When I was sure I wasn’t going to bust up into tears, I set her down.
“Shit. Sorry about that,” I said, turning away from her so she wouldn’t see my face. “I kinda got carried away.”
“It’s all right. Let’s go home, okay?” She grabbed my hand and started back to the truck.
“Yeah. Home is good,” I murmured as I helped her into the truck.
I just wanted to put my feet up and have a beer and talk to Miriam. Had she seen the resemblance between Christophe and me? Did she think his hair would darken to more of a reddish brown like mine? Maybe I could ask her for a drink and we could talk. Just friends. Did men and women do that? Could we just talk without the sex and everything? I wasn’t sure.
We were both silent as I started the truck and backed out of the spot.
I turned on my blinker to pull into traffic.
“Oh,” Miriam said. “My office is left.” Fuck. I had actually been taking her back to my house. I wanted to talk all night, about my son and what I wanted for his future.
I pulled myself back to reality. She wasn’t my friend. She was my lawyer and would probably bill me by the hour.
I dropped her off at her office and went home to my empty room at the clubhouse.
Chapter Nine
Miri
Sheena flipped through her notepad as we prepped for the Scalini divorce. All the depositions were in, and we were going before the judge in two days. I was mostly prepared, but it was going to be a bitter feud, and I didn’t want any surprises.
“I think that’s everything,” Sheena said, putting the cap back on her pen. “Today’s another supervised visit, right? The Devaneaux custody case?”
“Yes, that’s my three o’clock.” I pretended to consult my calendar. I knew it was today—I’d been waiting all week. I frowned. “Do you have any new items on the case?”
“I was just wondering what you were going to wear.” Sheena grinned and leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Are you going to wear the vest again? That was superhot.”
Looking down at my clothes, I felt panic rising in my chest. My outfit had looked fine when I put it on this morning, but maybe Sheena was right. I needed to dress the part. The vest had been successful—Jean Luc had said I looked like a woman he would date, but he also called my vest a costume.
“Is this inappropriate?” I looked down at my brown pantsuit and matching pumps. “We’re just going to McDonald’s for a snack. They have a play area.”
“You can’t wear that to McDonald’s with a biker and his son,” she insisted, jumping out of her chair. “I’ve got something you can wear.”
After a few minutes of trying on clothes, I ended up in Sheena’s denim jacket, the cream-colored blouse from my brown suit, and my black yoga leggings.
“All right.” I opened the door to my office for Sheena’s approval. “Do you think I’ll pass for his girlfriend?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “You’re more athleisure chic than biker, but I think it works.”
I said goodbye to Sheena and headed out. Stopping in the gym, I stared at myself in the long mirror. This outfit was a lot different than the vest, and I was glad. The vest felt like I was trying too hard, but this was more comfortable. I stared at my reflection and thought of my wardrobe at home. I owned one pair of jeans; everything else was boring and formal. Maybe it was time to change things up a little—and not just in my wardrobe. My whole life needed a shakeup.
I pulled into the parking lot at McDonald’s and looked for the brown truck that Jean Luc had picked me up in previously. There was no brown truck, just a motorcycle. I hadn’t gotten a good look at his bike at the motel, but I assumed it was his.
After finding a spot, I walked over to the bike. Still no Jean Luc. The bike was black with lots of shiny chrome. When the paint caught the sun just right, the face of a woman with long hair emerged. Once you saw her, it was difficult to forget. She was so detailed, with a slight smile and closed eyes.
“You like her?”
I jumped and snatched my hand back. Jean Luc was standing there—he must have been kneeling on the other side of the bike when I pulled in. I didn’t realize I had tried to touch it.
“Sorry. The painting is lovely. Who is she?” I asked.
As soon as the question left my mouth, I didn’t want to know the answer. She was some beautiful long-lost girlfriend or wife. Someone I didn’t want to know existed.
He ran his fingers over the paint. “She’s my mom.”
“Oh.” I blew out a breath. “She’s beautiful.”
“Where’s your leather vest?” He grinned. “You know, your girlfriend costume.”
I laughed. I’m sure I blushed, too, as I thought of that vest. “My roommate convinced me to wear it.” I felt my cheeks get hot. I had to be blushing. “She said it would make things more believable.”
“I certainly believed it.” He winked.
My heart stopped. Was he flirting? I had no idea. I couldn’t remember the last time I flirted with someone. I didn’t know what to do, so I opted for business. “Are Davide and Christophe here yet?” I looked around the parking lot. I could have missed the blue truck.
“We’re both a little early.” Jean Luc shook his head.
“I brought the DNA test.” I patted my purse. “It’s very straightforward. Just a cheek swab, and then we send it in to the lab. We’ll need one performed by the county if we go to court, but this is good enough for now.”
“I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to come up with the forty grand Davide wants.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess I’m not really sure what to do.”
I smiled. I knew what I was doing with this type of conversation. “If he finds out you don’t have the money, will he leave town?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” Jean Luc said. “He won’t stick around if there’s no gravy train.”
