Saving Glory (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club Book 4)

by Paula Marinaro

  “Nah. Fuck it. We’re here now.” Jules let go of her hand and knocked heavily on the carved oak.

  A minutes or so passed with no answer and Jules raised his hand to knock again when the door was flung wide open. The man, who was about to step outside, paused midstride, took a step back and closed the door just slightly.

  “Oh, I am sorry. I was just about to leave. I didn’t hear anyone knocking,” he explained. Then he frowned in apparent confusion. “Can I help you with something?”

  He looked to be in his early sixties, tall, slightly built, and very well, but casually, dressed. A light blue, tissue weight cashmere sweater covered his thin torso, pleated and perfectly pressed khaki pants hung from his narrow hips.

  They all just stared at each other for a moment.

  Jules cleared his throat.

  Twice.

  Then with his face a blank mask he asked, “Is my ...uh…my…uh… is Vicky home?”

  The words hung in the air for a full moment, before the man at the door recovered.

  “You have business with my wife?” His look of incredibility just about broke Glory’s heart.

  Victoria’s husband had no idea who Jules was.

  Maybe he didn’t even know his wife had a son.

  Jules and the man just stared at each other for a moment. And it was all Glory could do to keep her mouth shut. She studied the ground in awkward embarrassment, unwilling to face the pain that she knew must be evident on Jules’s face.

  “Do you know who I am?” His voice ground out. “Why I’m here?”

  “No.” The man shook his head. “I have no idea who you are. Or what business you could possibly have with my wife.”

  For all the painful messages those words conveyed, Glory noticed that the man’s tone was not unkind. To her at least, his demeanor seemed more confused than contemptuous. But Glory knew that Jules would not hear it that way.

  “Enough said,” Jules growled. “Sorry to waste your time.”

  With that he grabbed Glory by the hand and pulled her down the steps and along the cobbled walk to the bike.

  “Wait!” The man called out suddenly. They looked up to find him running down the pathway towards them.

  “My wife…she has a son.” He looked at Jules. “Are you by any chance, Jules?”

  Jules cleared his throat and nodded.

  “My name’s Sherwood…Nathan Sherwood… Nate,” He stammered then held out his hand.

  Jules hesitated just slightly before he engulfed the man’s hand in his large paw.

  “Jules.” Jules withdrew his hand and gave Glory a tight squeeze around the waist. “And this is Glory.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Glory dimpled at him.

  "The pleasure is all mine, Glory.” His smile seemed genuine.

  Then Nate Sherwood looked from Glory to Jules and back again.

  “Will you come in?” he asked.

  “Thought you were going out,” Jules muttered. He was suddenly extremely uncomfortable. His heart was racing and he had broken out in a cold sweat.

  Fucking panic attack. Hadn’t had one in years…

  Nate looked at him closely. “You okay, son?”

  Son.

  Jules bristled at the term, but when he looked at the man standing before him, Jules saw only kind concern radiating out from his eyes.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Thought you were going out?” Jules repeated as he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

  “Just a lecture. There’s a few a month. Nothing I can’t miss and besides I was going out but your mother is out in the back gardening. It will only take me only a moment to go get her. Please. Come in.” Nate was not to be dissuaded.

  “We’re just passing through, we’ll come back another time. We don’t want to put you to any trouble.” Jules willed his hand to stop shaking as he reached for his helmet.

  “We would love to come in.” Glory’s voice rang out strong and clear.

  Damn interfering…

  “Jules?” A woman’s voice rang out from across the lawn towards him.

  And poof.

  Just like that.

  Jules was ten years old again.

  “Jules?” The voice was getting closer.

  “Jules?” The voice was getting louder.

  “Oh my God! Jules!” His mother had pulled him into her loving arms and was holding him tighter than he had ever been held before.

  “Thank you.” His mother whispered into his ear. “Thank you for coming home to me.”

  About the Author

  Paula Marinaro was born and raised on the North Shore of Boston. She currently lives with her husband in Western Massachusetts.

  She holds an associate’s degree in criminal justice, a bachelor’s degree in sociology, and a master’s degree in education. When she is not writing, she is teaching writing to a delightful group of elementary students!

  Paula considers herself to be a lifelong learner and enjoys international travel. She is extremely proud to be the mother of two children, Jake and Leah.