Chapter Seventeen
Runa
The next couple of days mostly involved dozing on and off in bed to avoid being awake to feel the pain in my throat with each swallow.
My sweet little girl brought me endless ice pops and homemade ice cream between time spent swimming, playing with the club kids, and helping Eddie in the kitchen.
York was equally attentive, bringing me ice packs for my throat as well as easy-to-swallow foods, extra pillows and blankets, and throat lozenges.
And, sometimes, when Denali was otherwise occupied, he’d just come and sit, keeping me company as I watched the documentary series about the national parks.
“Haven’t been there,” I rasped out. My voice was back for the most part, but it sounded about ten times huskier than before.
“Death Valley?” York asked, glancing up from where he was looking at the art Denali had just dropped off.
“Yeah. The pastel colors.”
“Yeah, Denali would love that,” he agreed, picking up on what I meant with my short, pained sentences.
“When this is all over, I could take you there. The club has a sister chapter in Shady Valley. Literally backs up to Death Valley. Club has a shit ton of dogs and cats and chickens. She’d get a kick out of it. ”
I wanted that more than I cared to admit. Not just traveling for fun, seeing the sights, enjoying our time without looking over my shoulder. But doing all those things with York by our side.
I never really gave thought to being a family unit. A little girl, her mom, and her dad. As much as I had always thought about having York in Denali’s life, I hadn’t imagined him in mine in any meaningful way.
But the longer we stayed at the clubhouse, the more he became woven into the daily fabric of our lives, the more I was imagining things I had no right thinking about.
Walking hand-in-hand through a great trail with a cute little Denny walking ahead of us with a stuffed animal tucked under her arm, pointing out all the birds and squirrels.
Then going back to our tent, listening to the night sounds. Or, let’s face it, with my less outdoorsy kid, maybe we’d have a camper or a hotel room. And take the long drive back down to Florida, singing along to the radio, pointing out cute animals, stopping at random attractions.
It was so easy to picture it all.
Even if I knew it was pure fantasy.
“Mommy, Daddy,” Denali called, rushing into the room, eyes round, smile bright. She was excited about something.
“What’s up, princess?”
“Can I go to the park with Aunt Sassy?”
I privately loved that she was calling the members of York’s found family her aunts and uncles.
“Did Aunt Saskia offer to take you to the park?” York asked.
“I did,” Sass said, moving into the doorway.
“We all decided the kids need to blow off some steam. I know what you’re thinking—it’s a lot of kids.
But Harmon and Rue are coming.” And Harmon’s kids were too old for park trips, and Rue didn’t have any yet.
“And they promised to keep an especially close eye on Denali.” She looked over at York.
“Caymen, Che, Cato, and Seeley are coming too.” To keep a lookout for any threats.
“Which park?” he asked.
“The one with the pirate ship!” Denali declared, as if she’d seen that park. She hadn’t. But, apparently, someone had been telling her about it.
“It’s that one that has a bunch of old-school play areas: pirate ship, castle, bridges, plus the usual swings, fields, all the stuff.”
“We’re gonna picnic!”
I had a feeling this particular picnic would be packed by Eddie. No deli meat sandwiches or peanut butter and jelly to be found.
York looked at me. “I think that sounds fun,” I said.
“Yay!”
“We’ll send pics,” Saskia assured us. “And let you know when we are heading home, but we will be there for hours, so long as the weather doesn’t turn on us.”
“Sounds great. Have lots of fun. And listen to your grown-ups.”
“I will,” Denali said, nodding.
“No complaining when it’s time to come home, okay?” York asked.
“Okay.”
“And don’t talk to strangers,” he added.
Denali gave him a little eye roll at that. Denny had endured way more than the usual ‘stranger danger’ talks in her short life. Our safety depended on it.
“I won’t.”
With that, Sass led her out of the room, and we sat and listened to all the adults wrangle the kids downstairs before there was sudden silence.
I was sure some of the guys were still around. They never seemed to leave the clubhouse unprotected. But it was weirdly quiet without everyone hanging out.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Can’t imagine you’re used to letting other people take Denali out.”
“No, I’m not.” I’d had babysitters in the past, sure, but they always watched her at our apartment or their own. The only person to ever take her out without me was York. “But I trust them.”
She would be safer with a group of biker moms and their husbands than she would be with just me.
“You can,” he assured me. “They’ll keep an extra-close eye on her because she’s not theirs.”
