Chapter Eight
Hope
The rest of the week flew by in a blur of work and avoidance. Double shifts at the diner, extra hours at the farmers’ market booth, anything to keep my mind occupied and my hands busy.
Faith watched me carefully all week, her eyes tracking my movements like she was waiting for me to break. But I didn’t break. I couldn’t afford to. I had a date on Saturday, and I was going to go through with it, and I was going to be fine.
I was going to be fine.
Saturday arrived with bright sunshine and a warm breeze that smelled like spring. Fresh grass and wildflowers and the promise of new beginnings. Standing in front of my closet, I stared at the meager selection of clothes hanging there and felt a wave of panic wash over me.
I had absolutely no idea what to wear.
I didn’t even know where Angel was taking me, which only made my anxiety worse. Was this a casual date? A fancy date? Should I dress up or dress down? Did I even own anything that qualified as “date clothes”?
I sat down on the edge of my bed and reached for my phone, my thumb hovering over Angel’s contact.
I wanted to text him. Wanted to tell him I had made a mistake, that I wasn’t ready, that I needed to cancel.
But then I remembered the look in his eyes at the diner.
That genuine, vulnerable hope. The way his face had lit up when I had said yes.
The months he had spent patiently waiting, never pushing, always kind.
I couldn’t do that to him.
It’s only one date, I told myself firmly, setting the phone back down. One date. You can do this.
I went with simple: a white flowy top with delicate lace trim at the sleeves, a pair of faded blue jeans that actually fit well, and my most comfortable boots—brown leather, worn soft from years of use.
I didn’t have any makeup to put on, so I skipped that entirely.
My long hair went up into a high ponytail, a few loose strands framing my face.
It would have to do.
I took one last look in the mirror, smoothed down my top, and headed for the living room.
The scene I walked into was pure chaos.
Zeke stood in the middle of the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, glaring at Faith, Charity, and Joy like they had personally betrayed him in the worst possible way.
His dark eyes were stormy. His entire posture rigid with barely contained fury.
Joan sat in the rocking chair by the window, rolling her eyes and shaking her head as she tried—and failed—to talk sense into him. And she was clearly losing patience.
“They are allowed to have a life, Shadow,” Joan stated calmly, though there was an unmistakable edge of exasperation creeping into her voice. She leaned forward slightly, as if trying to make him see reason through sheer force of will.
“Not until I’m dead!” Zeke shot back, his jaw tight and his voice hard as steel. He didn’t even look at Joan when he said it. His eyes were fixed on us like my sisters were criminals in a lineup.
I knew exactly what this was about. I had been expecting it all week, ever since word got around about my date with Angel. Zeke had a sixth sense for this kind of thing, and apparently, the thought of any of his sisters going out with someone made him lose his mind.
I walked in front of my sisters protectively and glared up at my brother, planting my hands firmly on my hips. “I’m allowed to date, Ezekiel. We all are. Hell, Charity is married to Nevil.” I gestured toward Charity, who stood behind me with her arms folded, looking equally annoyed.
“A problem I can easily fix,” Zeke muttered darkly, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
“Why are you so mad?” I demanded, my voice rising with each word, frustration and confusion bleeding through every syllable.
“Is it because it’s Angel? A brother in the Diamondbacks?
You are part of that club. So is Nevil. You ride with these men every single day.
You trust them with your life out on the road. ”
“And that’s the problem!” Zeke shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration, his face flushed red with anger.
“I don’t want my sisters—any of my sisters—around my club brothers.
They aren’t for the likes of you. They’re rough, they’re dangerous, and they live a life you shouldn’t be anywhere near. ”
Faith piped up from behind me, her voice sharp and cutting through the tension like a knife, “Is this you talking, Ezekiel, or Dad? Because you’re starting to sound an awful lot like him right now.”
Zeke’s glare swung to her, his jaw clenched tight. “It’s me. This is all me.”
“I don’t know, Faith,” Charity huffed, crossing her arms over her chest defensively and shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“He sounded a lot like Balthazar there for a minute. All that righteous anger and protective nonsense. Did big brother tell you to act like this? Put you up to playing the heavy-handed guardian? Because you’ve never cared before.
