Harley (Cerberus MC)

“Firstly, that burger last night was amazing, and I’m hoping you’ll feed me again. Secondly, I’m not planning to sit outside that house the entire time.”

I tilt my head, finding it encouraging that my mind doesn’t immediately go to doubt and worry.

“You planning to sit on the porch instead?” I tease, but also making it clear he will not be joining me inside.

I hate Ronald Higgle and Karen Bishop even more in this moment. Boomer is adorable, and I know had we met at a different time in my life, we would easily be friends.

“Yardwork,” he says, scrunching his nose.

“They’re making you do yardwork?”

“We’re doing yardwork,” he says, waving his finger between the two of us.

It’s my turn for a nose scrunch. “It’s so hot.”

“And sweat is good for the soul.”

“Is it a riding lawn mower?” I imagine I can sit and ride, but a push mower would have me passing out from exhaustion.

“We’re not mowing, we’re weeding and planting. I figured you could ride with me to the flower nursery or I could follow you.”

“Your tone makes it sound like you’re not giving me an option on the gardening.”

He grins, looking more boyishly cute than ever before. “That’s non-negotiable. So, riding or following?”

“How about you follow me back to the house, and then I’ll ride with you to the nursery?”

His head jerks back a little before he can catch himself, but it’s clear that he’s surprised I agreed to ride with him. I should tell him not to get too impressed. I could easily change my mind between now and then.

Chapter 6

Harley

As far as Emmalyn’s concerned, my photo would be under the word asshole in the dictionary.

She didn’t say as much, but her concern when asking me what happened after I stormed out of the daycare like a child having a tantrum made me feel that way.

Once again, I apologized and promised to have better behavior because I couldn’t tell her the real truth. The fact that I saw Ali in that room and my first thought was just how damn pretty she is made me sick to my stomach, and I’m an even bigger jerk for taking my own lack of ability to control my feelings out on her.

It made perfect sense for the woman who took care of my child all day long to mention that Aria’s bottom was a little irritated. I would’ve been even madder had it not been mentioned, and I discovered the redness myself.

I once again blame my annoyance with Alyssa Dansby on my current situation and everything that has happened recently, trying to ignore that voice in my head that keeps reminding me that none of it is her fault. Blaming someone else is always easier than facing my own demons, even though those beasts are constantly breathing down my neck.

“You’re clean and fed, baby girl,” I say softly as I pace around the room, patting Aria’s back. “I don’t know why you’re still so upset.”

She’s been crying for the last hour, and it makes me feel like a liar, considering I told Ali that I knew how to take care of my own daughter. Right now, I have no damn clue what she needs to soothe this crying away.

“We’ll go for a ride,” I decide out loud, managing to keep her on my chest while grabbing her diaper bag from the closet.

I crank the SUV from inside the clubhouse, waiting several minutes for the vehicle to cool down.

“Fussy today?” Apollo asks from the couch. Nate is splayed out asleep on his lap.

“Yeah,” I grumble. “Going to take her for a ride.”

“We could join you,” he offers.

“I just need some time alone with her,” I respond.

I can’t tell him that I plan to drive by my old house on the off chance of seeing Ali. I have this urgency to apologize to her even though I know I probably never will. Admitting guilt and wrongdoing has always been hard for me. It caused more than one problem between Lana and me.

I shake my head, annoyed to have mentally put Lana and Ali into the same categories even when thinking of my own character flaws.

“Sounds good, but I’m here if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, man,” I tell him before leaving the clubhouse and loading Aria into her infant seat in the center of the backseat.

She’s already calmed some, but I know from experience, the minute I walk back into the clubhouse, the crying will renew. She’s simply recharging her lungs right now.

I wipe a tear from her cheek. “Let’s go for a ride, angel.”

I turn the satellite radio to a kids station, something I told myself I’d never do, but Aria has never been impressed with the hard rock I prefer. So long as she’s happy, it doesn’t matter that the low throb of a threatening headache is starting behind my eyes before the third chorus of “Wheels on the Bus.”