MY PROTECTOR: The Valves MC

by Kathryn Thomas

  Her words dumped a thousand miles a minute and I smiled. She looked like she’d forgotten yesterday’s events, and I crouched down to hug her. “That sounds amazing, baby. Did you, by any chance, actually go to sleep?” I struggled to hide the battle in my heart.

  “Of course, silly. We got tired, and Alice’s parents sent us to bed. But we didn’t want to go, so we reached a comprise!” she said proudly, emphasizing her grown-up statement.

  Dawson snorted, chuckling, and I bit back a grin. “What does that mean, Ginger?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Alice’s father said that, and then he made us a fort, and we slept there. I guess it’s about the fort.”

  “You mean a compromise?” She nodded.

  “Very good, baby. It is, indeed, about the fort,” Dawson intervened. “I believe Mari would be more than happy to build you one when you’ll be sleeping there. Right, Mari?”

  His cooperation shocked me. I couldn’t help but search for his eyes, and I found nothing but honesty in them. I nodded, my throat burning.

  “Really?” Ginger cooed. “Will you, Mari?”

  “Yes, honey.”

  “That’s awesome!” But then, her expression changed, and she looked crestfallen. “Too bad the weekend is so far away.”

  Dawson laughed sadly, pulling her toward him. “If you want, you can go tonight. Don’t you want to sleep at Mari’s for a while?”

  She looked at him, incredulous. “What do you mean, Daddy?”

  “I think Mari would be very happy to have you around, baby. I just thought you might like that, too,” he said, pouting.

  It prompted Ginger to put her little hands on his face, trying to pull his lips into a smile. “Yes, Daddy, I would love that,” she assured him and burst into giggles as he turned his head to bite her hand.

  “Good girl! Why don’t you go pack your favorite things?”

  She didn’t wait for him to finish. I could hear her pep talking herself into proper toy arrangements. She kept trying to convince her teddy bears they were all equally important but there was only so much space in the small bag.

  I got to my feet and leaned against the wall. “Thank you,” I whispered. He smiled at me, and I followed him into the kitchen. I couldn’t shake the pain in his eyes while talking to Ginger. He’d used his sweet voice, but it was fake, just like mine. I could barely keep my own pain from spilling over, and as I watched him convince his daughter to leave him, I knew he struggled just as much. I squeezed my eyes shut against the usual sting of tears.

  “Don’t cry, baby,” he said. I looked up as he took my wrists. “And don’t thank me, either. You were right, and you’re doing the right thing. Please don’t cry, okay?”

  I couldn’t speak, so I gave a slight nod, the hot tears leaking. He wiped them from my face and sat me at the table. He politely backed off and turned, gathering the main ingredients for pancakes. “What are you doing?” I blurted, thinking that he only made pancakes for Ginger. She loved his funny shapes.

  “Making pancakes.” He stated the obvious, and a strange pain cut through my soul. “I’d love to have one more breakfast with my daughter,” he added, his voice quiet and resigned. I knew what he meant without his explanation.

  I didn’t reply, trying to cry silently. He didn’t press for an answer, either. The absence of a denial served as an agreement that he could cook for Ginger. “Have you…called them yet?” he asked after a long silence.

  My throat had swollen shut around the lump in it, and I choked back more tears, unable to respond. I wanted to say no and tell him how I felt about what I was doing, how torn I was. I had postponed the horrific call until after Ginger settled into my place. But the truth was, I didn’t want to make the call at all, and it was eating me alive. He might have taken my silence as an affirmative, judging by his reaction – making stupid comments about the pancakes.

  “I’m trying to make bunnies, but I can’t for the…” He stopped abruptly, and I guessed he saw my face.

  I tried to hide the tears, but he pulled me to my feet and embraced me tightly. I didn’t protest. I felt like a villain, and I needed all the comfort he could spare to convince me otherwise. I was taking his child away, and I was the one needing comfort. That was just wrong.

  “Don’t cry, Mari. I told you, this is the right thing to do. I promise. Calm down. It’s not the end of the world.”

  I tried to ease his mind a bit, my voice recovering hoarsely. “No, I haven’t called them.”

  He didn’t let me say more. He pulled back and sat me down, holding my hands over the table. “Don’t call them, baby. Don’t.” My eyes snapped to his, and he said, “I promise, I’ll end everything with the Valves. I want to go to the police.”

  I stood, pushing the chair back in my haste. “That’s dangerous!” I hissed in terror. I couldn’t imagine what they would do if they found out he ratted.

  “I know. That’s why I’m glad you’re taking Ginger. I know she’ll be safe with you and that you’ll care for her like the perfect mother you are.” His words sparked something inside, and the nausea rose again in strong waves. I clenched my teeth to ward it off as I sat down. “I’ll make a deal and tell the police everything I know. It’ll get me a couple of years, but that’s fine, and after that, everything will go back to normal.”

