Page 19 of Valley

Her laugh this time was harsher, filled with a mix of defiance and pain. “I would rather work fifty jobs than let a man have a right to my daughter who doesn’t want her. Asher was loud and clear about his resentment toward my baby. Going for child support would have given him access to Ellie. He would have treated her like an obligation, a dirty secret.”

“He’s a fucking loser,” I said, looking her in the eyes. “A piece of shit that didn’t deserve you in the first place.”

“You’re right,” she laughed, a genuine sound that filled the air as she shrugged off her jacket, laying it gently aside.

My gaze fell on her exposed wrists, curiosity bubbling up inside me. “What do these mean?” I asked, reaching out to lightly trace the inked lines that adorned her skin.

She followed my touch with her eyes, a soft smile playing on her lips. “This red bird is for my grandma Ellie,” she began, her voice carrying a tenderness that matched the warmth in hereyes. “She loved birdwatching, and she taught me to see the beauty in the little things.”

She paused, her finger moving to the eagle on her other wrist. “This one’s for my dad. His strength and courage... it’s something I’ve always admired. He’s been through so much, and he’s still standing tall, even if...” Her voice wavered slightly, but she quickly steadied it. “Even if he can’t stand at all.”

Her expression grew more thoughtful as she turned her arm to reveal the angel and the delicate outline of a music box on the inside of her wrist. “The Angel is for my Ellie,” she said, her voice softening with love. “And the music box... that one’s for me.”

I tilted my head, intrigued. “Why a music box?”

A wistful smile crossed her face, her finger absently tracing the tattoo as if she could feel the memory beneath her skin. “When I was seven, my grandma gave me my first music box. It was so beautiful, like a tiny piece of magic just for me. And when I opened it and saw the little ballerina twirl to the music... I was entranced. Completely lost in that moment. I fell in love with them, and I’ve been collecting them ever since. Each one reminds me of that feeling—of being safe, loved, and entranced by something simple yet beautiful.”

I couldn’t help but feel a connection to her in that moment, understanding the significance of those small symbols etched into her skin. They held stories, memories, just like my own tattoos. But a question lingered in my mind, one I wasn’t sure I should voice. Yet, the urge to know more about her won out. “What happened to your mom?”

The warmth in her smile vanished, replaced by a distant, hollow look that made my chest tighten with regret. “She left before Dad was brought back to the States,” she murmured, her voice growing colder, more detached. “She told Grandma she couldn’t live with a man who had no legs, said she’d come back for me one day.”

Madeline’s voice grew even quieter, barely above a whisper. “But she never did. We found out she died in a car accident two years later.”

Without thinking, I reached out and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close. The words that left my lips were soft, almost a confession. “Sometimes parents turn out to be shit, but you... you turned out perfect. Because you still had people who cared. People who saw you, loved you.”

I held her tighter, wishing I could take away the pain that lingered in her eyes, to erase any bad memories she still had in that pretty head of hers.

“YOU’RE SWEET, JARROD,” I murmured, snuggling intohis side. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, made me feel at home. It was a strange feeling, this sense of belonging with someone I hadn’t seen in years. “Talking to you is so easy.”

“I’m hardly what you’d call sweet,” he chuckled, his voice a soothing rumble that vibrated through me. There was a rough edge to it, as if sweetness was foreign to him, an idea he didn’t quite know how to grasp. “I’m just being honest.”

I leaned back, needing to see his face, to connect in a way that words couldn’t. His eyes held a world of untold stories,shadows that danced just out of reach. “What about you? What has Jarrod been doing since we last saw one another?”

His eyes darkened, the lively spark dimming as he looked away, and I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled into a fist at his side. He was battling something inside, a storm of memories that threatened to pull him under. “I prospected for The Devil’s House MC and been there ever since. I live at the clubhouse and work where they need me.”

His words hung heavy between us, like an unspoken secret that neither of us dared to confront. A pang of hurt stung me—didn’t he trust me enough to share more?—but I pushed it aside, knowing how hard it was to open up. “No serious girlfriends, children?”

“Fuck no,” he chuckled again, but this time it was hollow, his laughter tinged with bitterness that worried me a little. “Not that I have anything against either, but nothing has ever clicked.” His eyes avoided mine, and I could feel the walls he had built around his heart, thick and strong. There was a sadness in his tone, a loneliness that mirrored the emptiness I sometimes felt. He stood abruptly, reaching for my hand, as if he needed to escape the weight of the conversation. “There’s another overlook further down the path. Let’s check it out.”

He was avoiding the conversation, but I understood. Trust wasn’t easy, and I was usually the same way, hiding my feelings deep. Yet, with Jarrod, my defenses crumbled, piece by piece, leaving me vulnerable in a way that terrified me but I brushed it off. “Okay,” I replied, letting him help me up, feeling the warmth of his hand in mine, solid and reassuring.

As we walked, the forest enveloped us like a warm hug, the earlier conversation about his life forgotten, at least for now. Leaves rustled softly under our feet, the scent of pine and earth filling the air, grounding me in the present moment.

We talked about random things—favorite movies, songs that got stuck in our heads, places we wanted to visit. Nothing heavy, nothing that would force him to talk of his past. It was effortless, comfortable, as if we had been doing this for years, as if we had always been meant to find our way back to each other.

When he finally dropped me off, hours had slipped by unnoticed, the sun only an hour from dipping below the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything. We lingered by his bike, the cool evening air wrapping around us like a comforting blanket. His hand still held mine, a silent promise of more moments like this, of a connection that was slowly but surely growing between us. “Do you work tonight?” he asked, his grip firm and reassuring, as if he didn’t want to let go.

“No, I’m teaching a class at the studio,” I replied, wanting to see him again.

“You work tomorrow, right?” He was watching me closely now, as if trying to read my thoughts, to figure me out.

“Yeah, at six. Why?” I asked, curiosity piqued, wondering what was going through his mind.

“I’ll swing by and pick you up, and I can drop you off after work,” he suggested, a spark of determination in his eyes that said he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Snipe won’t mind if I take off a few minutes early.”

A smile spread across my face, happiness taking over, a warmth that chased away the last remnants of the chill that had lingered from that earlier conversation on the ledge.

“Yeah, that’d be fine.” My breathing picked up when he leaned down and kissed me, and not a peck, a deep kiss that had his tongue playing with mine. It was a kiss that made me warm all over, that made me forget about everything except the way he tasted, the way he made me feel, before he pulled back with a smirk and turned to his motorcycle.

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