by Jessica Ames
If you had told me two months ago I would be making coffee for two members of the Lost Saxons I would have laughed. Hysterically.
I wrap my fingers around the handles of both mugs, my mind full of too many thoughts, and carry them out to the guys. It’s cool today, although not as chilly as it has been and there is a definite feel that summer is around the corner. At least it is dry.
As I walk down the path to the car, I watch Weed grab a set of tools from a holdall bag deposited on the ground by the front tyre. Dean looks so at ease, so relaxed while he moves around the car that I can’t help but smile at him.
I hand Weed his mug first before turning to Dean. As he takes it, again our fingers touch and I feel my pulse quicken as our eyes meet.
“Thanks,” he says, his voice soft.
“I’m pretty sure it’s me who should be thanking you,” I breathe the words because making them come out any other way seems impossible. It’s been a long time since I felt anything remotely resembling excitement and it’s intoxicating.
Dean dips his head and smiles at me. It’s a smile that is as disarming as it is charming. “Well, the coffee is thanks enough.”
I beg to differ, but I don’t argue. It would be a fruitless exercise anyway. I’m learning Dean is a man used to getting his own way. Often.
“Yeah, sunshine, thanks for the brew,” Weed says.
Dean looks so at ease, so relaxed while he moves around the car and I can’t help but smile at him.
I stand there, watching Dean and Weed work on my car while they banter back and forth. At one point, they head over to Dean’s garage and return with more tools.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I fish it out, even as I’m shaking my head at their antics. Then my heart sinks as I realise the message is another social media alert from Tammy.
TAMMY: Simon is difficult. I don’t know what to do.
I stare at the words and I think about that baby in that house. Is Simon capable of hurting a child? I don’t know. Simon was capable of many things I didn’t think he would be. But if he is, and I do nothing…
I can’t live with that.
ME: Are you in trouble?
TAMMY: He’s changing. What was he like when he was with you?
ME: Is he hurting you?
I wait for a response, but nothing comes back. No dots, no read message. Nothing. Fuck.
ME: I can help you, Tammy.
ME: Please don’t suffer in silence.
Nothing. And she suddenly goes offline. Fuck.
“You okay?” Dean’s voice jolts me, snapping my head up.
“What? Oh, yeah.” I tap my phone against my hand before I tuck my phone back into my jeans pocket.
Maybe I can talk to Holly…
A welfare check can be done, if we can convince the local police to go out…
“You don’t look okay.”
I force a smile. “I’m fine.”
I should tell him, but I can’t because I’ve already dragged Dean into enough of my drama. Besides, I don’t even know what is happening.
“Right, start it up,” Weed says, bringing both mine and Dean’s attention back to the car. Dean climbs into the driver’s side and twists the key. The engine splutters, then dies. Weed ducks back under the bonnet and fiddles about under there before popping his head back around. “Try now.”
Dean starts it up again and this time it catches and continues to tick over.
“Oh my God, you fixed it!”
“Yeah, darlin’. It was an easy job.” Dean grins at me.
“For you maybe,” Weed says, pointing the wrench at him. “You didn’t do any of the heavy lifting.”
“Quit whining.”
Weed grumbles but says nothing else about it. “Give me your keys, man. I need to wash up.”
Dean tosses him a set of keys.
“You can clean up here,” I protest but Weed shakes his head.
“I’d rather wreck his sink than yours, sunshine.”
Weed jogs across the street and lets himself into Dean’s backdoor.
“I don’t know how to thank you for this.”
“Have dinner with me.”
I start at his words, my head snapping up. “What?”
“Have dinner with me,” he repeats.
“Dean—”
“No strings, nothing expected, just come and eat some good food with a friend.”
I stare at him, my pulse picking up its pace. “You want me to have dinner with you?”
“Yep.” He pops the ‘P’ obnoxiously loud.
I should say no, except I don’t want to. I want to have dinner with Dean.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, Dean. I’ll have dinner with you.”
He grins and my heart skips a beat. “Are you free next Sunday?”
I think about it, mentally running through my social calendar.
“Yeah, I’m free.”
“Okay then. Next Sunday.”
I beam.
Chapter Nineteen
“So, he came over and just… fixed your car? For free? Without you asking him?”
I glance up mid-bite of my burger to take in Holly’s face, which is as astounded as her voice sounds. We came out for dinner after work, mainly because both of us were too exhausted to cook after doing a full day at the shelter.
Despite being exhausted, Holly looks cute today. Her platinum hair is pulled into a French plait on one side of her head and she’s wearing a gorgeous tartan skirt with a cream sweater. I’ve gone for boring jeans and a thick woollen pullover that probably makes me look frumpy but it’s comfortable and warm.
“Yeah. He’s also taking me to dinner, so he’s really getting the shitty end of this deal.”
She puts her cup down so fast she sloshes hot coffee over the rim of the mug. “You’re having dinner with him? With Dean Lawler?”
“Yeah.” I frown as I lick ketchup off my fingers. This burger is seriously messy to eat. “Do you think I shouldn’t?”
