3. Emma
Chapter three
Emma
That motherfucker, here I am, standing in the middle of his clubhouse after years apart, holding his son, and instead of staying to talk to me, he’s running off to be with some skank.
Fucking Bikers. Seeing Trey was a punch to the gut.
All the wind left my chest, and I struggled to keep a tight hold on Fijor.
Nothing could have prepared me to see him standing there in the clubhouse.
I assumed he was still in prison. There he was, standing so close I could reach out and touch him, but too scared to move, like a deer in the headlights, waiting for the collision.
Damn, does he look good. He looked stronger and bigger than before, his arms noticeably more muscular.
Those strong arms that used to lift me with ease seemed to have doubled in size; he’s been working out, that much is obvious.
In my absence, Trey has filled out into a giant of a man.
It would have been so much easier if he had gained a pot belly or lost his looks, something to make letting go less painful.
Instead, seeing him still so attractive makes it that much harder to move on.
I would be lying if I said just seeing him stand there didn’t bring me instant comfort.
Gator isn’t the boy who once promised me forever; he’s bigger, meaner, deadlier, and more haunted than ever.
Standing in front of me, he seemed to take up the whole room.
His hair is shorter but still just long enough to run my hands through, and his beard is fuller.
The smile I remembered was gone, replaced by a darker expression, anger and bitterness radiating off him in waves.
He stepped closer, his eyes scanning me with an intensity that made my chest tighten.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us felt heavy, filled with everything left unsaid since we'd last seen each other.
Even in silence, Trey looked changed, not just in body but in presence, as if he carried a weight I couldn't quite name.
I don’t know what I expected to happen, but him running out to be with another woman wasn’t it.
Instead of grabbing us with both hands, he tucked tail and ran.
I’m not stupid. I wasn’t expecting him to drop to the ground in front of us and declare his undying love.
Okay, so maybe I was. I know that having a son doesn’t change the fact that he broke a rule in the club and that we went behind my father’s back.
It also doesn’t change the fact that we haven’t talked in years since he sent me away.
The moment I saw him, a small glimmer of hope swelled inside me, too quick to stop, that he would toss it all to the wind, claim us, and make my world whole again.
But he didn’t. I fight back the tears, aware that I have already spent too much time crying over that man.
The rejection still stings and burns like a stab to the chest.
I saw the moment he realized Fijor was his.
With one look into his son's eyes, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Fijor was his son.
As I watched the love of my life talk to his son for the first time, it put a small balm on my heart while simultaneously ripping it out and stomping all over it.
If this man hadn't been arrested for defending that lady, he would still be mine.
He would have been there to see Fijor take his first breath, his first steps, and every other milestone and memory that was ripped from us.
This man gave my once-stagnant life a rush of adrenaline.
He and this club breathed new life into me.
They were once everything I ever wanted in my life.
A family and a place to call my own. I could have walked in here years ago and told them Fijor was his, and they would have been there for me, but I didn’t want to do that to him.
I didn’t want to be in debt. I didn’t want to be like my mother.
Trey sent me away because he didn’t know how much time he had left, but it didn’t make the pain any more bearable.
I would have been welcomed simply because I was Beaver’s kid.
These people welcomed me with open arms, and I tucked my tail and ran with a broken heart, taking Fijor from them as well.
I knew that if I returned, there would be questions I didn’t want to answer without speaking to Trey first. I know that while I’m here, I’m going to have to answer those questions and mend some damaged relationships.
Being back in the clubhouse reminded me how much this place feels like home.
Even if Trey rejected me, I don’t think my heart can handle walking away from this place again.
Just standing here in the clubhouse, even after my heart stopped all over again because of that infuriating Viking Biker, still feels like home.
I know we are wanted and safe, even without that asshole.
I guess Trey makes promises in the dark but runs from his responsibilities in the light, which contradicts everything I have ever known about him.
