Chapter 13 #2
I don’t even know for sure that the biker who circled my apartment is one of the MC members, but my gut is telling me that my time has run out.
It’s time to pay the piper for my sins.
“You smell so stressed,” Cormac says, smoothing his palm up and down my spine. “It’s killing me. I promise you, Charlotte. We will keep the two of you safe.”
I don’t say anything.
I’m afraid if I speak, I’ll start crying.
My biggest fear is something happening to me. Lucky would have no one. He’d have to go into foster care, and that’s if Blade’s guys weren’t the ones to kill me.
If they took him…
It would almost be worse.
I saw how those MC members treated their old ladies and kids. He would grow up being indoctrinated to the belief the club is everything.
Women are disposable, their brothers are all that matters, and the club comes above all else. I don’t think all motorcycle clubs run that way, but the Jacksonville Demons did.
“Unless…” Cormac pulls back, tilting his face down to mine. “Are you afraid of me? Is that what’s causing your scent to smell so sour?”
“No, I’m just stressed.” I swallow thickly.
“I appreciate you and your family going out of your way to keep us safe.” I stretch up on my tiptoes, pecking a quick kiss on the apple of his cheek.
“I’ll do everything I can to keep Lucky out of your way.
He’s loud by nature, but he goes to bed pretty early, and we can hang out in the room I was given—”
“The house isn’t childproofed, but Miriam should be in this afternoon to fix that.
” Cormac laughs awkwardly. “Well, to do as much as she can, but having you here isn’t a burden.
Just relax. Have a cup of coffee and some breakfast. Take a shower, if you’d like.
I’m happy to keep Lucky company so you can have some time to yourself. ”
I blink at him, unsure what to say.
Well, now I feel like an asshole for considering playing up the damsel in distress card.
Lucky’s Pull-Up was about to explode, so I put him in underwear and got him out of his pajamas, but it might have been a mistake.
He’s daytime potty trained, but sometimes when he’s excited or distracted, he forgets to tell me he has to go.
It’s going to be extra complicated because I don’t have stairs or a toddler seat to go on their toilets.
I’ll have to remember to ask him every hour or so.
He sits on my lap, enjoying his second breakfast of the day. The thought of taking a shower by myself is almost too tempting, but I don’t want to take advantage of Cormac’s kindness. He’s already being sweet by keeping me company while Lucky and I eat.
He was right when he mentioned this place isn’t set up for kids.
In my haste, I forgot to pack Lucky’s cups. He loves the ones with the straws, except when it’s time for bed. If it’s dark or he’s about to nap, he’ll only take the sippy spout kind.
Dammit.
I’m going to have to ask one of them to take me to the store, or maybe I could get a small order for delivery. Would it even make it past the gate with all the guards we drove by?
Either way, I’ll have to do something.
Holding the glass for Lucky, I give him a sip of my water. I don’t really enjoy sharing a cup with him because he backwashes every single time he takes a drink, but they didn’t have plastic cups, so we’re sharing.
There’s no way I would trust him with a glass cup on this tile floor.
Commotion comes from behind me, and I peek over my shoulder as I put the glass down. An older woman, who must be in her late fifties or early sixties, comes into the kitchen with her arms loaded down with reusable shopping bags.
“Here, let me help.” Cormac slides out of his seat and meets her in the middle of the opulent kitchen, taking some of the bags.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says before dropping the rest of the packages on the kitchen island. “It’s been so long since we had a little one in the house, I may have gone overboard.”
She claps, coming over to the table.
Cormac puts down the bags and trails behind her.
“This is Miriam. She was our nanny when Patrick and I were little. Once we were older, she managed our school schedules and kept us alive.” He chuckles and shrugs.
“I picked up a few things for Lukas, but I asked her to grab any of the things I might not have thought to purchase.”
“Miriam,” she says, holding out a hand.
“Charlotte.” I smile and shake. “And this is Lukas.”
“Lukas, aren’t you the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Miriam holds out her hands, and Lucky leans forward, chucking himself into her hold. “Oh, and you still have that sweet baby smell.”
Lucky frowns. “I’m not a baby. I’m big!”
“Of course you are. My mistake.” The older woman chuckles, meeting my eyes. “How old?”
“Three,” he says, holding up four fingers. The word comes out more like free.
I smile, nodding at the little ham. “He just turned three.”
I read somewhere that when a child turns from two to three, they become a preschooler, not a toddler, but I don’t know that I’m mentally prepared to acknowledge that milestone quite yet.
“I’m Lucky,” he says as she moves from holding him in front of her to placing him on her hip.
“You can call me Mimi. Would you like to help me unpack your things?” she asks, beaming at my kid.
“Yes,” he says, nodding dramatically. “For me?”
“Oh yes,” she says, chuckling. “I got you bowls and plates, a few different kinds of toddler cups, a booster seat for when you sit at the table, and some snacks that the boys loved when they were little.”
My chest gets tight.
He has no grandparents to spoil him rotten.
No one to go visit for a sleepover.
When I was a kid, my grandparents’ house was practically my second home. My mom never really wanted kids, and she made that clear frequently, but my grandmother was amazing. Only, she died when I was in eighth grade, and by the time I graduated high school, the rest of her pack had followed.
“We’ll be right over at the island. I need to wash everything before he can have it.
Our dishes and cups certainly aren’t made for little hands, but we can fix that.
” Miriam smiles, and I don’t know what to do with myself.
My eyes ache like I might burst into tears, and even I don’t understand why.
“Enjoy the rest of your breakfast, Charlotte.”
Cormac gives me a chagrined smile and shrugs. “She’s been begging for grandkids for years.”
“That’s because you three heathens are the only hope I’ve got,” Miriam says in a singsong voice.
I’m so overloaded, all I can do is blink. The urge to nest is almost uncontrollable, but I can’t do that either, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to ugly cry.