Chapter Six #3
Derby says, “Correct.”
Sophie looks at me. “Why?”
“Because I barely know him.”
“Good instinct,” Derby says.
“Because I have a child.”
“Another good point,” he says.
“Because Jeremy already thinks…” I stop, embarrassed and angry. “Because he already thinks I came here for Derby.”
Sophie’s expression is calm. “Which is exactly why it works.”
“No, that is exactly why it’s insane.”
“Both can be true.”
Derby glares at Sophie. “This ain’t happening.”
Sophie’s gaze cuts to him. “The clubhouse isn’t appropriate for August.”
“I didn’t say keep them here.”
“Then where?”
“Legend’s got properties.”
“Legend’s properties are watched, known, or tied to the club. Yours is quieter.”
“Oaks has a place.”
“Oaks has Brittany, and they have enough ghosts in that house.”
“Whiskey.”
“Whiskey has a child of his own and a future legal nightmare if Jeremy’s people start sniffing around.”
Derby’s mouth shuts.
I notice that.
Whiskey has a child. Derby doesn’t argue using him.
Sophie continues, “Royal’s house is absolutely not where I’m sending a five-yer-old unless I want August quoting poetry about graves by lunchtime. Besides, Becki is about to pop any minute. He’ll have his own baby.”
Derby’s jaw works.
“Lottie and Holler, their basement flooded. I’d take her to Paradise Falls if my brother wasn’t visiting. You know he likes to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Sophie softens her voice, but not the decision. “Your house is the best option.”
He looks at me.
I look back.
For the first time since I opened the door this morning, the humor is gone from his face.
All of it.
I see the objection under his objection.
It isn’t only inconvenience. Not only privacy. Not only a biker who doesn’t want a woman and child in his space.
It’s fear.
He doesn’t want us in his house because a house tells truths a man can hide at the clubhouse.
I understand that too well.
“I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable,” I say, and immediately hate myself for it.
Derby’s eyes flash. “That ain’t the problem.”
“What is?”
He doesn’t answer.
Sophie does. “He don’t like people in his space.”
“That’s one way to say it,” Derby mutters.
“I don’t either,” I say.
His gaze returns to mine.
There.
A fragile piece of common ground.
Sophie stands. “Then set rules.”
The word rules makes my stomach knot.
Derby sees that too.
Sophie corrects herself immediately. “Boundaries.”
That word lands better.
A little.
Derby looks at me. “You’d get the bedroom.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, it’s your house.”
“And you’ve got the kid.”
“I can sleep on the couch.”
“Not happening.”
“You can’t just decide that.”
He takes a breath, visibly forcing himself not to turn his voice into a command. “I’m offering the bedroom because you have a kid who needs a bed and because I ain’t throwing a woman on a couch in my own house while I sleep comfortable.”
“You aren’t throwing me anywhere.”
“Fine. I ain’t offering the couch.”
“That sounds like deciding.”
“That sounds like me losing this conversation.”
Sophie smiles faintly.
I almost do too.
Then August says, “Do you have cereal at your house?”
Derby looks at him.
“No.”
August frowns. “Why not?”
“Because I’m grown.”
“That’s sad.”
Sophie presses her lips together.
Derby points at her. “You and me are going to have words.”
August chews his eggs. “Do you have a TV?”
“Yes.”
“Dinosaurs on it?”
“Probably.”
“Then I can go.”
My heart squeezes.
“Oh, can you?” I ask.
He nods with all the confidence of a boy who hasn’t had to understand adult danger in the last five minutes. “If Derby gets cereal.”
Derby looks at me. “He drives a hard bargain.”
“He’s five.”
“He’s ruthless.”
Sophie steps closer to me. “No one is forcing this. If you say no, we find another option. But I need you to understand the clubhouse will only get harder for August the longer he stays here. Men come and go at all hours. Business happens downstairs. There are guns, fights, drunk brothers, club girls, and conversations he doesn’t need to hear.
Last night was survival. Today, we protect his peace too. ”
Protect his peace.
Not only his body.
His peace.
That gets me.
I look at August with egg on his chin and his dinosaur tucked beside his plate. He is smiling faintly at Derby, waiting for him to say something rude or funny. He’s not watching the door right this second. He’s not asking where Jeremy is. He’s not crying.
I want more of that.
I want more than locked doors and not being hit.
That feels greedy.
Maybe it’s not.
I look at Derby. “Would we really be safer there?”
His answer comes without hesitation. “Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Jeremy could still find us.”
“He could try.”
The way he says it should scare me.
It does.
It also steadies me.
I hate that those two things can live in the same place.
“And you would stay there?” I ask.
“It’s my house.”
“I mean with us.”
He studies me. “Yeah.”
“Where?”
“Couch.”
“You just said you weren’t offering me the couch.”
“I’m offering me the couch.”
“Is it comfortable?”
