“Mine,” he said. “First, though, I have something to show you.” And then, rather than heading to the front entrance, he stopped next to the garage, unlocked and lifted the heavy door, then flipped on a light.
Inside, Lucky’s motorcycle sat in one corner, and three more waited in his work area, all in various states of being disassembled and painted. It struck her suddenly that when Lucky’s customers arrived these days, she didn’t get nearly as irritated by the loud pipes as she once had. Maybe she’d just gotten used to it, but she more thought it had to do with having become so immersed in Lucky’s life. Those sounds were like . . . a part of him to her now, so she didn’t mind them anymore.
Standing in the garage, he took her hands in his and said, “I want to thank you, hot stuff.”
“For . . . ?” she asked, peering up into his dark, sexy eyes.
“For a lot of things. For making coming back to this town better than I expected. For helping me ease into this dad thing. And for going with me tonight. It meant a lot.”
It was hard to believe this was the same scary biker she’d met just weeks ago. He was still strong, tough—but she’d found more softness beneath his rough exterior than she could have imagined. “You’re very welcome,” she said softly. “You’ve . . . helped me a lot, too. More than you probably know.”
“I’ve got something for you,” he announced, then walked over to a shelf and took down a helmet—the sight of which made her gasp. It was a pearlized pink color with a daisy painted on each side, and her name curled across the back in feminine-looking letters.
“It’s perfect,” she said, stunned. Stunned to realize she was excited about having a motorcycle helmet. Stunned that one so perfect for her could exist. And stunned that Lucky knew her well enough already to
know
what was perfect. “I love it.”
“Good,” he said. “ ’Cause I really can’t have my girl riding around in that scratched up old black one you’ve been wearing.”
His girl.
She bit her lip and her stomach fluttered.
But . . . wow, this made it kind of official—she was a biker babe now. “If I’m becoming a biker chick,” she said, “does this mean I need to invest in some black leather?”
Lucky arched one brow, offering his usual sin-filled grin. “You can wear whatever you want. But I wouldn’t mind
seeing
you in some black leather.”
She flashed sexy eyes at him—but then said, “Just one thing, though. If you ever call me your old lady, I’m outta here.”
Her biker guy just laughed. “It doesn’t mean you’re old—it’s just how bikers talk.”
“I don’t care. I will not be anyone’s old lady, even when I’m an old lady. Got it, buster?”
He winked. “Got it, hot stuff.”
After that, she tried on her new helmet, even going inside to check her look in the bathroom mirror—yet as minutes began to pass, the reality of having Lucky in her life began to hit her harder. A week ago, it had been about the hot sex she’d craved for so long. But now . . . things were feeling very real. She was his girl. She had her own helmet for riding with him. And going with him to meet his son, experiencing that with him—had clinched it. They were connected way more than just physically now.
And as she saw her face in the glass peeking out from under a motorcycle helmet—definitely the last spring accessory she’d expected to be wearing—she knew this meant . . . she needed to start wondering, asking those questions again, about his past. She thought she knew Lucky—but did she? She’d never asked him about the scars she saw on his body during sex, but how had he gotten them? What would his secrets reveal about him? And would he ever tell her?
Still checking out her reflection, however, she let out a long breath and decided she’d have to shove those concerns to the back burner. For just a little longer. Because . . . there was something else Lucky had to deal with now, whether he liked it or not. And she felt compelled to push him a little, to help him through this next part of coming home, of really
being
home.
So as she took off her new helmet and turned to face him in his little bathroom, she said, “You know what comes next, don’t you?”
Lucky couldn’t help feeling a little arrogant at the moment, glad she liked the helmet—glad about the whole damn night. “You thank me for the helmet by ripping off my clothes?”
Tessa rewarded him with a pretty smile—yet replied, “I was thinking more in a big-picture way. About what comes next now that you’ve officially got Johnny in your life.”
In response, he just met her gaze and let out a sigh, his good mood instantly deflating. Damn. “I know what you’re thinking, but . . .” He stopped, shook his head. He knew it was shitty that he didn’t want to deal with this, but maybe he still felt like the same kid he’d been at twelve, and fourteen, and sixteen. Maybe he still felt . . . unwanted.
“I happen to know your parents get home from a cruise tomorrow,” Tessa said, “and that Mike plans to call and tell them you’re here. Maybe . . . I could tell Mike
you’re
going to call them instead.”
