6. Shadow #2
“I have a son,” I say, and the words surprise even me. I don’t talk about Jason. Haven’t in years. “Had a son. Have. It’s complicated.”
Jade’s watching me now, really watching.
“He’s twenty-six now,” I continue. “Joined the Army when he was eighteen. Haven’t heard from him in five years.”
“Why not?”
“Because he wanted nothing to do with me. With this life.” I gesture vaguely, meaning the club, the bikes, everything that comes with being a Satan’s Reaper.
“He grew up watching me choose the club over him. Over his mother. And when he was old enough to leave, he did. Went as far away as he could get.”
“Have you tried to reach out?”
“A few times. Christmas cards that come back unopened. Calls that go to voicemail. After a while, you get the message.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s my own fault. I had priorities, and I chose wrong.
Thought I was protecting him by keeping him separate from club business.
Thought if I just provided for him, kept him safe, that would be enough.
” I laugh, bitter. “Turns out kids need more than money and safety. They need their parents to actually be present.”
Jade’s studying me now, really looking. “You all have kids you’ve lost, don’t you?”
The observation catches me off guard. “What makes you say that?”
“The way you talk about them. Past tense, present tense, like you can’t decide if they’re still yours or if you’ve lost the right to claim them.” She sets down the spoon. “Hawk’s got a son he failed. You’ve got a son who won’t talk to you. What about Razor?”
“Daughter,” I say quietly. “Died three years ago. Overdose.”
Her face softens. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. We all are.”
Jade’s quiet for a moment. Then, “Is that why you’re helping me? Because you see a mother trying to protect her kid?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t want anyone else to lose someone they love because people like me make bad choices.”
“People like you?”
“Selfish. Short-sighted. More loyal to a patch on a vest than to the people who actually matter.”
She considers this. “You don’t strike me as selfish.”
“You don’t know me.”
“No. But I’m starting to.”
“Mason’s lucky to have you,” I say. “A mother who’s willing to fight for him.”
“I don’t feel lucky. I feel trapped.”
“By your ex.”
“By everything.” She sets down her fork, appetite apparently gone. “By choices I made when I was too young to know better. By a man who uses my son as leverage. By a life I can’t seem to escape, no matter how hard I try.”
“You’re escaping now.”
“Am I? Or did I just trade one prison for another?”
The question hangs heavy between us.
“This isn’t a prison,” I say quietly. “This is?—”
“What? Protection? Safety?” She laughs, sharp and bitter. “I’m being held against my will by men with guns who answer to a club president who wants me dead. That’s a prison, Shadow. No matter how good the food is.”
She’s not wrong.
“Forty-eight hours,” I tell her. “Hawk said forty-eight hours, and we’ll figure something out. Get you home safe. Get you back to Mason.”
“You believe that?”
“I have to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got.”
We finish eating in silence. When the plates are empty, I stand to clear them. Jade helps without being asked, carrying her plate to the sink, rinsing it under water that sputters from old pipes.
“Come outside with me,” I say on impulse. “Just for a few minutes. Get some air.”
She hesitates. “Is that allowed?”
“I’m allowing it.”
“What about Hawk?”
“Hawk trusts me to make good calls. And I’m calling this one.”
She follows me to the back door. The porch is small, barely more than a landing with a railing, but it overlooks the forest, and right now the sun’s starting to set, painting everything gold and orange.
I lean against the railing, pulling out my cigarettes. Light one, take a drag, let the nicotine hit my system.
Jade stands a few feet away, arms wrapped around herself, watching the light change through the trees.
“You smoke?” I offer her the pack.
“No.” She doesn’t look at me. “Never did.”
“Smart. Terrible habit.” I take another drag. “Should quit.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because some vices are easier to live with than others.”
She glances at me then. “What are your other vices?”
I smile. Can’t help it. “The usual. Whiskey. Bad decisions. Women who are way too good for me.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It has its moments.”
The forest around us is coming alive with evening sounds. Crickets starting their chorus. Wind rustling through pine needles. A bird calling from somewhere deep in the trees. It’s peaceful out here. The kind of place where you could forget there’s a world outside these mountains.
Jade shivers despite the flannel shirt that’s too big for her.
“Cold?” I ask.
“A little.”
I should offer to go inside. Should put distance between us before I do something stupid.
Instead, I step closer. Not touching, just near. Close enough that she could lean into me if she wanted the warmth. Close enough that I can smell her—soap from the shower this afternoon and something underneath that’s just her. Something clean and warm.
She doesn’t move away.
That’s interesting.
“You’re different,” I say, because apparently I’ve lost all sense of self-preservation.
“Different how?”