“No.”
“Then why would you sleep there?”
“Because I’m noble as shit.”
“Language,” I say.
August says, “Noble as ship.”
Sophie turns away, shoulders shaking.
Derby closes his eyes. “See? I’m teaching vocabulary.”
I rub my forehead. “This is a terrible idea.”
“Probably,” Derby says.
“Then why are we doing it?”
His eyes meet mine.
For a second, the room goes too quiet.
“Because it’s the best bad idea we got.”
I don’t want that to make sense.
It does.
Sophie gives me time. She doesn’t push. Derby, to his credit, doesn’t either.
August eats the last of his eggs and starts making Blue Rex stomp across the blanket, whispering about bad guys and cereal.
The morning light creeps along the floor, pale and gray.
Downstairs, a man laughs, then someone tells him to shut up because the kid is awake.
The clubhouse is trying.
That almost hurts more than if it was not.
I look at Sophie. “If I say yes, I need my own way to leave.”
Derby’s looks serious.
Sophie nods. “Good.”
Derby looks at her. “Good?”
“Yes. She needs an exit that belongs to her.”
I keep going before I lose my nerve. “My truck needs to be fixed or I need keys to something.”
Derby says, “Your truck needs a tire, a prayer, and maybe an exorcism.”
“My truck is all I have.”
His expression changes.
That one landed.
He nods once. “Then I’ll fix it.”
“Not take it apart?”
“Fix it.”
“And I keep my phone.”
Sophie says, “Wildcat needs to check it first.”
“My old phone?”
“Any phone.”
“I don’t want men going through it.”
“I can sit with Wildcat while he checks for tracking and spyware,” Sophie says. “You can watch.”
I nod slowly.
That feels fair.
Strange, but fair.
“And August stays with me,” I say.
Derby’s brow furrows. “Where else would he stay?”
“I don’t know.” My voice sharpens before I can stop it. “People keep saying safe like it means separating me from him.”
The room goes still.
Derby’s expression goes flat, but not angry at me. Angry for me, maybe.
“Nobody takes your kid,” he says.
I want to believe him.
God, I want to.
Sophie comes closer. “Nobody here takes your child from you.”
My throat works. “Jeremy will try.”
“Yes,” she says. “He will.”
No softening.
No lie.
“And if I look bad because I stay at Derby’s house?”
Whiskey’s voice comes from the hall. “Then we make Jeremy look worse.”
I jump.
Derby turns. “Does nobody in this place understand hallways ain’t conference rooms?”
Whiskey steps into view, phone in hand, hair damp, face calm. “Good morning.”
August waves his dinosaur. “Hi.”
Whiskey looks at Blue Rex. “Good morning to you too.”
August whispers to me, “He looks fancy.”
Whiskey’s mouth curves. “I am.”
Derby rolls his eyes. “He ain’t. He just owns shirts with buttons.”
Whiskey ignores him and looks at me. “Jeremy already started the concerned husband routine. He’s not filed for emergency custody yet, but he has made calls about it.
If he photographs you leaving the clubhouse with Derby, he will spin it.
If he photographs you at Derby’s house, he will spin that too.
The question isn’t whether he twists the truth.
He will. The question is whether we give him enough rope and keep August physically safe while we build our own record. ”
“Record?” I ask.
“Proof that you left because you had reason. Proof he tracked you. Proof he threatened you. Proof he has dirty financial ties that make his clean-husband act vulnerable.”
My stomach turns. “I don’t have proof.”
“Maybe you do,” Whiskey says. “Maybe you don’t know what matters yet.”
I think of emails. Bank transfers. Texts I deleted, maybe not fully. Photos I never took because I was too ashamed. The neighbor who saw him grab my arm once and looked away. The doctor who asked if I felt safe and accepted my lie because I smiled when I said it.
Proof.
It feels like trying to build a house out of smoke.
“I don’t want August in court,” I whisper.
Sophie’s face tightens. “We are not there yet.”
“But we could be.”
“Yes.”
I appreciate the honesty.
I hate it, but I appreciate it.
Derby pushes off the doorframe. “Then we move them before Vale gets ideas.”
Sophie nods. “Pack what she needs first. Clothes, papers, August’s things. Leave the rest until we sort it.”
“I don’t want everyone touching my stuff,” I say.
“Then tell us what to touch,” Derby says. “Or don’t. I’ll carry what you hand me.”
That is the second time he gives me control without making a speech about it.
I notice.
I wish I did not.
Sophie turns to Whiskey. “Have Legend send two men ahead to check Derby’s house.”
Derby scowls. “My house is fine.”
Sophie looks at him.
He sighs. “Fine. But if Wildcat reorganizes my garage, I’ll bury him in it.”
Whiskey types something on his phone. “Legend already sent Wildcat and Oaks ten minutes ago.”
Derby stares. “Excuse me?”