all I could do was wait. And stalk my mailbox.
And maybe threaten it once or twice under my breath in between stress-eating Oreos.
Every afternoon, I trudged down the driveway, checking for the fat envelope that would change my life. Instead, I got bills, junk ads, and once, a glossy pamphlet about tractor parts. Nothing screams “bright academic future” like spark plugs and hay balers.
With my application sent off, all I could do was wait, and waiting was torture.
I didn’t have the patience for it, so I threw myself into the one distraction available: Maria and Jewel.
Which meant spending a lot more time at the clubhouse than I ever expected.
And it wasn’t just Jewel who got welcomed like royalty.
Yeah, the guys all lined up to take turns holding her like she was the crown jewel of the Steel Saints (pun intended), but what threw me off was how they treated me.
These were gruff, scarred, leather cut wearing bikers, and yet every time I walked in, someone shoved a soda in my hand, someone else pulled up a chair, and before I knew it, I was smack in the middle of the chaos.
Like…family. The kind of family I didn’t exactly ask for, but maybe needed.
Dalton, of course, decided to push this whole newfound bond thing further. Which was how I found myself lounging in an overstuffed armchair as he unveiled a rather hair-brained idea. “You’re around us enough,” he said, smirking. “You should learn to ride.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” Mac muttered from across the room.
“Best idea,” Dalton insisted.
“Worst,” Mac fired back.
Maria and Diego exchanged a look, equal parts amused and horrified. Maria bounced Jewel on her hip, eyes dancing.
Dalton shoved a helmet at me. “C’mon, Holly.”
Against all logic, I put it on. Dalton ran me through a rushed tutorial—clutch, throttle, brake—while Mac muttered about life insurance policies.
As Dalton talked, word spread around the place about what was about to go down.
A California princess about to ride a motorcycle for the first time?
Not a show you wanted to miss, apparently.
Even Hannah had meandered out onto the porch, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
After a bit, Dalton asked if I’d got it.
“I think so?” He stepped back, and gestured for me to go. Then I twisted the throttle.
The bike rocketed forward, straight toward the warehouse wall. Bikers scattered; I heard Diego roared with laughter. Maria squealed, and Jewel decided to join in the noise and squealed too. Dalton yelled, “Clutch! Clutch!”
I screamed. Dalton lunged, grabbed the handlebars, and yanked them sideways at the last second. We skidded to a stop inches from destruction. For a beat, silence. Then the room erupted with laughter.
Dalton patted my helmet, wheezing with laughter. “Not bad—for a first try.”
“First and last try! I almost Road Runnered through your wall!” I shouted, yanking the helmet off.
Mac rubbed his temples. “Told you this was a horrible fucking idea.”
Diego grinned. “Best entertainment we’ve had in weeks.”
I wanted to be mad, but instead I found myself laughing too—louder than I’d laughed in months.
One quiet afternoon at Maria’s place, Maria had finally crashed hard on the couch, mouth open, snoring soft little whistles. I crept over to Jewel’s bassinet. She was wide awake, gurgling, fists waving at nothing.
“Hey, Lil Bit,” I whispered, scooping her up. She was warm and heavy in my arms, and I couldn’t help myself—I lifted her like Rafiki presenting Simba to the Pride Lands. “Behold! The new queen of the Steel Saints!”
Jewel blinked, then let out a bubbling giggle that hit me square in the chest. Spit bubbles clung to her chin, her tiny fists batting the air triumphantly.
I lowered her close, my voice fierce. “Listen here, tiny human. I don’t do diapers. I don’t do lullabies. But I swear on Sally, if anyone ever hurts you, I will murder them and hide the body where even the FBI can’t find it.”
Jewel squealed, delighted, as if she approved of my murder vows.
“Good,” I muttered, bouncing her gently. “Glad we understand each other.”
I sat with her, rocking gently, my thoughts drifting.
If I felt this protective over one baby, what would it mean to protect women and kids who had no one else?
Survivors like me, like the ones I’d read about, who needed a safe place to land?
Jewel wasn’t just a baby—she was proof. Proof that new beginnings were possible.
And that was what I wanted my future to be about.
Not diapers or midnight feedings, but giving people their second chance.
A knock came at the front door, and I startled so hard I almost dropped Jewel.