You’ve never once had a problem with whom we dated or where we went. ”
“Well, I care now!” Zeke roared, his voice echoing off the walls and making us all flinch.
“I’m gonna date whoever I want,” Joy said plainly from her spot on the couch, not even looking up from her phone.
Her thumbs kept scrolling through what looked like text messages, completely unbothered by the rising tension in the room.
“In fact, I already have a date for the Spring Dance at the high school. His name is Mitchell. He’s on the basketball team, and he’s picking me up at seven next Saturday. ”
Zeke’s head whipped around so fast I thought he might give himself whiplash.
His face turned three shades redder than I had ever seen it.
“The hell you are! You’re only seventeen!
You’re too young to date!” He crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet like he was preparing for battle.
“No sister of mine is going out with some basketball player who probably can’t even spell his own name! ”
“And besides,” Faith added, stepping forward with a smug little smile playing at the corners of her mouth, clearly enjoying the chaos unfolding before her, “you aren’t old enough to tell me what to do.
I’m five months older than you. Therefore, you have to listen to me.
” She tapped her finger against Zeke’s chest for emphasis.
“If I want to date, I will. That’s just how it works. ”
“You’d have to leave the greenhouse first, Faith.” Charity chuckled from her spot by the window, barely suppressing a full-blown laugh. She had a point. Faith spent practically every waking moment tending to her plants and herbs.
“It could happen!” Faith scoffed, though her cheeks flushed pink and she suddenly found the floor very interesting to look at. “I could... I could meet someone who appreciates botany. Someone cultured and intelligent who understands the importance of sustainable agriculture.”
Joan stood up from the rocking chair, shaking her head with barely concealed amusement.
A knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth as she watched the standoff unfold before her.
“Face it, Shadow. You have four beautiful sisters. You are outvoted, outmanned, and outgunned. Because as much as I love you, I’m siding with them on this.
Your job is to be their support. The muscle in case shit goes bad—not that it will, but if it does, that’s where you step in.
In the meantime, for your sanity and for everyone else’s peace of mind, I would advise you to lick your wounds and walk away.
Live to fight another battle on another day. ”
The rumble of a motorcycle engine cut through the tension like a knife, growing louder and more insistent as it approached the house. The deep, throaty growl of the engine sent vibrations through the floorboards beneath my feet.
My heart jumped into my throat. This was it. No turning back now.
I quickly crossed the room and kissed Zeke on the cheek, ignoring his scowl and the way his jaw clenched beneath my lips. “I won’t be late. I promise.”
Before he could say another word, before he could launch into another protective tirade or try to physically block the door with that imposing frame of his, I dashed out of the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind me with a satisfying bang.
Angel was already dismounting from his bike as I hurried down the porch steps, his leather cut catching the golden light of the late afternoon sun.
He looked good—clean, put-together, genuinely happy to see me.
His blond hair was slicked back, and the effort he’d clearly made with his appearance had me feeling a little guilty for the way my stomach wasn’t doing backflips.
“Hey,” he greeted, his smile warm as he handed me a helmet. “You ready?”
“Yeah,” I said, taking the helmet and turning it over in my hands. “Let’s go.”
He helped me settle onto the bike behind him, his hand steady on my waist. Once he was situated, I wrapped my arms around his middle.
The leather of his cut was warm beneath my palms, and I could smell the faint scent of cologne and motor oil.
A distinctly MC smell that I had grown up around when my dad was still alive and now with my brothers, Balthazar and Ezekiel.
Angel had just turned his bike around when his phone buzzed. He stopped the bike, fished his phone out of his pocket one-handed, and glanced at the screen. His entire body went rigid.
“Shit,” he muttered, reading whatever message had just come through. He sat there for a moment, the bike idling beneath him, his jaw working as he processed whatever news he had just received.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, leaning forward slightly.
“Prez just texted,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “There’s a club barbecue tonight. All hands on deck. I’m required to be there.”
Before I could say anything, the front door burst open, and Zeke appeared on the porch, grinning from ear to ear like he had just won the lottery. His massive frame was silhouetted against the light spilling from inside the house, and he looked absolutely triumphant.
“AND DON’T FORGET THE ICE!” he bellowed, his voice carrying across the entire field.