Chapter 9 - Torch
The steam from the shower has barely cleared from the bathroom mirror when Sidney steps out, wrapping a towel around her body. Water droplets cling to her skin, catching the light as she moves. I watch her, still trying to process everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours.
I asked her to stay. Me—the guy who's spent years running from anything resembling commitment or emotional attachment—didn't even hesitate. And it feels right. Natural, even. Because I want her near me, want Max to grow up with a father who's present, who gives a damn.
There's undeniable chemistry between us, a connection that goes beyond the physical, beyond even our shared child. There's a sense of what might have been if I hadn't left Cedar Falls three years ago, if I'd been in a better place mentally.
"What are you thinking about?" Sidney asks, catching my stare in the mirror.
I wrap a towel around my waist and step behind her, placing my hands on her shoulders. "How quickly everything's changed. Yesterday morning I woke up alone. Now..."
"Now you have a ready-made family in your house," she finishes with a small smile.
"Yeah." I lean down to kiss her shoulder, still damp from the shower. "And I wouldn't change a thing."
She turns to face me, her expression serious. "Are you sure about this, Dean? About us staying? It's a lot to take on all at once."
"I've never been surer of anything," I tell her, and I mean it. "I want you here. Both of you."
The worry lines between her brows smooth out. "Okay. But we'll take it one day at a time."
"One day at a time," I agree, though in my head, I'm already seeing months, years stretching ahead of us.
We finish drying off and head to the bedroom to dress. Sidney borrows one of my t-shirts to sleep in, the fabric hanging loose on her frame but somehow looking sexier than any lingerie. I pull on a pair of boxers just as my phone rings on the nightstand.
King's name flashes on the screen. Of course he'd call now.
"I should get this," I tell Sidney, who nods and slips under the covers.
I answer, moving toward the doorway. "Yeah?"
"Torch," King's voice comes through, all business as usual. "Sorry for the late call."
"It's fine. What's up?"
"Wanted to check in about the Founders Day Festival security. You still good to work it with everything...changing?"
I glance back at Sidney, now checking on Max in his portable crib. "I'm still a member," I say firmly. "I'll find the time. Might need a week to reorganize things, but I'm still the same man. I'll ride for the Savage Riders no matter what."
There's a pause, then King's voice softens slightly. "That's what I wanted to hear, brother. Just be careful. The Eagles might be quiet now, but we both know Vulture's not the type to let things go."
"I'm aware," I say, stepping into the hallway to avoid waking Max. "Having two people to protect will only make me deadlier."
King chuckles, a rare sound from our serious president. "That's what I like to hear." His tone shifts back to business. "Also, we've got collections coming up. Few people in town owe us money, and I'm sending all the members out in a couple days."
"Where do you need me?" I ask him.
"You'll be with Steel. Guy on the outskirts of town, James Mercer. Around thirty, gambling problem, borrowed money from us more than once."
I remember the name. "Doesn't he live in his parents' old place with a younger sister?"
"Yeah, twenty-two-year-old sister. Parents died a few years back. Guy's got a few restraining orders for stalking girls around town. Seems dangerous but not violent. Still, watch yourselves."
"We'll get the money," I assure him. "No one gets hurt unless they make it necessary."
"Good. That's all I needed." He pauses, then adds, "Good luck with the new life, Torch. You deserve to be happy."
The sentiment catches me off guard coming from King, who rarely gets personal. "Thanks, brother. Means a lot."
We end the call, and I return to the bedroom. Sidney is already in bed, the covers pulled up to her waist, one hand gently stroking Max's hair as he sleeps.
"Everything okay?" she asks quietly.
I nod, setting my phone down. "Just club business. Collections in a couple days, security planning for a town festival next month."
She hesitates, and I can see her working through what "collections" probably means. "Is it... dangerous?"
I consider lying to reassure her, but we need honesty between us if this is going to work. "Sometimes. But I'm careful, and I don't take unnecessary risks."
"And these 'collections'—they're from people who borrowed money from the club?"
"Yeah." I slide into bed beside her. "Most pay up without issue. Occasionally someone needs...convincing."
"You mean threats? Violence?"
"Only when there's no other choice," I tell her. "And never more than necessary. We're not thugs, Sidney. We provide a service to people who can't get loans elsewhere, and we expect to be paid back."
She's quiet for a moment, processing. "I don't like it," she finally says. "But I understand it's part of who you are, part of the club."
I reach for her hand. "I promise you, I'm careful. Even more so now that I have you and Max to come home to."
She squeezes my hand, then changes the subject. "Speaking of Max, we need to get him a proper bed. And I need to start looking for work."
"We'll go shopping tomorrow," I agree. "For both of you. Clothes, bed for Max, whatever you need."
"I can't let you buy everything," she protests. "I already feel like I'm taking advantage."
