Chapter 4
FOUR
AINSLEY
I wake to birdsong. It's such a simple thing, the sound of birds chirping outside the window, but it stops me cold. I lie there in the pale morning light, listening, and realize I can't remember the last time I woke to something so... normal.
I press my hand to my ribs, testing. The pain is still there, but it's duller now. Less sharp. I can breathe a little deeper without wanting to cry. Progress.
Owen is still sleeping in the temporary laundry basket that's been lined with soft blankets, his little body curled on its side, one hand tucked under his cheek. I watch him for a long moment, my chest tight with something I can't name. Love. Fear. Relief. All of it tangled together.
I ease out of bed slowly, carefully, and pad barefoot into the kitchen. The hardwood floor is cool under my feet. The cottage smells faintly of dust and old wood, but underneath that is something else, something clean. Safe.
I find the coffee maker on the counter, already stocked with filters and a bag of ground coffee. Hadley's work, probably. Or Scarlett. I don't know which one of them thought of it, but I'm grateful.
I make a pot and pour myself a cup, then carry it out to the porch.
The morning air is cool and fresh, the kind of crisp that makes you feel awake even before the caffeine kicks in. I sit on the squeaky porch swing and wrap both hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my palms.
The property is quiet. A few motorcycles are parked near the main clubhouse in the distance, but there's no movement. No noise. Just the birds and the faint rustle of wind through the wildflowers growing along the fence line.
I take a sip of coffee and close my eyes.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself just... be.
Not running. Not hiding. Not bracing for the next blow.
Just sitting on a porch swing, drinking coffee, listening to birds.
It's such a small thing.
But it feels like everything.
I'm folding the few baby clothes I have when I hear the knock.
My body tenses immediately, my hands freezing mid-fold. Owen is on a blanket on the floor, playing with a soft toy Tessa brought yesterday. He doesn't notice my reaction, thank God.
"Ainsley?" Lucy's voice. Soft. Familiar. "It's just me."
I exhale and move to the door, opening it to find Lucy standing there with two reusable grocery bags in her hands.
"Hey," she says, smiling. "I brought some stuff. Can I come in?"
I step back, and she walks past me into the kitchen, setting the bags on the counter.
"You didn't have to do this," I say.
"I know." She starts unpacking, milk, eggs, bread, fresh fruit, a rotisserie chicken. "But I wanted to. You need to eat, and I figured you probably haven't had time to think about groceries yet."
She's right. I haven't.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
Lucy looks at me, her expression soft. "How are you feeling? Physically, I mean."
"Better," I admit. "Still sore, but better."
"Good. That's good." She finishes unpacking and folds the bags neatly. "Bella said you need to rest. Like, actually rest. Not just sit around folding laundry."
I glance at the pile of baby clothes on the couch and feel my face heat. "I'm not good at sitting still."
"I get that," Lucy says. "But your body needs time to heal. You've been through a lot."
I don't know what to say to that, so I just nod.
Lucy moves to the living room and sits on the floor next to Owen, who immediately reaches for her. She picks him up and bounces him on her knee, making him giggle.
"He's so sweet," she says. "How old is he?"
“Seven months."
"He's perfect." She looks up at me. "You're doing a great job with him, you know that?"
My throat tightens. "I'm trying."
"You're doing more than trying. You got him out. You kept him safe. That's everything."
I sit down on the couch, my hands twisting in my lap. "I should have left sooner."
"Maybe," Lucy says gently. "But you left when you could. That's what matters."
I look at her, this young woman who barely knows me, and I don't understand why she's being so kind. Why any of them are.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask.
Lucy tilts her head. "Doing what?"
"Helping me. All of you. You don't even know me."
She's quiet for a moment, her hand rubbing Owen's back as he leans against her. "Because someone helped me once," she says finally. "When I needed it most. And now I get to pay it forward."
"What happened?"
She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "That's a story for another day. Right now, you just need to focus on healing. Okay?"
I nod, even though I don't fully understand.
Lucy stays for another twenty minutes, playing with Owen and making small talk about nothing important. When she leaves, she hugs me at the door, quick and warm, and tells me to call if I need anything.
I watch her walk back toward the main clubhouse, and for the first time since I got here, I feel a little less alone.
Tessa shows up around two with a bag of takeout and a grin.
"Lunch," she announces, breezing past me into the cottage. "I figured you probably haven't eaten yet."
"I had coffee," I say.
She gives me a look. "Coffee is not food, Ainsley."
She sets the bag on the kitchen table and starts pulling out containers, burgers, fries, onion rings, a salad that looks like an afterthought.
"Sit," she orders.
I sit.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and I realize how hungry I actually am. The burger is greasy and perfect, and I don't even care that I'm eating with my hands.
"So," Tessa says, dipping a fry in ketchup. "How are you holding up?"
"Okay, I think."
"You think?"
I shrug. "I don't know. It's weird. Being here. Feeling... safe."
"Safe is good," Tessa says. "Safe is what you deserve."
I look at her, this tiny, fierce woman with wild energy and a sharp tongue. "Lucy said someone helped her once. Did someone help you too?"
Tessa's expression shifts, just slightly. She sets down her burger and leans back in her chair. "Yeah. They did."
"What happened?"
She's quiet for a moment, her fingers drumming on the table.
Then she sighs. "I was running too. Not from a boyfriend, but from...
everything. My past. My family. Myself, probably.
" She laughs, but it's hollow. "I ended up in Jackson with nothing.
No money, no plan, no idea what I was doing.
I was bartending at some dive bar, sleeping in my car, trying to figure out how to survive. "
"How did you end up here?"