“I think you should most definitely have dinner with Dean.”
I duck my head, pretending to be interested in my plate, but secretly I’m pleased that she’s on my side. Not that I’d expect anything different from Holly.
“When is this dinner taking place?” she asks.
“The weekend—Sunday.”
“Do you have something to wear?”
This brings my excited thoughts crashing back down to earth. Painfully. Something to wear? I don’t even know where we’re going.
This could be an issue.
The panic must show on my face because Holly holds up a hand. “Don’t worry; we’ll find something.”
“Do you think I’m mad?”
Her eyes widen. “Mad? Why would I think you’re mad?”
“For getting involved with someone like Dean.”
She purses her lips together as she taps a finger against the side of her mug. “Sweetie, your husband wore a suit and worked in a fancy as hell office. It didn’t stop him hurting you. Bad people exist in all walks of life. From what I’ve seen and heard about Dean, he’s a good man. Do the shiftier sides of his business worry me? Well, yeah. But I think Dean is the kind of man who wouldn’t let you get dragged into that.”
“I know.” I place my burger back on the plate and reach for a serviette to wipe my fingers, all talk of Simon making my appetite retreat. “But that doesn’t mean jumping into something with Dean is a good idea either.”
“No, that’s true too but sweetie nothing you’ve said so far has worried me. I guess all you can do is go and see what happens.”
I frown at my plate, as if my burger offers all the answers.
“I don’t know that getting involved with him is a good idea, but when I’m with him…” I let out a long breath. “I feel… complete. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s true.”
“What’s holding you back then?”
Because I’ve had enough of relationsh
ips to last me a lifetime. I don’t say this, but I don’t need to.
When I don’t answer she says, “Go out with him, see what happens. And don’t over think it.” She leans over the table and grabs my hand. “Sweetie, it’s okay to want Dean.”
“Believe me, Holly, the last thing on my mind right now is a relationship.” My brain is far too full of everything else—including what the hell to do about Tammy. I haven’t heard a word from her since I asked if she was being hurt. I sent her a number of messages but in the end, I forced myself to stop, in case Simon had somehow got hold of her phone.
Holly’s head tilts to one side. “You should want a relationship. They’re not the devil’s work.”
I snort at that. “Experience suggests otherwise.”
She rolls her eyes, sagging back into her chair as she grabs for her mug. “Simon was a first-class lunatic, Liv, but he’s not indicative of all men.”
“If that’s the case, why aren’t you dating?” Namely, why aren’t you dating one Nathan James? I keep this to myself.
She makes a loud noise in the back of her throat that draws the eyes of a couple at a neighbouring table.
“Because I’m married to my job and most men don’t like playing second string.”
“Which is precisely why I don’t want to get involved with anyone. I don’t want the hassle.” Lie. I’m scared of getting involved.
“But sometimes it’s not hassle. Sometimes it’s unbelievably good. With the right man it can be spectacular. You can’t let the past hold you back from something good in your future.”
“I don’t need a man to be happy, Hol. I’m enjoying being the master of my own destiny.” It is astounding how easily I have become used to not having a man dictate every second of my day. I never realised how good freedom could feel until I was free. “And I’m not holding back; I’m just not interested.”
And that may be the biggest lie I’ve told myself because I am interested. The problem is I’m too interested, and that scares me.
Her smile is knowing—and annoying. “Okay, sweetie. I’ll remind you of this conversation in six months’ time when you’re sucking face with Dean Lawler.”
I roll my eyes at her like a petulant teenager. “Since that is not going to happen, fine!”
“Uh huh, we’ll see.”
“I do have another problem though. One that is more pressing than my love life.” Holly looks at me questioningly. “I…”
“Spit it out, Olivia.”
“Tammy got in touch with me.”
“Tammy who?”
“Simon’s girlfriend.”
Her expression turns to stone. “Does she need help… with him?”
She’s asking if history has repeated itself, and that is something I can’t answer—not definitively anyway.
“I don’t know. I guess so. She said she was worried about some of his behaviour.”
Holly’s jaw tightens. “We can bring her here, to the shelter. Give me a few hours to sort transpor—”
“Hold your horses. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. For all we know, this could be a ploy.”
“For what purpose? He’s moved on, Olivia. You don’t feature in his day to day, because he has her now.”
“I know this.” And I do.
Truthfully, I thought Simon would seek me out after I left, but he didn’t. Instead, he moved Tammy into our home almost immediately. It was a big middle finger to our marriage—to me, especially considering Tammy looks just like me. I think it was his way of showing the world he didn’t want me or need me because he had her.
At the time, I wondered if he’d been seeing her while we were still together; eventually, I realised it didn’t matter. It had allowed me to escape him and that was the main thing.
“But I don’t trust Simon, and I don’t trust her. She’s under his thumb. She must be to have stayed with him all this time, but if it is real, and she is reaching out for help then I don’t want to ignore her. I was ignored and I stayed longer than I should have. I got hurt as a result. Tammy has a baby in that house, Hol.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t think she’s in immediate danger; that’s not the vibe I got from the message, but if she’s genuinely asking for help… well, I can’t ignore that. I won’t ignore that.”