"You're not. He's my son too, which means I'm equally responsible for providing for him." I pull her closer. "And as for you… Consider it an investment in our future."
"Our future," she repeats, testing the words. "That sounds... nice."
I kiss her forehead. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day."
She settles against my chest, her breathing gradually slowing as she drifts off. Max sleeps soundly in his crib, occasionally making small noises that tug at something deep in my chest. My son. My family.
For the second time in years, I fall asleep without needing alcohol to quiet the voices in my head. Instead, the steady breathing of Sidney and Max drowns out everything else, anchoring me to the present moment. To them.
Morning comes too quickly, announced by Max's cheerful "Mama! Up!" I crack one eye open to see him standing in his portable crib, hands gripping the edge, a wide smile on his face despite the gap where his infected tooth was removed.
Sidney stirs beside me, automatically responding to her son's call. "Coming, sweetheart," she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep.
She catches me looking and smiles. "Morning."
"Morning," I reply, struck again by how right this feels. Waking up to them, starting the day as a family.
"Bike man!" Max exclaims, noticing me. He squirms in Sidney's arms, reaching toward me.
"Hey, buddy," I say, sitting up. "You want to come say good morning?"
Sidney hesitates only briefly before bringing him to the bed. Max immediately climbs onto my chest, his small hands patting my face with surprising force.
"Gentle, Max," Sidney cautions.
"It's okay," I assure her, though one of his pats catches me right in the eye. "Oof. Good morning to you too, buddy."
Max giggles, delighted by my reaction. I can't help but laugh too, wrapping one arm around him to keep him from toppling off the bed.
"How's your tooth feeling?" I ask him, pointing to my own mouth to help him understand.
He sticks a finger in his mouth, poking at the empty space. "All gone!"
"That's right, all gone. Does it hurt?"
He shakes his head. "No hurt. Ice cream?"
Sidney laughs. "Not for breakfast, mister. How about pancakes?"
His eyes light up. "Pancakes! With chocolate!"
"We'll see about the chocolate," she says, giving me a wink. "Let's get you changed first."
I watch as she takes him to the bathroom, talking to him softly about the day ahead. It strikes me that I know nothing about the daily routines of caring for a two-year-old. I've got a lot to learn.
By the time I shower and dress, Sidney and Max are in the kitchen. She's managed to find flour and eggs to make pancake batter, and Max is "helping" by stirring with a wooden spoon, most of the batter slopping over the sides of the bowl.
"Need another pair of hands?" I offer, rolling up my sleeves.
"Can you cook pancakes?" she asks, a challenge in her voice.
"I can try," I say with more confidence than I feel.
Turns out I'm terrible at flipping pancakes. The first three are mangled beyond recognition, which makes Max laugh hysterically. By the fourth, I've started to get the hang of it, and by the sixth, they're at least recognizable as pancakes, if oddly shaped.
"Not bad," Sidney says, stacking them on a plate. "For a beginner."
We eat at the kitchen table, Max perched on his cushion, chocolate smeared around his mouth from the few chocolate chips Sidney allowed in his pancakes. It's chaotic and messy and perfect.
"So, shopping today?" I ask as we clean up breakfast.
Sidney nods. "Max definitely needs a proper bed. And I could use some... basics." She glances down at her worn jeans, which she's put back on despite the shower.
"Whatever you both need," I agree. "There's a mall about twenty minutes from here, has everything."
We spend the morning shopping, and I discover that outfitting a two-year-old and his mother is both more expensive and more enjoyable than I expected.
Max is thrilled with the race car bed we find, bouncing on it in the store until Sidney has to pull him off.
Sidney is more reserved with her own selections, despite my assurances that she should get whatever she wants.
"I'm not used to someone else paying," she explains quietly as Max examines a display of toy trucks. "It feels strange."
"Get used to it," I tell her, putting another shirt she was eyeing into the cart. "This is what co-parenting looks like. Sharing expenses, sharing responsibilities."
She looks up at me, something vulnerable in her expression. "Is that what we're doing? Co-parenting?"
Among other things," I say. "Unless you'd rather not..."
"No, it's not that," she says quickly. "It's just... strange to suddenly have help after two years of doing it all alone."
I reach for her hand. "You're not alone anymore, Sidney. Whatever else happens between us, you've got me as Max's father. That's not changing."
She squeezes my hand, blinking rapidly. "Thank you."
Max interrupts the moment, running up with a toy motorcycle clutched in his hands. "Bike! Like Daddy's!"
Both Sidney and I freeze at his words. Daddy. It's the first time he's called me that.
"Yeah, buddy," I finally manage, my voice rough. "Like Daddy's bike."
Sidney's eyes meet mine, and I see my own emotion reflected there. We're both thinking the same thing: there's no going back now.
Whatever we're building here, it matters. To Max, to us, to our future.