Chapter 2 - Sidney
I watch my son chatting with his father for the first time, and my heart feels like it might crack open.
Max has never been shy, but the way he marched straight up to Dean—no, they call him Torch here—was incredible.
It's like some part of him recognizes his father, even though they've never met before today.
This wasn't how I imagined our reunion. In my darkest moments over the past three days, I pictured him slamming the door in our faces or denying Max was his. In my more hopeful moments, I imagined reluctant acceptance. I never expected the raw emotion I can see on his face as he looks at our son.
The clubhouse falls silent as everyone watches the exchange between father and child. I feel exposed under their scrutiny, like they can see every bad decision I've ever made, every desperate move that led me here.
But I had no choice. Not really.
"He looks just like you," one of the bikers says, breaking the silence. He's massive with a beard and arms covered in tattoos.
"Poor kid," another one jokes, but there's no malice in it.
Dean—Torch—doesn't seem to hear them. He's crouched down now, at eye level with Max, who's babbling about the motorcycle patches on his leather vest.
"Like bikes," Max says, pointing at a patch.
"Yeah, those are motorcycles," Torch confirms, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "I ride one."
Max's eyes widen. "I ride too?"
"Someday, maybe," Torch says, then glances up at me. "If your mom says it's okay."
And just like that, I'm included in this fragile new dynamic. The acknowledgment that I'm still Max's parent, that any decisions about his life include me, loosens some of the tension in my shoulders.
"We should get you two settled," Torch says, standing up. His eyes meet mine, and I see uncertainty there, but also determination. "My house isn't far."
I nod, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that carried me through the drive here, through walking into a biker clubhouse with my heart in my throat, is fading fast. I haven't slept more than a few hours at a time in days, cramped in the back seat of my ancient Honda with Max.
"Our stuff is in the car," I say, then realize how pathetic that must sound. Everything we own, packed into one small car.
"I'll help you bring it in," he offers.
The man with the beard steps forward.
"I'm Beast," he introduces himself. "I can help too."
"Thank you," I say, feeling awkward. "But there's not much."
Torch nods to the older man who seems to be in charge. "King, I'm gonna take off. I'll be in tomorrow."
King, an appropriate name for the man who radiates authority, nods once.
"Take the time you need," he says, but there's a warning in his eyes. "Call if you need anything."
Several of the others nod at us as we prepare to leave. I get the distinct impression they're worried about Torch, which is both comforting and concerning. Do they think I'm going to hurt him somehow? Or are they concerned about how he'll handle this sudden change?
Max reaches for me, and I lift him into my arms, wincing slightly at the pull in my lower back. Three nights sleeping in a car has done me no favors.
"I'll follow you," I tell Torch as we head outside.
The evening air is cool against my face. The street is quiet, the town of Blackwater Falls seemingly peaceful despite housing a motorcycle club that made national news last month for some kind of shootout with a rival gang.
What am I doing here? Bringing my son into this world of violence and danger?
But then I remember the nights in the car, jumping at every sound, terrified someone would find us sleeping there and call social services.
I remember the empty bank account, the final eviction notice, the way Max asked for dinner and I had to give him the last package of crackers because there was nothing else.
Sometimes safety isn't about avoiding all risks. Sometimes it's about choosing the risk you can live with.
Torch leads me to a sleek black pickup truck, not the motorcycle I expected. "You can leave your car here for now," he says. "It'll be safe in the clubhouse lot."
I hesitate, clutching my keys. My car represents the last bit of independence I have. "I'd rather keep it with me," I admit.
"Follow me, then. It's about ten minutes."
I strap Max into his car seat, one of the few items I refused to sell or pawn over the last few months. "We're going to Daddy's house," I tell him, testing the words.
Max looks confused. "Daddy?" he repeats.
My heart sinks. We've talked about his daddy before. In vague terms, appropriate for a two-year-old. I've shown him the single photo I have, taken that night at the bar before things went further. But it's been weeks since we discussed it, and toddler memories are short.