Holly nods. “Neither would I. So, we’ll figure it out. Message her back and find out what she wants to do.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “She’ll be fine.”
“I know.”
“So will you.”
“I know this too.”
We finish up our food and coffees. Holly heads over to the till to pay the waitress, settling our bill—even though I try to give her money.
As we step out into the late spring air, a rumbling sound catches my attention a beat before Holly’s head lifts in the same direction. Both our gazes move up the high street just in time to see the line of motorcycles coming around the corner, heading straight for where we’re standing. They ride in pairs, side by side, all leather and denim.
I pick Dean out from the riders immediately. I don’t want to think about what it means that I’m able to pick him out in a line of twenty or so other riders.
Holly and I stand on the edge of the pavement, watching as the bikes pass by. Even in the weak sun the chrome pipes on the motorcycles still gleam, sparkling and glittering as they move. I watch as they head up the road in the direction of the clubhouse.
As Dean passes, I see his head lift and turn in my direction, his eyes locking onto my face. Then, he lifts a gloved hand and waves.
Holly snickers at my side and I elbow her discretely, even as I return Dean’s gesture.
“Oh, yeah,” Holly mutters under her breath. “If you don’t want that man, please pass him my way.”
I glare at her as the last two motorcycles rumble past us and follow the line of riders up the high street before disappearing around the bend in the road. I resist the urge to snipe back at her, knowing too much protestation will simply keep her ribbing me.
I turn back to Holly and say, “Come on, there’s a bottle of wine on my kitchen counter with our names on it.”
“Now that,” Holly says, linking her arm through mine, “sounds like the perfect way to spend the evening.”
Chapter Twenty
I’m nervous, and that is putting it lightly. Even though I know this is not a date, I still feel sick to my stomach the entire day. I have no idea why because it is just dinner, there’s nothing to be worried or anxious about. But still, my stomach rebels at the idea of what is to come.
Following Holly’s expert advice, I go for something dressy but casual, so I put on a pair of black skinny jeans and a floaty blouse. I put on a new pair of low boots I bought especially for tonight and I finish the whole ensemble with a short leather jacket I borrowed from Holly. It’s fashionable but cute and she’s never getting it back.
I jiggle my leg as I wait for Dean to arrive, my bum barely on the edge of the sofa. I have no idea why I’m practically climbing the walls because this really is just dinner—dinner with Dean Lawler, member of the Lost Saxons Motorcycle Club, and a man who has done more for me than my own husband ever did, than my entire family as well.
Thinking of Simon brings my thoughts to the message I sent to Tammy. I told her we could help her leave, all she has to do is let us know when and where. But I’ve not heard anything back. I have to admit I’m worried but I don’t know what to do. Holly says to wait, that Tammy probably got cold feet. She’ll reach out eventually. I hope she’s right. And I hope she does it before something terrible happens.
The familiar rumble of pipes sound in the distance, coming nearer. I stand, heart thrumming and grab my bag as it gets closer and closer. Then it stops and a few moments later the doorbell goes.
Here goes nothing…
I fix my blouse, making sure I’m straight and head to the front door. When I tug it open, I’m greeted by Dean, and I swear
to God my head swims as I take him in. He looks good. He looks better than good.
He’s wearing a button-up shirt in dark blue and a pair of black jeans that look new because the colour isn’t faded. He’s not wearing his kutte, which surprises me. He looks strange without it. Instead, he’s wearing a thin leather jacket.
His eyes scan my face and his lips pull into a smile. “You look stunning.”
A flush of pleasure heats my body at his words. I can’t remember the last time a man gave me a compliment. It’s been that long, in fact, I don’t know what the appropriate response is. Do I thank him? Say something self-depreciating? Ignore it?
“You look pretty good yourself,” I mumble, absently fiddling with the hem of my blouse.
“Are you ready to go?”
I steal a glance at him and note he’s still smiling. That’s good. I nod. “I just need to grab my bag.”
I move up the hallway and into the living room to snatch my bag off the sofa. Then I head back to Dean, who has remained on the doorstep.
I don’t know why, but I find it strangely comforting that he gives me that space, that he doesn’t invade my inner sanctuary without invitation.
“Ready,” I tell him as I close the space between us.
I step out of the house and lock the front door and the porch behind me. Then we both walk together down the driveway to his bike, which is parked at the edge of the curb. He hands me the helmet I usually use when I ride with him. I push it on my head, but he moves to fasten the chinstrap. My entire body goes on alert. This seemingly nothing act has my heart fluttering and heat swamping my body. I have an urge to reach out and touch him, but I force my hands to remain fisted at my sides while I take slow breaths.
“There,” he mutters once the clasp is fastened and the helmet secured. And I barely draw air until he turns to put his own helmet on.
I need to get a grip and regain control before I get on the motorcycle, but I’m filled with edgy nerves. I shift on my feet while Dean swings a leg over the bike. Once he’s seated, he turns back to me.
“Hop on, darlin’.”