Lucky sucked in his breath, blew it back out. And felt a little mad at her for taking a great night and putting a damper on it. If he did this, if he called them, what would happen? Would they make him feel as crappy as Mike had? Would he find out he was right and that they’d have preferred he stay away? He didn’t answer her—just remained quiet.
That’s when Tessa reached out and took his hand. “It’s your
mom
, Lucky. I know she’d want to hear it from you, hear your voice.”
Aw, hell. She was right. This was his mom. His mom and dad. And no matter what problems they’d had, he should do this. He
had
to do this. He had a son now, after all—he had to stand up, be a man. Even if it was hard as hell.
So he looked Tessa in the eye. She was so smart.
“All right. I’ll do it.”
And she made him a better man than he would be without her.
I had yet an aching heart. I still felt as a wanderer on the face of the earth; but I experienced firmer trust in myself and my own powers, and less withering dread of oppression.
Charlotte Brontë,
Jane Eyre
T
essa still had moments almost every day when she felt less than top-notch. But they’d been fewer than usual lately. And she’d long ago quit mentioning those moments to anyone, figuring it could only make her—and them—feel worse. Now, as she watched Ellen talk about the power of positive thinking on her show, she hoped Ellen would be proud of her. Since she
was
doing more and more of that lately. And dancing. And laughing. In fact, right now she wore the “laugh. dance. ellen” tank top she’d ordered online—and she danced along with Ellen on TV, at the same time straightening her living room.
Maybe, at long last, she was accepting her condition. And mostly, life was good. Too good to dwell on the bad parts.
After the show ended, Tessa turned on the radio, loud enough to hear it outside, then exited onto the deck. And it wasn’t even in an effort to drown out the loud motorcycle she heard just then, either arriving at or leaving Lucky’s place—it was simply because she wanted to listen to music while she worked. Her flowers and tomatoes were growing like crazy now and it was time to water.
When the first notes of “You Shook Me All Night Long” blasted through her window, she didn’t hesitate to move her hips to the beat, hose in hand. And although she liked a wider variety of music than Lucky did—and had insisted just yesterday that they were going to start listening to some of
her
favorites when riding his bike in the future—she could also appreciate some good, old-fashioned AC/DC. She danced her heart out for the whole song, watering everything on the deck and also the bed of daisies by the woods, and had to admit dancing made the chore much more fun.
But when she heard a slow applause begin, it made her jump—just before she turned to face Lucky.
“Like I told you once before,” he said, clearly amused, “nice moves, babe.”
She simply smiled, since it was pleasant to no longer be embarrassed in front of him. “I just recently figured out that dancing is something that makes me happy,” she explained.
“Well,
watching
you dance makes
me
happy,” he replied. Although when he glanced deliberately down at the large bulge behind his zipper, she realized he didn’t actually mean
happy
, he meant
aroused
. But that suited her fine.
“And this time I didn’t even drench you with the hose,” she pointed out.
He leaned against the railing across the deck from her, arms crossed. “I kept my distance, just in case.”
And Tessa bit her lip, feeling a little frisky to know she turned her biker guy on so easily. “Hose is off, mister—so you don’t have to stay all the way over there.”
Her big, muscular man raised his eyebrows. “You flirtin’ with me, hot stuff?”
And in that moment, something in Tessa went a little wild. She’d been grabbing a lot of life lately, with few regrets, and now she wanted to grab more. “Would you consider . . .
this
flirting?” she asked, putting on an innocent voice even as she crossed her arms over herself and smoothly removed her tank top over her head. “Or
this
?” Then she reached behind her to the hook on her pale pink bra, soon flinging it aside to leave her topless before him.
Lucky’s eyes went dark with lust, making her pool with moisture in her panties. “Nope,” he said deeply. “I’d consider
that
downright naughty.” Then he crossed the deck toward her.
Within moments, she was completely naked in his arms and Lucky’s jeans were undone and he was inside her. She sat balanced on the rail in Lucky’s strong grasp. And it felt just as wild and carefree and forbidden as she’d hoped—but it was also . . . more. They looked into each other’s eyes beneath the green branches surrounding the deck, and she
knew
they were connecting on a deeper level. How on earth had this happened? How had dangerous Lucky Romo become such a fixture in her life? And more than that, how had he become a man she cared about?