Maria woke up with a very lady-like grunt and stretched before heading for the door.
In swept a tall, lithe woman with red hair and blue eyes, balancing a casserole dish, a canvas tote, and a basket of baby supplies, as if she were single-handedly provisioning a small country.
Maria lit up. “Hannah!”
I freeze. Oh. Shit.
Because this wasn’t just any grandma barging in with casseroles and Pampers. This was Hannah Mills. Mac and Dalton’s mother. The woman people mentioned in the clubhouse with reverence and a little fear. The one I tended to avoid, though I would never admit it.
Hannah leaned down to kiss Maria’s cheek, eyes sharp and kind all at once. She set her haul on the counter, and I swear half the kitchen rattled under the weight.
“New mom care package,” Hannah announced briskly. “Soup, burp cloths, lanolin cream—don’t ask, just use it. And a little something for you too.”
Maria’s eyes glistened as she rooted through the bags, laughing softly. “You didn’t have to—”
“Of course I did,” Hannah cut her off. “You’re family. We take care of family.”
Her gaze shifted then, landing on me. Jewel squirmed in my arms, drooling happily down my shoulder. Hannah’s eyebrow arched. “Hi, Holly. Seems you can’t outrun me forever. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Shit. I had been caught.
“Hi,” I manage. “All lies you’ve heard. Unless they were flattering, then absolutely true.”
Her mouth twitched, like I’d passed a test. She held out her arms. I hesitated, then surrendered Jewel carefully. Hannah settled the baby with practiced ease, kissed her forehead, then looked back at me.
“Maria told me a little about your plan.”
Maria looked up at her name, pausing her hunt for a vase to put the pretty flowers Hannah had brought in. “I hope that’s ok.”
My mouth went dry. “Uh…yeah. It’s fine. Just college, you know. Hopefully. If the mailbox ever decides to cooperate.”
Hannah smirked, but not unkindly. “And after that?”
I swallowed, glancing at Maria, who was watching me with an encouraging smile. “Well, actually. I…I’ve got this idea. A shelter. For women. And kids. Survivors. A place where people don’t have to feel like they’re broken.”
The words tumbled out before I could stop them, and my cheeks burned. I hadn’t really told a lot of people about this, outside of Maria and my parents. But something about Hannah just dragged it out of me. I waited for her to laugh, or pat me on the head, or tell me I was too young.
Instead, her expression sharpened. “Good. We need more women thinking that way. You’ve got passion, and Maria says you’re smart.” She leaned in slightly. “Don’t wait until you’re thirty. Start building now. Start small. Think big. You’re not alone in this. Remember that.”
Heat prickled behind my eyes. Someone was taking me seriously. Someone who wasn’t Maria.
I nodded. “Ok. Yeah. I can do that.”
Hannah’s smile was fierce. “I know you can.”
One night not long after, Hannah invited me out for dinner.
Just the two of us. I thought it was going to be awkward—me sitting across from this fierce, no-nonsense woman who somehow ran circles around bikers twice her size—but it wasn’t.
We talked for hours. About school. About my essay.
About the shelter I wanted to build one day.
And instead of treating me like some kid with a pipe dream, Hannah leaned in like every word mattered.
She told me about grant programs, local nonprofits, and even women she knew who’d been through hell and back and could use a place like the one I was imagining.
She sketched ideas on the back of a napkin, asked questions that made my brain spin in the best way, and by the time the waitress shooed us out for closing, I realized something: Hannah Mills was a force to be reckoned with and one hell of a lady to have on my side.
Weeks rolled on in a blur of baby duty, late-night bottles, and mailbox stalking.
Every day when I got home from hanging out at the clubhouse or Maria’s apartment, I’d check our box at the end of the driveway like it owed me money.
Nothing. Bills. Flyers. Once, a pizza coupon that wasn’t even valid anymore.
Then one Tuesday afternoon, there it was. A fat envelope, stamped “University of Georgia.”
I froze on the gravel drive, heart slamming against my ribs. For a second, I just stared. Then I snatched it out, tore it open with shaking hands, and scanned the first line.
Congratulations. We are pleased to offer you admission to the University of Georgia…
My knees buckled. I reread it twice, three times, the words blurring until they finally stuck.