“We could file the paperwork, suing for custody, but he’ll leave town immediately.” I racked my brain to think of another solution. Most of my clients were local or interested in fighting with their spouse to get as much as possible. This case was a little out of the ordinary. “Or we could call CPS and open an investigation.”
“What would happen then?” Jean Luc asked. He frowned. “I don’t want my kid to go into a foster home. Isn’t that what would happen if we get CPS involved?”
“What if you’re the foster home?” I asked. This was definitely not my standard procedure, but it could work. “You can volunteer to be a foster parent, and then he can go to your house until custody is determined.”
I walked around the bike until I was standing next to him. Involving CPS was the perfect idea. I’d never thought of it until now. “I’m your lawyer. Let me do my job.” I put my hand on his arm. “I know the thought of foster care and family court and everything sounds daunting, but you’re right—Davide is going to run, and he’s going to take Christophe with him. We need to take steps to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“I’ll think about it.” Jean Luc nodded as a big blue truck rumbled into the parking lot. Davide and Christophe had arrived.
* * *
Once the boys got their food, I left Jean Luc and Christophe eating French fries and went to go find Amy. I was thinking a little girl talk might be just the thing to see what their plans were.
“Hey.” I sat down next to her on the curb.
She offered me a lit cigarette. I froze. I’d never had a cigarette in my life, but I was playing Jean Luc’s girlfriend. Would he date someone who smoked?
“No thanks, I quit a while back.” I was getting good at pretending to be his girlfriend. “How are you doing this evening?”
She shrugged. “All right. Just waitin’ to go home is all.”
This was the kind of informat
ion I wanted. “Back to your room, or back to Louisiana?” I prompted.
Amy took one last puff on the cigarette and rubbed the tip on the ground. “Mississippi,” she clarified. “Can’t go back to Louisiana no more. I miss home, though. The food just ain’t the same in Biloxi.”
I nodded, trying to keep her talking. “What happened in Louisiana?”
She looked hard at me, then her eyes narrowed. “Just stuff.” She lit up another cigarette. “How long you been together?”
Jean Luc and I hadn’t discussed that, so I wasn’t sure what to say. Instead, I took a page from her book. “A while. Long enough, I guess.” It was my turn to shrug.
“You Skeeter’s old lady? I saw your vest, but no patch.”
I had no idea what being an old lady meant. Was that the same as a wife? I decided it would be best to just stick to what we had agreed.
“I’m his girlfriend.” I tried to smile. Was she judging me? Did I pass the test as a biker’s girlfriend? “Why do you call him Skeeter?” I asked. “I’ve never heard anyone called that.”
“He used to have real red hair.” Amy stared off into the distance as though she was remembering the old days. “He had a red head, like a big old mosquito. We call ’em skeeters down south, you know.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say. I couldn’t imagine comparing a tall, strong man like Jean Luc to a tiny buzzing insect. “I like ‘Jean Luc’ better.”
Amy shrugged. “You know, I fucked him once.” She took a drag on her cigarette.
That was unexpected. I dropped my purse to the asphalt and turned to face her.
“Really?” I asked.
She nodded and smiled. “Homecoming dance. I was a freshman, he was a senior. Before he hooked up with Delphie.” She took another nice long drag. “I doubt he even remembers it now. Skeeter had so many girls. Seems different with you, though. The way he looks at you. He don’t look through you like he did with me. Just wanted you to know.”
“Really?” He was different with me? I blinked and realized that was a compliment. I wanted to be different to him—stand out from the crowd. He made my life a little less boring, and I guess I wanted to return the favor.
Girl talk with Amy had been very interesting. “Thanks for telling me.”
Amy stubbed out her second cigarette and made sure the flame was completely out before putting it back in the box. Doors opened behind us, and I heard Christophe chattering about a big catch he had made in Little League. She and I walked over to the men.
“Before we say goodbye, I have the test,” I said. I smiled and tried to look as non-threatening as possible.
We read the directions and swabbed Christophe’s cheek in the middle of the parking lot. Christophe turned solemn and kept his eyes shut during everything.
“Results in two weeks.” I showed Davide the box. He didn’t turn the box over to read it, just stared at the picture on the front.
“Two weeks, huh? I want my money when those results come in.” He nodded to Jean Luc. “You’d best make sure.”
They shook hands. “Yeah, I’ll have it,” Jean Luc promised.
Jean Luc and I leaned against my car as the blue pickup pulled out of the parking lot. “Fuck.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I’m not gonna have forty grand in my pocket in two weeks.”
“We’ll go through CPS.” I turned to him. “If Davide is treating Christophe well, then no one will get into trouble. You’ll have to pay back child support, but it will be in payments, and he’ll be living with you if we can prove paternity. It won’t be that bad.”
“I don’t mind paying my share,” Jean Luc explained. “The court system is damn scary. It might just be easier to pay Davide, but I don’t have forty grand on hand right now. I could talk to him about payments, maybe.”
“Do it the right way, Jean Luc,” I pleaded. “If you try and do a payment plan with Davide, he’ll never go away. He’ll always be there with his hand out, and you’ll end up having to go through the state anyway.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Just do it legally,” I said. “The courts aren’t that scary. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
“You promise?” he asked, covering my hand with his.
