His Property (Iron Bandits MC)

He came over every few days, wanting to spend time with Peter. He always called beforehand, to make sure we were home, and I think to give me warning. When he came, I left. I’d go grocery shopping, or to the library, or to a park—anywhere, so as not to be in his way.

He’d told me I didn’t need to clear out, but for my own sanity, I really did. I couldn’t be around him without regretting my decision, without showing him how much I craved his company, his presence, his body, his attention.

I knew this whole thing was on me, but in the long run, I also thought he would thank me for it. Our marriage was not real—it had never been real, it never could be real, right? We had married out of financial necessity, for Peter. That was the whole point of the arrangement, to make it easier for us to end it once the money came in.

He didn’t love me, and I didn’t love him.

Except…I was beginning to think that I did love him. That I had grown to love him. And that killed me, because I was also the one who had pushed him away.

Jack was so good to us. He was amazing with Peter. Throughout and after the kidnapping and Chiricahua crisis, he was nothing but generous and supportive, totally engaged, and totally dedicated to fixing it. And I knew, deep in my heart, that he absolutely did love my son—that was easy to see.

In the short time that we had lived all together, Jack had learned how to do the daily stuff—how to warm up a bottle, how to burp Peter and change his diapers, how to hold him, engage his interest, and shower him with love, just like any other daddy—just as I imagined Keith would have done.

Jack was daddy material, through and through—which probably would have shocked the heck out of him, had anyone suggested such a thing, even just a month or two ago.

Beyond that, Jack was good to me. Even after I told him I needed him to go.

He continued to check on me regularly, to see if I needed anything. He brought gifts to the house for me almost every time he came over. Baby stuff, or bath products for me, or take-out so I didn’t have to cook. He never came over empty-handed.

He kept on fixing up the house and cleaning up spaces that had previously been piled with man-junk. The guy was constantly making improvements so that I would be more comfortable.

I had thought, three weeks ago, that I would do much better without Jack in my life, distracting me. But the truth was becoming clear now: not having Jack more in my life was distracting me, and I didn’t like it at all.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him, missing him. I missed his voice, his laugh, his phenomenal scent. I missed his body, his size, his strength. I missed his eyes, his arms, his presence. I just missed him.

I’d gone and fallen in love with the guy. Brilliant. Just what I had promised myself I would not do.

Was there any chance…any hope…that—just maybe—Jack might have it in him to come to love me, too?

Could we make this work?

I didn’t know if he’d even want me, now that I had pushed him away so hard. But I was starting to think that I owed it to myself, and to Peter, to lay it on the line.

I had no idea what Jack thought or felt about me at this point. Sure, he’d been super generous and nice, doing all these great things for me in the past three weeks—scratch that. Jack had been doing great things for me since the very first day I met him.

He came off like a big tough badass biker dude—and yeah, he was that, for sure. But he was also supremely generous, and big-hearted, and caring, in his own way. He had some macho issues, but they paled in comparison with his goodness.

And I could call him out on them, and even as he would defend his Neanderthal ways, he would also see my point and laugh at both of us in our opposite corners of the ring.

Yeah. I needed to talk to him again. I needed to be real. I needed to allow myself—and us—to see if what we had could possibly be something more than I had ever allowed myself to hope for before.

My biggest fear now was that he really didn’t want me. But I had to ask. I had to know.

# # #

I had dropped Peter off at Holly and Bull’s house—she had quickly established herself as Grandma Holly, despite the lack of blood relation, and she awesomely offered to take Peter when I had called a few hours ago, even before I had the chance to ask her to do just that.