Page 100 of Snared Rider

I force a smile. I don’t care about a present, but my concern melts a little at Dad’s words. It’s also replaced by another feeling: anger. He’s missing my birthday. He promised he’d be here. We’re supposed to be going public about us tonight and I can’t do that without him.

“So, he’s okay?” I press. I shouldn’t; it could cause suspicion but since we’re telling everyone about us tonight anyway it doesn’t matter if Dad guesses. Plus, my need for reassurance he’s in one piece outweighs my concern about people knowing.

“Yeah, darlin’, he’s fine. I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he’s done. Now, let your old man get you a drink.”

By the early hours of the morning the party is winding down and yet there is still no sign of Logan. I head home in a taxi with Dad, my mind running through worst case scenarios. Dad said he was doing something for the Club, so I guess I need to stop worrying. If something happened to Logan I’m sure Dad would tell me, right?

I watch his face for any hint something else might be at play as he pays the cab fare, but his expression gives nothing away. He looks calm, collected, happy. He doesn’t look like a man hiding some terrible tragedy that he doesn’t want to share with me. In fact, he rambles on about the party as we walk from the taxi to the front door, and he keeps up his cheerful demeanour as he lets us into the house.

Maybe he was telling the truth about Logan. This soothes me for about three seconds because if Logan is okay and really is on Club business, then he missed my birthday.

“I hope you had a good night, sweetheart,” Dad says as we move into the kitchen. I place my clutch bag on the counter and slip out of my heels. My feet are grateful for this. I don’t usually wear them, but I’d dressed up tonight. Too bad my boyfriend did not get to appreciate the effort.

“Yeah,” I force a smile. “It was wonderful.” And it had been, aside from Logan’s disappearing act. “Thank you.”

Dad wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for a hug. “I can’t believe my baby is twenty. Quit growing, kid. You’re making me feel old.”

I laugh at him. “Sorry. I’m not sure I can do much about the ageing process, Dad.”

He stares at me a beat, studying my face.

“It seems like ten minutes ago you were running around with pigtails, clutching dolls. Now look at you. It blows my mind.”

I glance down at my hands unable to stop the smile from creeping across my face. Me and Dad have been through a lot and we came out the other side stronger for it, although it hasn’t always been plain sailing.

Do I wish things could have been different? Sure.

I wish he didn’t have to raise me alone. I wish he’d been a regular dad. I wish my mother had her shit together, so she could be here tonight.

Dad’s not perfect, but at least he’s here.

I tighten my hold on him.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, baby.” He pulls back. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for bed.”

As he says these words his phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and sighs.

“It’s Derek, darlin’; I’ve got to take this. I might be a while, so I’ll say goodnight now.” He kisses my head. “Happy birthday, kiddo.”

I take the hint and head up to my bedroom, grateful for the reprieve. As soon as my bedroom door is shut, I move to the bed and sink on to the edge, even as I unlock my phone.

I don’t hesitate to dial Logan’s number again, but as with every other time I’ve called him he doesn’t answer. I hope he’s just busy and not avoiding me because he missed my party.

Exhaustion finally pushes me into bed. My thoughts are heavy, not to mention unpleasant, as I lie staring at the ceiling. What the hell was so pressing for the Club that Logan had to miss my birthday party? Whatever it is I don’t find out the day after either because I don’t hear from Logan at all. The longer this silence persists, the higher my anxiety levels grow. He’s been on Club runs before, but he’s never been out of communication like this. He usually finds a moment in his day to call me, to message me, but it’s been radio silence since he dropped me off at home Saturday morning.

I guess I should get used to the uncertainty, the worry. As an old lady—as Logan’s old lady—this will be my future. I need to let him do what he needs to do for the Club without nagging him.

So, I stop calling him.

Monday dawns shrouded in dark storm clouds. This ominous omen does nothing to soothe my worries as I make breakfast. Dad is already up and out, despite it being before nine a.m. This isn’t usual, but it’s not entirely unusual either. I try not to read into every little event, but it’s hard not to.

I try to focus on getting through the day. I potter around the house, resisting the urge to call Logan again. It kills me not to, but I know I can’t. I don’t want to be clingy, or the crazy woman at home demanding to know where my partner is, even though I feel crazy right now. Every instinct screams at me that something is very, very wrong, and I don’t know who to turn to in order to fix it.

In the afternoon there is a knock on the front door. By this point I’m heading into nervous wreck territory, so I don’t even check the peephole before I drag it open.

I gasp when I see the large figure in the doorway.

---