As Lucky thrust into her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and followed the primal urges of her body, grinding against him in hot, rhythmic circles. She got lost in the mounting pleasure until, as usual with Lucky, she came quickly, moaning and whimpering in his embrace.
And it was only when the intense waves of pleasure subsided that she went still—realizing, remembering . . . things had happened so fast that he hadn’t put on a condom. God. That was a first with them—other than the very first time, she’d never even had to ask; Lucky had just always been prepared and ready. Now, she sucked in her breath, hard.
“What is it, babe? What’s wrong?” he murmured in her ear as she clung to him.
“We didn’t use protection,” she said, then lifted her head from his shoulder to meet his gaze.
Lucky didn’t even sound alarmed as he assuaged her fears. “I promise you’re safe, hot stuff. I wasn’t the most careful guy when I was young, but I once knew a guy who got a nasty STD, and after that, I got myself checked out. And then I got careful and stayed that way. This is the first time since then . . .” Yet then his voice trailed off, and she understood that the news about the condom hadn’t come as a surprise to him.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why with me?”
She looked into his eyes and saw the heat and emotion wash over his strong face. “I wanted to be closer to you.
All the way
close. Skin to skin.”
“Oh,” she breathed. Tessa had already had occasion to tell him she was on the pill, more for health purposes than to prevent pregnancy, but she supposed now it would get to perform its primary function. And she noticed he didn’t bother asking her if
he
was safe—maybe he already knew enough about her to know the answer. She’d never played risky games with sex.
Except as their gazes stayed locked and Lucky began to move in her again, it hit her that maybe that had changed—with Lucky. From their earliest encounters, something about him had made her want to be a little risky, take some chances. All along, she’d held her health woes responsible for that, but in this moment, she wondered if maybe it was only Lucky himself that had inspired so much recklessness in her lately.
“Aw, babe,” he murmured deeply as his strokes grew harder, faster.
And she whispered his name, and told him how much he excited her, and said she wanted to make him come. And then he did, pounding into her fiercely and gloriously until they finally slumped together there on the deck. And the whole world seemed warm and safe and right—so much more than before she’d met Lucky Romo.
L
ater that evening, after getting with Tessa on her deck, Lucky faced a much grimmer task. As dusk cast dark shadows over his newly done living room, he sat on his couch staring at the telephone on the end table next to him.
He liked the room—it felt warm yet modern, and maybe even a little tough, and he hoped Johnny would dig it, too. Damn, it was hard to fathom the changes Tessa had made in his life in such a short time. From redoing his house to . . . redoing his heart.
Was that what she’d done—made his heart over into something it hadn’t been before? Well, she was softening the damn thing, that was for sure. And . . . maybe she wasn’t making it into something new; maybe instead she was just peeling back all the hard layers that had grown overtop of it, helping him find . . . a little of the person he once used to be. Or . . . the person he
would
have been if life hadn’t taken a particularly bad turn that day at Bear Lake when they’d lost Anna.
No matter how he sliced it, though, he couldn’t deny it—he’d started to care for the woman. And it wasn’t exactly a decision he’d made—but something that had happened when he’d let his guard down. And now he was calling her his girl. How the hell had that happened? He wasn’t sure, and the knowledge was almost a little stifling added to everything else going on right now, but . . . damn it, the bigger truth was that he
liked
having a girl for once in his life. He liked spending time with her. He liked riding his bike with her. And God
knew
he liked sex with her. He just plain liked having her around.
Yet the thought made him lean back, rest his head on the couch, and let out a long breath. God, these were big changes. A girl. A son. All at once. So much big change was hard for a long-time loner. And he still wondered, deep down inside, if he could ever
really
be the kind of man a girl like Tessa wanted, needed—long term. If someone like him could ever meet her expectations—the built-in, lifelong kind. Maybe caring for her was dangerous.
But then . . . maybe it was just the
idea
of so much change that was difficult. Since, slowly but surely, he was doing all right with most of it. After all, no one had
made
him take responsibility for Johnny. And turned out he really liked the kid—and had experienced an immediate sense of pride that he’d helped
create
the kid. Already, he felt committed to making sure Johnny had everything he could ever want or need to make his life complete. To make his life better than Lucky’s had turned out.