"Cole found me," she says simply. "Well, technically Hadley found me first. She was teaching at the middle school and saw me in the parking lot one night. She brought me to Perdition, introduced me to the Old Ladies, and they... they just took me in. No questions. No judgment. Just help."
"And Cole?"
Tessa's face softens. "Cole was patient. He didn't push. He just... showed up. Every day. Until I believed he wasn't going anywhere."
"Do you ever regret it?" I ask. "Staying?"
She looks at me, her eyes sharp and clear. "Not for a second."
"But what if—"
"What if what?" she interrupts. "What if it doesn't work out? What if they leave? What if you get hurt again?" She leans forward. "Ainsley, you can't live your life waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yeah, bad shit happens. But good shit happens too. And you deserve the good shit."
I want to believe her.
I want to believe that this, this cottage, these people, this feeling of safety, is real.
But I'm terrified.
Terrified of wanting it too much. Terrified of losing it.
"I don't know how to do this," I admit.
"Do what?"
"Trust. Hope. Any of it."
Tessa reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "You don't have to figure it all out today. Just take it one day at a time. One moment at a time. That's all any of us can do."
I nod, my throat tight.
She stays for another hour, helping me clean up and playing with Owen. When she leaves, she hugs me hard and tells me she'll be back tomorrow.
And I believe her.
I wake feeling incrementally better.
The pain in my ribs is still there, but it's duller now. Manageable. I can breathe deeper without wincing. I can move without feeling like my body is going to shatter.
Progress.
I make coffee and sit on the porch again, watching the sun rise over the property. Owen is still asleep, and I savor the quiet.
Around mid-morning, I hear the sound of a truck pulling up.
I move to the window and peek through the curtains.
Jax and Knox.
They're unloading tools from the bed of a truck, hammers, a drill, wood planks. They move with quiet efficiency, not talking much, just working in sync like they've done this a thousand times before.
I watch as Jax kneels on the porch steps, testing them with his hand. One of them creaks under his weight, and he shakes his head, pulling it free.
Knox is at the front door, examining the frame. He pushes it open and closed a few times, frowning at the way it sticks.
They didn't ask permission or knock. They just... showed up and started fixing things.
My chest aches watching them. Not from pain, but from something else. Something I don't have a name for. I should go out there. Say something. Thank them. But I don't. I just stand at the window and watch.
A few hours later Knox comes back alone. I'm sitting on the couch with Owen when I hear the knock.
Three firm raps against the wood. Respectful. Waiting.
I stand slowly, testing my ribs. The pain is duller now, manageable. I can move without feeling like I'm going to shatter.
When I open the door, Knox is standing on the porch, toolbox in hand, expression unreadable.
"Door's sticking," he says. "Gonna fix it."
"Oh." I glance at the doorframe, then back at him. "Okay."
He doesn't move. Just stands there, waiting.
It takes me a second to realize he's waiting for permission.
"Come in," I say, stepping back.
He nods once and steps inside, moving to the door with quiet efficiency. He kneels to examine the hinges, his hands already reaching for tools.
I stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do. Owen is on a blanket on the floor, playing with a soft toy. He notices Knox immediately and rocks forward onto his hands and knees, crawling toward him with determined little movements.
Knox glances down as Owen reaches him. The baby pats his knee with one chubby hand, babbling something that sounds like "ba-ba-ba."
Knox's mouth twitches, almost a smile. "Hey, little man," he says, his voice softer than I've ever heard it.
Owen grins up at him, then plops down on his bottom, content to sit and watch.
I watch Knox work. The way his hands move with precision. The way he doesn't waste a single motion. The way he's completely focused on the task in front of him, competent, methodical, quiet.
No yelling. No slamming. No tension crackling through the air like a live wire.
Just the soft scrape of metal on wood. The faint creak of the hinge as he adjusts it. Owen's happy babbling.
When Knox finishes, he stands and tests the door. It swings open and closed smoothly now, no sticking.
"That should do it," he says.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
He looks at me, his hazel eyes intense. "You need anything, let us know."
And then he's gone.
I stand there, staring at the door he just fixed. My hands are trembling slightly. Not from fear. From something else.
Something I don't have a name for yet.
But I want it anyway.
They come back together just after sunset.
Jax is carrying a bag of takeout, and Knox has a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm.
"Figured you might be hungry," Jax says, grinning.
I let them in, and we eat on the porch, burgers and fries spread out on paper plates, the porch swing creaking under our combined weight.
Jax makes Owen laugh by making silly faces, and Knox watches with that quiet intensity that makes my skin prickle.
"You're good with him," I say to Jax.
He shrugs. "Kids are easy. You just gotta not be an asshole."
Knox snorts. "That's your parenting philosophy?"
"It's worked so far."
I laugh, and it feels good. Natural.
We sit there for a while, talking about nothing important. Jax tells a story about a landscaping job gone wrong. Knox adds dry commentary that makes me laugh harder than I should.
And I realize, sitting here with them, that I feel... safe.
Not just physically.
But emotionally.
Like maybe, just maybe, I could let my guard down.
But then the fear creeps back in.
This feels too good. This never ends well.
I pull back slightly, wrapping my arms around myself.
Knox notices. Of course he does.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Yeah," I lie. "Just tired."
He doesn't push. Neither of them do.
They help me clean up, and then they leave.
But before they go, Jax turns back.
"We're not going anywhere, Ainsley," he says. "Just so you know."
I nod, not trusting my voice. And as I watch them walk away, I think, I want to believe you. I'm just terrified of what happens if I do.