I know I’m willing to do whatever it takes to fix this relationship with the others, though.
Knowing the club's sisters, I know it will take the whole truth. They will require that I bare my soul to them, but if that’s what it takes, that’s what I will do.
My dad reaches out to take Fijor from me, and I gladly hand him over as my arms were starting to tire.
“I’ll have the prospects get your bags into the house for you.
Let’s climb into your car and drive over to Gator’s place.
I don’t know if you’ve seen the news, but Stud got shot, and it’s been a shitshow,” my dad says, emotion lacing his voice.
Stud and my father have been best friends since they were kids.
I know how hard this must be on him. Their bond has always been unbreakable, forged through decades of shared hardships, loyalty, and brotherhood, both inside and outside the club.
When either faced trouble, the other was always there, standing side by side no matter the risks or consequences.
He’s always been the strong, silent type, but I can see the pain in his eyes, the worry etched into every line of his face.
For my father, it’s personal in a way only lifelong friendship can be.
“Snake told me. Is he going to be okay?” All the emotions from the past 12 hours hit me at once.
With tears in my eyes, I look at my father as I stroke my hand up and down Fijor’s little back, while he takes a look around the clubhouse bar with wild, excited eyes.
None the wiser to tonight’s events, including the fact that the man who just stormed out is his father.
A couple of brothers walk past us, waving and smiling at Fijor as my dad, and I talk.
Fijor’s little hand repeats the motion with barely contained enthusiasm.
One of the original old ladies, Janice, from the Oklahoma chapter comes up behind my dad and hands Fijor a cookie with a knowing smile aimed at me.
The growing mini Viking, always grateful for snacks, starts munching the cookie, dropping crumbs all over my dad's shoulder.
She hugs me in passing, telling me welcome home and to just wait until Beth finds out.
Her words are not a warning but a preparation.
My stomach is filled with both excitement and dread as she walks off.
My father nods his thanks before answering my question.
“We don’t know. It doesn’t look good. He’s in the ICU in the city right now.
For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here, sweet girl.
This will always be a home to you.” He kisses the top of my head as I wrap him and Fijor in a hug.
I’m bone-tired and desperate to make a quick exit before I get any more knowing looks.
Who was I kidding? My father has to know who Fijor’s father is if everyone has come to the same conclusion.
At least he’s gracious enough to keep acting oblivious while I catch my bearings.
No doubt tomorrow I won’t be afforded the same kindness, because I know this needs to come out.
A couple of Kutte Sluts eye me up and down with distaste, and I know we need to make our exit so I can lick my wounds in private.
Shit, Emma, the man didn’t even contact you after he was released from prison.
Of course he ran out like his bike was on fire.
These bikers gossip more than little old ladies at a hair salon.
Everyone will know about Fijor’s and my arrival by morning, or by noon if I’m really lucky.
Knowing these men, there’s probably already a betting pool on how this is going to play out.
Maybe I should get on the bet and put some money down so that when I get my heart broken, I can at least be up a couple hundred dollars.
"I love you, dad. Let’s get Fijor in bed.
We can talk more in the morning.” The weight of the day is taking a toll on me, and I need serious sleep before I can even process that Trey is out of prison and that I’m going to be staying in his house.
I can live in dalulu-land until morning, I’m sure of it.
Then I can sit down and process this over a big cup of coffee.
See, everything is fine. Fuck, what if Allie is Trey’s ol’ lady and that’s why he ran out of here so fast to do damage control?
I didn’t even consider the possibility of Trey having an ol’ lady.
The thought makes my stomach drop and my mouth water with the impending need to throw up all over this clubhouse.
“Dad, who is Allie?” I can't help but blurt out, my mind's filter tossed out somewhere on the dark county road leading to the club. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from asking more.
My dad chuckles, shaking his head. “Caught that part, did you? That’s Stud’s old lady.
She’s a damn good one, too. She shot the bitch who shot Stud before calling for help.