  “Years? As in prison?” I realized that was to be expected, but I couldn’t wrap my mind around the notion that Dawson would be locked up. For years.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll manage. And by the time I get inside, there won’t be any Valves left to bother you or Ginger. I can promise you that. That’s why I said you were right and that I’m glad you’re taking her. Until I come out, I know you’ll take the best care of her. I thank you for being there. I can’t thank you enough, Mari.”

  Silence loomed between us. I didn’t know what to say, and he had spilled every one of his dark secrets. I looked up and watched his expression. It looked like he already tasted the liberation, excitement dancing in his eyes. It made me smile in spite of myself. He had figured it all out and would make it better. I trusted him.

  We gazed into each other’s eyes for long minutes before he blinked, the joy fleeing his expression. Looking away timidly, he asked, “What about us, then?”

  I didn’t know if it was the sudden wave of emotions his words stirred or the general uneasiness of the circumstances, but I needed to get up and rush to the bathroom. I barely made it, bending over the toilet bowl and letting the sickness take over. But nothing happened. I chalked it up to a false alarm and started to open the door when it hit again. This time, my stomach heaved.

  Weakened and shaken, I leaned against the sink. The taste of bile and gastric acid nearly gagged me, and I shivered, rinsing with water as I reached for the mouthwash. It took several rounds to douse the disgusting taste.

  After splashing cold water on my face and taking an aspirin, I stepped out of the bathroom and nearly ran into Dawson. Ginger was just coming out of her room, bag overstuffed with toys and clothes.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, stopping to look at me.

  I cringed.

  “Are you sure you’re all right? A mild concussion wouldn’t last this long. Maybe I should take you to a hospital.” He took my wrists, concern darkening his features.

  “Hospital? What’s wrong, Mari? Do you have the flu, too?” Ginger came close and tried to hug me.

  I shrugged it off, saying something about lack of sleep and no breakfast. I didn’t want to add to their worries by making a scene.

  “Are you sure?” he asked again, more sternly. I nodded. “Then it’s all set. You stay for breakfast. I made these delicious pancakes for both of you, and after you eat, you’ll be fine. Right, Ginger?”

  “You made pancakes?” she exclaimed as she rushed to the kitchen.

  He picked up her bag and stood there, close to me as I sought his eyes. As if he wanted to repeat his earlier question but couldn’t bear to utter the words, he bent his head to
ward me and brushed his lips over mine. He waited for my answer, and when I tried to pull away, he wrapped me in his arms, gracefully accepting my refusal with a chaste kiss atop my head. I felt like crying again, reminded that I was the bad guy.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Even Ginger knew I was in no shape to be up and out of bed, much less getting her ready for school. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this sick, and the slightest motion set off a new wave of nausea. But I had a job to do, and I was determined to do it to the best of my ability, despite my own illness.

  “Mommy, you should be resting,” she said as I stood in the kitchen packing her lunch and had to close my eyes as the smell of peanut butter hit me like rancid, fresh sewage. “I can call Daddy and have him take me to school.”

  “No,” I snapped, and I instantly regretted it. Ginger’s face registered how hurt she was that I would yell at her. I had never really raised my voice to her, no matter what, mostly because she was so well behaved. She was precocious, but Dawson had been raising her right, teaching her how to act.

  Ironic, considering the life he led.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” I told her, reaching out to her and pulling her against my leg so I could hug her. I was afraid to bend over with the way my stomach churned. “I just don’t feel good and I will rest, after I get you to school, okay? I’m going to have a sick day and stay home, like some of your friends do when they have colds.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. Daddy’s home, though. I saw him through the window outside when I got dressed. He was on the phone. He can take me so you can go to bed now.”

  I didn’t know what to do. I really didn’t feel like it would be safe for me to get behind the wheel of a car in my condition, and the bed was calling my name. But Dawson was going to disappear, very soon, and I didn’t want Ginger to get used to being able to call on her father whenever she wanted. He wouldn’t be available when he was behind bars, and I still didn’t know when that was going to happen.

  It hadn’t been that long since we’d all talked, but the whole weekend had been difficult. The discussion as Ginger packed her bags for an ‘exciting visit’ with me had ended in agony for both Dawson and myself, and I’d been sick the whole time. I’d brought the child home with me – a mere few feet away from the home she shared with the man she knew as her father – and struggled through Saturday and Sunday without giving in.

  Since Dawson hadn’t appeared to be home most of the time, it was a little easier. Now, though, knowing he was available and that there was little danger in him giving his daughter a quick ride to school had me thinking twice about my resolve to cut all contact.

  I’d eventually have to talk to him anyway.

  The hopeful look in Ginger’s eyes got me, and I sighed heavily, hoping the fresh air outside might calm my stomach. “Let me get my sweater, and we’ll walk over to ask, okay?”

  Her face lit up, and I felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over me. I’d managed to avoid that for the last two days, too busy trying not to throw up while taking care of Ginger full time, but the love Dawson and Ginger shared was deeper and built a stronger bond than any biological father and daughter I’d ever known. And I had all but forced the wedge that was going to be between them for god only knew how long.