He pulled me in and gave me a hug.
Just like last time, I held on to his shoulders while my feet swung in the breeze. The hug wasn’t as long as last time, though, and he put me back on my feet. When he set me down, I felt like crying. I hadn’t realized how much I had been looking forward to feeling his arms around me.
“Thanks.” He smiled, and the air between us tightened. “It’s always hard to let Christophe go. I appreciate you being here, pretending to be my girlfriend and all. Thanks for the support.”
“Right, sure.” I nodded. He’d been thinking about his son—not his lawyer.
Chapter Ten
Skeeter
Getting to see Christophe was the best fucking part of my week. The second-best part was hugging Miriam afterward.
This time we met up at a church carnival. When I pulled into the parking lot of the church, it all came rushing back. Funny, I had forgotten it was Easter. At home, there were all sorts of events, and Mama would cook all damn week. We’d end the week at church and then later a big supper and egg hunt for the kids. Now I didn’t even realize it was coming.
I parked my bike and tried to find Davide’s car. He wasn’t here yet. Neither was Miriam. So I leaned against my bike and watched the families. Pretty soon I would be a dad—not just with visitations. It was a Catholic church, so mostly two-parent families. Maybe I oughta look up the local parish out by my place and join up. Might give Christophe some activities and friends outside of the club.
There had to be some single women too. Those church girls always liked being mamas. I’d find a nice girl. Her name would be Mary. Not Miriam. Curly-haired lawyers named Miriam didn’t join the local parish.
Not that I had the hots for my lawyer. Fuck. I shrugged outta my jacket and carefully stashed it in my saddlebags. I did the same with my cut. Didn’t want to scare the priest.
The little white coupe that I’d been waiting on pulled into the lot. I strained to see inside. Was she wearing that vest again? Or maybe those skintight leggings? I was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing underwear when we went to McDonald’s.
She got out of the car, and there was no vest. I nearly laughed at myself. I shouldn’t be caring what my lawyer wore, dammit. She shouldn’t mean this much. But she did. Somehow the experience of meeting my kid and having her with me for support got all wrapped up with need and want for her and a family and everything. Fuck.
“Hey.” She stood next to me and cocked her head. “Where is your motorcycle uniform?”
“Motorcycle uniform?” I laughed and pointed to my saddlebags. “It’s called a cut. I didn’t want to give the priest nightmares.”
She laughed, and her breasts jiggled just a little. No leather top like last time, but some sort of tight red T-shirt and black jacket. Just a hint of sexy.
“Why is it called a cut?” She dug her hands in her pockets.
Before I could answer, the blue truck roared into the church parking lot in a cloud of white smoke. Davide’s radiator was toast for sure.
Davide, the girlfriend, and Christophe all piled out and stepped through the puff of blue smoke. “Truck having problems?” I asked, trying to keep it light.
Davide looked at the truck and back to me, scratching his head. “Yeah, blew the hose, and that caused a leak in the tank. Now I need a whole fucking new radiator. You think you could help me out with that?” He grinned and stuck out his hand for a shake. “A down payment.”
Fucking shit. And so it began. Davide and his damn extortion. Christophe was chattering to Miriam, not paying attention. I pulled out my wallet. Tate had just droppe
d me some cash from the last car that we sold, so I had money on hand.
“Here’s two hundred. That’s all I got. Should buy something at a wrecking yard.” I cringed as I handed him the bills. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Miri was right. If I gave him money, Davide would never go away. Trying to work out a payment plan with him was going to tie me to this asshole forever. I needed Christophe to be mine and have Davide out of our life forever.
“Merci.” He smiled and shoved the cash into his pocket. “Don’t you go nowhere. I’ll be right back, and if you ain’t here, there will be hell to pay.”
I rolled my eyes. “Embrasse moit chew.” Kiss my ass.
I could just take him. Screw Davide’s warning. I could be long gone with Christophe by the time he got back with his radiator hose. It was damn tempting. But that would mean kidnapping, and I needed to do this within the law. How would I get legal rights to be his father if I kidnapped him?
I turned to Christophe. “You ready to go on some rides?”
He was nine years old. He was born ready for rides.
* * *
Two hours later, Miriam and I leaned on the metal fence that separated the spectators from the panda bear roller coaster. Christophe was standing in line and comparing ticket stubs with another group of boys his age.
I sidled close to her and asked, “So, two weeks before we get the DNA results back?”
She leaned in as well. “It could be up to two weeks. They could possibly be early, but probably not until next week. I’ll call you as soon as I know.”
I nodded. “Damn, I want those results now.” I asked, “What will happen when we get the letter?”
“As soon as we receive proof of paternity, I’ll call CPS and inform them that there is a child living in a motel who is not enrolled in school, and they can open an investigation. They’ll take Christophe and put him in foster care for the duration of the investigation. We’ll have you approved before that as a foster parent, and if I can get a sympathetic judge, he can stay with you. Then we will sue for custody. We’ll have to do another DNA test, but it should go pretty fast. You won’t have to pay Davide his extortion money, and you and Christophe will live happily ever after.”
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