And certainly no one was forcing him to spend so much time with Tessa. Tonight was the first night since they’d first gotten together that they were sleeping apart, at their own houses, because Tessa had an early day at the bookstore tomorrow, helping Amy with inventory, and both of them knew they weren’t getting much sleep lately because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. But as practical as it was for both of them, already he missed her.
Raising his head, he looked back toward the phone. There was one more big change that needed to come—Tessa was right, and he was glad she’d pushed him to do it. Now came the actual . . . doing it.
Finally, Lucky picked up the cordless receiver and looked at the little sticky note Tessa had given him with his parents’ number in Florida. Then he shook his head at the weirdness—that he’d had to get his own parents’ number from his new girlfriend. Very slowly, he keyed it in. And as it began to ring, his chest tightened painfully.
“Hello?”
God, his mother. How long it had been since he’d heard her voice? He felt numb for a second, almost paralyzed, until finally he said, “Mom?”
She was slow to respond, clearly confused by
his
voice. At length, she said, uncertainly, “Mike?”
He tried to catch his breath, but it was hard, especially given the lump that had just grown in his throat. “It’s . . . Lucky, Mom.”
He heard her gasp, then make a few small crying sounds that ripped his heart to pieces. Until she said, “Lucky, is it really you? Are you all right? Are you okay?” She sounded frantic.
“I’m fine, Mom, I’m fine,” he rushed to assure her, hearing the stark love in her voice. He wasn’t sure
what
he’d expected to hear, but he supposed it hadn’t been that. Maybe if he’d expected
that
, he’d have made this call years ago.
“Wh-where are you?”
God, the irony. “I’m in Ohio. In Destiny. I’m . . . at home.”
His mom continued to make stuttery, excited noises. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s you. And y-you’re at home? Wh-what are you doing there? Have you seen Mike—does he know?”
It remained a struggle to talk around the swelling in his throat. “Uh—Mike knows. I . . . bought a house out on Whisper Falls Road. And . . . I have a son.”
She still sounded just as stunned, understandably. “
What?
”
“That’s why I came home—I just found out I have a son in Crestview. I . . . just met him on Sunday. He’s nine—turns ten later this year.”
“Oh my God. My God.” Her voice went lower then; she was no longer speaking directly into the phone. “John, it’s Lucky! Lucky’s on the phone!”
“What?” he heard his dad say in the background, and a moment later, his father picked up an extension. “Lucky? Lucky, it’s your dad. Are you all right, son?”
His eyes began to ache and he had to shut them. If only . . . if only his dad had ever sounded half as concerned when Lucky was growing up. “I’m fine, Dad—I’m good.” Then he relayed some of the same stuff he’d just told his mom, about being in Destiny, about having a kid. His mom had gone quiet and he sensed she was crying. He ran his free hand back through his hair and tried to stay cool, as much as he could surrounded by so much damn emotion he wasn’t used to.
“Lucky, we’ll be on a plane tomorrow,” his father said.
But Lucky tried to stop them. “No, you don’t have to do that. I don’t want to put you out.” God, what was he saying? “Any more than I already have, I mean.”
“Nonsense,” his dad said. “Of course we’re coming to see you! Of course we are!”
“Nothing could keep us away,” his mom insisted.
“My God, I can’t believe it’s really you,” his dad said on a happy-sounding sigh.
“I . . . I can’t wait to see you guys,” Lucky heard himself say. And in one sense, it was a lie—something said out of guilt, or just to fill the air. He’d run away from them once, after all. And despite all the trouble he’d found out in the world, he’d never really missed the life at home he’d left behind. But in another very real, visceral sense—down in his gut, in a way he couldn’t run from or deny—he realized it was the complete truth. Now that he finally felt their love—God, he wanted to see them more than he’d wanted anything in a long time.
Talk about big changes.
T
he following night, Lucky found himself riding his bike down Meadowview Highway, a road he hadn’t seen since he was eighteen and headed in the opposite direction, leaving town in a fast car. And as he drove up into the gravel driveway to one side of his old home, which now belonged to Mike, he felt . . . disconnected from his own life, his own past. The house looked the same except for small things: a new mailbox, unfamiliar cars in the driveway, and the maple tree in the front yard had grown, almost seeming to dwarf the two-story farmhouse now. So it felt like coming home . . . but different, scarier. He was only thirty-four, but for the first time in his life, he began to feel . . . old. In some ways, anyway.