  In slippers and an old, ratty cardigan that was soft and thick and warm, I walked the five-year-old next door and reminded her to knock. It was her house, but I could never be sure there wasn’t something going on inside Dawson wouldn’t want her to see. Not anymore.

  He opened the door, looking stunned to see us there, and if I hadn’t felt like I might collapse – and Ginger hadn’t gotten here first – I might have thrown myself at him. As it was, Ginger had her arms wrapped so tight around his denim-clad legs it looked like his knees might buckle from the pressure. He put a hand on the back of the girl’s small head, a loving gesture I knew all too well by now, and he looked at me with a question that quickly became concern. “Is everything okay?” he asked in a raspy voice that made my toes curl, even with my stomach churning.

  “Daddy, Mari is still sick, and I told her to rest. Can you take me to school, just today?” I apparently didn’t have to say anything. The child was going to explain the situation for me.

  Dawson’s eyes changed, and his concern grew deeper as he considered me. It was strange how I could see just that small difference in his expression. “You’re still sick? Mari…”

  I held a hand up to stop him and closed my eyes against a fresh wave of nausea. Swallowing hard, I told him, “I’m taking the day and going to the doctor. There’s no need to worry, okay? I’ll be better by the time she’s out this afternoon.” It was wishful thinking, I was sure, but I had to be certain Dawson focused on his own problems and not mine.

  “Do you need me to take you to the doctor?” he offered, still holding his hand on his little girl’s head.

  It sounded lovely, not having to be strong and face it alone, but I couldn’t let him do it. I couldn’t give in like that. He had other things to do, and I had my own agenda that didn’t involve drawing Dawson back into my life when he was going to be gone for however long they put him away. “I appreciate the offer, but I can make it. Besides, I might have to call you to pick Ginger up, if the appointment is later in the day. I’d rather have her taken care of.” I knew I wouldn’t be able to count on him for things like that very soon, but I would find a way to make other arrangements, when that time came.

  “Take care of yourself. I’ll get her to school. Are you ready, baby?” he asked, addressing Ginger now.

  She nodded. “See? I’ve got my backpack and everything.”

  With a smile and a nod, Dawson acknowledged her preparation and then looked at me as he told her, “Let me get my shoes on, and we’ll be on our way.”

  I knew he was giving me silent thanks for letting him have some time with his daughter, despite our arrangement otherwise. I gave an almost imperceptible nod and started to walk away. I couldn’t keep staring at him and keep my emotions under control.

  “Mari?” he called quietly. I glanced back over my shoulder, refusing to give into the urge to turn around and fall into his arms. “Can we talk later?”

  I didn’t know if I was ready for that. We’d just had the hardest talk ever a few days ago, and I was still drained from it. From one of his men attacking me. From taking his daughter away. And from being so sick. But it was going to happen sooner or later and, for once, I decided to rip the bandage off. “Sure. Are you going to be here all day?”

  He scowled, and I didn’t want to know what other obligations he might have. “Why don’t you call me after you see the doctor? We’ll coordinate.”

  Again, I nodded and walked away. I couldn’t handle any more of this. I could feel the nausea welling up in my throat and needed to get to the bathroom, fast. Worrying that Dawson was meeting with the Valves made it worse, and the alternative that he would be meeting with the police to cooperate with their investigation wasn’t any better. One meant danger to Ginger, to me, and I couldn’t allow that. The other meant no less danger for Dawson and took him away from the only family he had.

  It had been a long time since I’d thought how unfair life was, but right now, it was all I could think about as I stepped inside my house with every appearance of being calm. Then, I ran full throttle and fell to my knees in front of the toilet, nothing but acid and bile coming out. I hadn’t eaten much for the past few days – some crackers and sparkling water was about all I could handle – and it showed.

  Exhausted, I sat down and leaned back against the cool bathroom wall, closing my eyes. I’d have to get over my aversion to food if I was going to make it through this. And I certainly wasn’t going to the doctor. There wasn’t anything he could do for me right now. I’d just suffer through it, for now.

  Dragging myself off the floor, I rinsed my mouth, washed my face, and brushed my teeth, which had me feeling almost human again, and I went to the bedroom, gazing out the w
indow to see Dawson pulling out of the driveway. For a split second, I panicked. Had I made a mistake? Anyone in the motorcycle gang could figure out that Dawson was most vulnerable when he was with his daughter, and they would guarantee he had her when it was time to go to school.

  I shook the thought away. I couldn’t be with Ginger twenty-four hours a day, and that meant she was vulnerable anyway. At least with Dawson there, she had someone to protect her. For the moment. How was Ginger going to react when the extended stay at my house became a permanent one? Dawson was confident he wouldn’t get more than a year, but I still didn’t know what charges he could have against him. He’d given me a vague idea of the things he’d done that he wasn’t proud of, but he hadn’t laid it all out on the table in detail. What if he got hit with twenty years? Or a life sentence?