“This is good for her,” I said.
“Going to the park?”
“No. Well, yes. Anytime she can go outside, I’m happy. But being with other kids.”
“Know you’ve mostly been up here, but she’s been having a blast. She’s sweet with the younger ones, looks up to the older ones, and has a blast making up games with the ones her own age.”
“That’s so good for her. I’ve kind of been her whole world her whole life. And that’s an honor, but I know it’s not fair to her.”
“You’ve done a great job with her. Think it’s normal for moms to think they’re never doing enough or are accidentally fucking their kids up in some unknown way that won’t show up until fifteen years down the line, but that’s not the case.
She’s had no trouble making friends her own age or engaging with adults.
She’s smart. She’s sweet. She usually eats her veggies. She’s perfect.”
The rush of water in my eyes surprised me.
But I’d been doing this mom thing alone. No one to see the fruits of the labor; no one to tell me I’d done a good job.
“Thank you,” I said, trying to blink the tears away before York saw them.
I should have known better.
He was too observant.
He moved off Denali’s bed and scooted onto the space to the side of mine. But he was a big guy. It wasn’t a large bed. The second he moved next to me, he was touching me from shoulder to foot.
“I see it,” he said, sliding an arm behind my back.
“See what?” I asked, still rapidly blinking the wetness away.
“How much of yourself you’ve needed to sacrifice to raise our daughter.”
Alright. Well, the blinking was useless then.
“She’s worth it,” I said, wiping the tears that slipped down my cheeks.
“She is. But I’m happy to be here now to help out so you can get some of your passions back. Build whatever life you see for yourself.”
He pulled me toward him. I knew I needed to pull away. To reinforce that boundary I told myself needed to be there.
I didn’t do that, though.
I let myself curl into him, enjoying the breadth of his chest, the strength of his arms, the crisp, woodsy scent of him, the steady thud of his heartbeat against my ear.
He felt… safe.
I felt like I could finally relax when he was close.
I couldn’t afford to let that be the case, though. Too much depended on me. My guard had to stay up.
But then his hand was sliding up and down my spine and my body forgot all about how much was on my shoulders, how I needed to stay ready for anything.
Each muscle that had been tensed for years, eased. My breath, that had been quick and shallow for as long as I could remember, went slow and deep.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
Lighter.
Looser.
Freer.
But that wasn’t what he was asking.
“It’s just the throat right now. And that’s sixty percent better.”
“How’s the bruising?”
“A lot more green and yellow now. Ama said I will probably still need the scarf for another five or six days. Though I might be able to start using makeup instead of the scarf if more of the blue is gone.”
“That’s good.”
His fingers kept their gentle trailing up and down my back, but slipped a little lower, grazing the space where my shirt had slipped up to reveal a sliver of skin.
The barely-there touch sent a shiver working its way through me. I hoped for a moment that it was just one of those internal trembles. Until I felt York stiffen.
It was another moment where I knew I had to pull away.
And another one where I didn’t do that.
So when York’s hand slipped low again, and teased up the back of my shirt, I sank into the way my belly flipped and my heart fluttered.
It wasn’t long before his hands were fully under my shirt, moving over sensitive skin, slipping up my side, over my ribs, skimming over the side of my breast.
His palm moved back down, going lower, grabbing the back of my leg, and pulling until my leg was over his hip.
It was so easy to shift my weight until I was on top of him, to look down at him, to lean down and seal my lips to his.
It wasn’t long before York was moving up to sit, taking me up as well, straddling him as his hands started to roam over me again.
He snagged the hem of my shirt, pulling up until I broke the kiss so he could pull it off of me.
The cool air teased my skin, and that mixed with the heat building inside me sent another shiver down my spine.
The scarf came off my neck, and the way his fingers drifted gently over the bruise made my belly flip.
But then his hand was covering my breast and all there was left was the heat building inside, the little sparks of desire that pricked my skin, the way need coiled deep in my belly, begging for movement, for friction.
York’s hand squeezed; his fingers circled, pinched. Then he was leaning me back so he could lower down and suck one of the peaks into his mouth, making a shocked gasp escape me.
My legs tightened to the sides of his.
My hips dropped down.
His cock, straining against the material of his jeans, pressed against me, and I was helpless but to rock against him, to try to get relief from the ache inside.
A rumble moved through him at the sensation.