"The man we were just talking to," I explain. "The big man with the green eyes like yours. That's your daddy."
Max considers this. "Bike man?"
I smile despite everything. "Yes, the bike man."
He nods, accepting this new information with the remarkable adaptability of childhood. "Go bike man house."
"That's right, sweetheart. We're going to stay at his house for a little while."
I follow Torch's truck through the small town, noting how people seem to nod respectfully as he passes. The Savage Riders clearly have some standing here. Not what I expected from an outlaw motorcycle club.
We turn onto a quiet street lined with modest but well-maintained homes. Torch pulls into the driveway of a two-story craftsman style house painted deep blue with white trim. It's charming and completely at odds with the man I remember from three years ago.
I park behind him and get Max from the back seat. He's alert now, looking around with interest as I carry him toward the front door where Torch is waiting.
"It's not much," he says, pushing the door open. "But it's clean."
The living room is sparsely furnished but tidy. A leather sofa faces a TV mounted on the wall. There are no personal photos that I can see, but a bookshelf holds a surprising number of books.
"Kitchen's through there," he points. "Bathroom down the hall. Two bedrooms upstairs."
I follow him up the stairs, Max growing heavy in my arms. The master bedroom has a king-sized bed with dark blue bedding. The other room is set up as an office with a desk and computer.
"You and Max can take my room," he says. "I'll sleep on the couch."
"We can't take your bed," I protest. "The couch is fine for me."
He shakes his head. "The bed's better for both of you. I sleep on the couch half the time anyway."
I want to argue but don't have the energy. "Thank you," I say instead.
We head back downstairs and out to my car. It takes just two trips to bring in everything we own. Clothes in trash bags, Max's favorite toys, a box of essentials like his sippy cups and my toiletries.
The reality of our situation hits me as I look at our meager possessions piled on Torch's living room floor. Three months ago, we had an apartment full of furniture. Six months ago, I had a decent job at the medical billing office. A year ago, life was stable, if not luxurious.
How quickly it all fell apart.
"When did you last eat?" Torch asks, watching as I sort through the bags.
The question catches me off guard. "We had..." I try to remember. "Crackers for breakfast. And there was a McDonald's that let us sit for a while yesterday. We shared a Happy Meal."
His jaw tightens. "I'll order pizza."
"You don't have to—"
"You're both hungry. I'm hungry. Pizza's easy." He pulls out his phone before I can protest further.
Max perks up at the mention of food. "Pizza?" he asks hopefully.
"Yeah, buddy," Torch says. "Pizza's coming. You like pepperoni?"
Max nods enthusiastically.
Torch orders, then turns to me. "Do you want to shower or do anything while we wait? Get settled?"
The thought of a hot shower after days of quick washes in gas station bathrooms is almost enough to make me cry. "That would be amazing," I admit.
"Bathroom's all yours. Towels in the cabinet. I can watch him," he offers, nodding toward Max, who's now exploring the living room with cautious interest.
I hesitate. I haven't let Max out of my sight in days. But he seems comfortable here, and Torch is his father. This is why I came, isn't it? To give Max a chance at having a dad?
"Okay," I agree. "Just...call if you need me. He's pretty easy-going, but he's in a strange place."
Torch nods, looking nervous but determined. "We'll be fine. Take your time."
I grab clean clothes. The last of my clean clothes, I realize, and head to the bathroom. It's surprisingly nice, with a large shower stall and fluffy towels.
The hot water is heavenly. I stand under the spray, letting it wash away days of travel grime and stress. Only when the water starts to cool do I finally step out, feeling human again for the first time in days.
I dress in jeans and a t-shirt, both showing signs of wear. My hair is a tangled mess, but I manage to comb it through and pull it back in a fresh ponytail. The woman in the mirror looks tired but better than she did an hour ago.