When he got shot, it put her into preterm labor with the baby.
The little girl is in the NICU at the same hospital Stud is in.
They don’t know if either of them is going to make it right now, pumpkin.
” My heart breaks for her, and here I was thinking she was just someone Trey was going to screw.
That was probably what he wanted you to think, the giant overgrown ass hole.
***
We pull up to Trey’s house, and I swear my heart stops.
It’s everything I ever wanted. It’s like looking into the future we might have had together.
I’m rooted in place as my body shakes. It’s a two-story farmhouse with a screened-in porch, complete with the swing on the front porch that’s the size of a full-sized bed.
I picture Trey and me lying on it, cuddled up, while our kids run wild through the house, as we enjoy a moment of bliss, embracing the circus around us.
How dare he make it so perfect? He couldn’t even call me when he got out, but he made the house exactly as I’d imagined.
I walk into the house, bypassing the perfect swing as my heart breaks even more than I thought possible.
Seeing my dreams as a partial reality is almost too much to bear.
None of the house seems to be decorated, but it does have some furniture.
In the living room, there’s a black leather sectional and a big screen TV.
He has a large eight-seater dining room table and some chairs at the kitchen island.
It’s an open-concept layout that leads to the backyard, so I can see the kids and the dogs running around just as I wanted.
My eyes well up as the reality of what could have been crashes over me. Everywhere I look, memories of those endless nights spent wrapped up together, talking about the dream home we'd build for our family, hit me from every angle. It would have been kinder if he had just stabbed me in the heart.
My dad, true to his word, had a prospect bring our bags from the car.
He helped me get Fijor settled and into Trey’s bed down the hall before heading back to the clubhouse, promising to see me after he got out of church in the morning.
I didn’t want to put Fijor in the upstairs guest room until I got a baby gate for the stairs.
I didn’t want to risk him waking up and going down them without me.
I hope Trey doesn’t mind that I put him in his bed. The whole house smells just like him, and it’s a gut punch. I can’t be in this man’s home or around him without the overwhelming urge to toss everything on its side and destroy the perfect life he built without me. Fuck him!
We need to talk, and the thought terrifies me.
I don’t understand why he would build all of this, only to push me away and, to add insult to injury, not even try to call me one freaking time after getting out of prison.
He built this life and decided he didn’t need the person dreaming of it with him.
It’s infuriating, standing in the reality of everything we once whispered about, everything I imagined, and realizing he carved out my place and left it vacant on purpose.
The rage boiling inside me threatens to spill over because he made it happen and didn’t think he needed me for any of it.
Honestly, it would’ve been less cruel if he’d just torched our dreams outright and left them there in the jail’s visitation room, instead of letting me wander through them and choke on what could have been.
I want to destroy every piece of this life he built without a single thought of picking up the phone to call me.
My number never changed, and his number was the one I never blocked.
With Fijor asleep and nothing to do but think in an endless loop, I can’t bring myself to sleep.
I’m wound tighter than a top on a string, ready to be let loose like an Oklahoma tornado.
Back in the day, when I felt out of control, Trey would fuck me into a stupor.
Giving him ultimate control over me freed me, letting my brain shut down and just exist in his big arms. But he stomped all over that and built some fucked-up monument to my hopes and dreams. It’s late when I see the headlights dart across the back wall, telling me Trey just pulled in.
The longer he waits to come inside, the longer I stew, working myself up into a tizzy.
I go from pacing to trying to look unaffected while sitting on the couch.
I stand, then sit, in repetition, not quite sure how I want to play this.
All I know is I want to chuck something at his perfect face for building all of this without a backward glance at me.
I bolt to my feet when I see him shut the truck off.
I hear his boots thud through the mud room, and the noise they make as they land makes me feel more like I’m being hunted. There is still time to bolt. Right? I only have seconds to decide. Do I hide like a coward or stand and face the Giant?