When I return to the living room, I find Torch sitting on the floor with Max, helping him stack blocks that must have been in one of our bags.
"Higher!" Max demands, and Torch adds another block to the teetering tower.
"It's going to fall if we go higher," Torch warns.
"Higher!" Max insists.
Torch places another block, and the whole thing comes tumbling down. Max dissolves into giggles, and to my surprise, Torch laughs too.
"Told you, buddy," he says, ruffling Max's hair.
The doorbell rings, and Torch gets up to answer it. He returns with a large pizza box and a two-liter of soda.
"Let's eat in the kitchen," he says, leading the way.
The kitchen is simple but functional. Torch grabs plates while I get Max settled in a chair, using a cushion to boost him up to table height.
"I've got scissors for his pizza," I say, digging through my purse. "To cut it into small pieces."
Torch nods, watching as I cut a slice of pizza into toddler-sized bites. Max dives in immediately, sauce quickly smearing around his mouth.
"Slow down, buddy," I caution. "It's not going anywhere."
For a few minutes, we eat in silence. The pizza is delicious, or maybe I'm just that hungry. I try to pace myself, but it's hard when it's the first proper meal I've had in days.
"How long have you been sleeping in your car?" Torch finally asks.
I swallow a bite of pizza. "Three nights."
His expression darkens. "And before that?"
"We had an apartment, but I lost my job when the medical billing office downsized. I couldn't make rent." I focus on helping Max with his sippy cup rather than meeting Torch's eyes. "We stayed with a friend for a while, but she has a studio, and her boyfriend moved in, so..."
"So, you've been living in your car with my son," he says, his voice tight.
"I tried everything else first," I say defensively. "I applied for assistance. I looked for work. I sold everything I could. Coming here was my last resort, not my first choice."
He's quiet for a moment. "I didn't mean it like that," he finally says. "I just... wish I'd known. Before it came to this."
The simple statement disarms me. He's not accusing me of using him or trying to trap him. He's upset he wasn't there to help sooner.
"I really did try to find you," I say softly. "When I found out I was pregnant."
"I believe you." He runs a hand through his hair. "I wasn't in a good place back then. After the military... I was drinking too much. Moving around. Making bad decisions."
Like sleeping with me, I think, but don't say.
"You seem different now," I observe.
He glances at the MC cut hanging over a kitchen chair. "The club helped. Gave me purpose. Brothers who understand what it's like to come back from war."
Max bangs his sippy cup on the table, drawing both our attention. "More pizza!" he demands.
"What do you say?" I prompt.
"More pizza please," he corrects himself.
I give him another small piece, and he beams at me. "Thank you, Mama."
"You're welcome, baby."
When I look up, Torch is watching us with an expression of amusement.
"He's a good kid," he says.
"He is."
Pride swells in me. Whatever mistakes I've made, Max isn't one of them.
"You've done a good job with him."
The compliment catches me off guard. "I've tried," I say. "It hasn't been easy, but..."
"But you kept him safe. Fed. Loved." Torch's gaze is intense. "That's what matters."
Tears prick at my eyes, and I blink them back. The past months of struggle and fear, of constantly worrying whether I was failing my son… To have someone acknowledge that I've done my best is overwhelming.
"Thank you," I whisper.
Max yawns widely, sauce still smeared around his mouth. It's well past his usual bedtime.
"Someone's tired," Torch observes.
"It's been a long day." I stand and wet a paper towel to clean Max's face. "I should get him ready for bed."
"Do you need anything? For bedtime, I mean."
"Just a blanket for the portable crib. It's in one of the bags."
He nods. "I'll find it while you get him cleaned up."
I take Max to the bathroom, helping him brush his teeth and changing him into pajamas. When we return to the bedroom, Torch has already set up the portable crib and placed Max's stuffed elephant inside.
"Thank you," I say, surprised by his thoughtfulness.
Torch shrugs. "Let me know if you need anything else."