Page 4 of Valley

I took another long pull from my beer, the smooth liquid still doing little to wash away the bitterness I felt creeping in, the sense that no matter how hard I tried to accept my fate, I would always be on the outside looking in, old and alone.

As I glanced around the room, the usual noise of the clubhouse faded into the background, the conversations overlapping into a dull hum, the laughter ringing out from the pool table. The familiar smells of the clubhouse hung heavy in the air, clinging to my clothes, my skin, a reminder of the life I’d chosen. Same as my dad and I thought the brotherhood of the club would be enough to keep me happy. But lately, it hasn’t been. Its walls closing in around me, suffocating me with every passing day.

“You good, Valley?” Lucky asked, his tone softer, more concerned, his eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t give.

I forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind. Guess I need to get used to Twisted Heat again.”

“You’ll be fine,” he assured me, his voice filled with a confidence I didn’t feel at the moment. “At least you got Snipe and won’t have Jonesy drivin’ you up a wall.”

I nodded, appreciating the concern, but knowing it didn’t really matter where I worked. The emptiness inside me wasn’t something a new job could fix, and it wasn’t something I could outrun, no matter how fast or far I rode.

As the night wore on, I let myself get lost in the usual banter and bullshit, the familiar rhythm of the clubhouse lulling me into a false sense of normalcy, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that things were changing faster than I could keep up with. I knew I should be grateful for what I had—brothers who had my back, a place to call home—but all I could think about was what I didn’t have.

What I could never have.

When the clubhouse finally started to clear out, I finished my beer and stood up, tossing goodbyes. “Catch you later, Lucky.”

He gave me a knowing look but didn’t push it. “Take it easy, Valley.”

I walked out into the night, the late-night cool air hitting me like a slap in the face, the chill cutting through the leather of my jacket, reminding me that I was still alive, still here. The roar of my bike cut through the silence as I fired it up, the vibrations running through me, grounding me in the moment. But as I rode away from the clubhouse, the dark road stretching out before me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how fast I went, I couldn’t outrun the loneliness that was always nipping at my heels.

And maybe I never would.

CHAPTER THREE

Chapter Two

“PROMISE YOU’LL COMEto the wedding on Saturday,”Sarah said, taking my hands in hers, her eyes filled with sincere hope. The soft pressure of her grip was a gentle reminder of the bond we shared, one forged in a place where true friendships were rare.

I hesitated, the words caught in my throat. “I don’t know, Sarah, I mean...” My voice trailed off as the memories of Jonesy’s disdain surged, unbidden and sharp, like shards of glass. He had never hidden his contempt for us—for me. I had once foolishly convinced myself that the intensity in his gaze was directed at me, that maybe, just maybe, he saw past Mandy, thedancer, to Madeline, the woman. For once, it felt like a man saw through the façade, past the glitter and the stage lights.

But it was always Sarah.

I was nothing more than a cheap stripper in his eyes, and the realization had been a brutal slap to my pride. Even now, the embarrassment still stung, a bitter pill I had swallowed for being so stupid.

“Stop that, Madeline,” Sarah’s voice cut through my thoughts, gentle yet firm. She squeezed my hands, grounding me back to the present. “You’re coming. Margie and some of the others will be there too. You won’t be alone.”

I sighed, feeling a mix of resignation and gratitude. “Fine, I’ll be there.” The words left my lips with more ease than I expected. Sarah was one of the few who had ever bothered to look beyond Mandy, the performer, to see Madeline. In this world, friends like her were rare—a treasure I didn’t want to lose.

Jonesy revved his motorcycle, the deep rumble of the engine a loud sound that set my nerves on edge. Tonight was his last night managing the club, and I couldn’t say I’d miss his cold stares and even colder remarks. Still, a pang of something—regret?—stabbed at me. What if things had been different? What if I had been different? Would it have mattered?

Sarah rolled her eyes at the sound, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she turned to leave. “See you Saturday,” she called over her shoulder, her voice light, but I could hear the underlying worry she still carried for me.

I watched her climb on behind Jonesy, her arms wrapping around his waist with a familiarity that made my chest ache. Despite my happiness for her, I couldn’t shake the sharp pang of envy that lodged itself deep in my heart. I longed to be that woman—the one a man would cherish and protect, love deeply, and never stray from. But men like that were rare, especially in aplace like Twisted Heat, where women were treated like meat at a cattle sale.

As their motorcycle roared away, the night air was heavy with the scent of exhaust and something more elusive—loneliness?—as I climbed into my van, feeling the weight of my reality settle over me like a suffocating blanket. My knight in shining armor had never shown up, and the dream that he ever would was fading with each passing day.

I’m such a romantic girl at heart and truly believe you have a soul mate, but mine appears to be lost in some other world.

The drive home was a blur of city lights and shadows, my thoughts a tangle of regrets and resolutions. By the time I pulled up to my apartment, I had steeled myself to be the version of me that my dad and Ellie needed to see—the strong, unbreakable Madeline who never faltered, never let the darkness of her world seep into theirs.

Slipping the key into the lock, I entered the apartment quietly, the familiar creak of the door announcing my arrival. A smile spread across my face as I saw my two-year-old, Ellie, curled up on Dad’s lap, sound asleep. The sight of them together always melted away the day’s hardships, if only for a moment. Dad, never a deep sleeper, opened his eyes as I reached to pick Ellie up. “Let me put her to bed real quick,” I whispered, gently cradling her tiny body in my arms, her soft blonde curls tickling my chin as I carried her to her room.

Kissing her head, I tucked her into bed, smoothing the blanket over her small form. She was my light in this dark world, the one thing that kept me going when everything else felt like it was crumbling. I lingered for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her chest, before quietly closing the door.

Back in the living room, Dad was lifting himself from the sofa into his wheelchair. I had long stopped asking if he needed help; his pride wouldn’t allow it, and I had learned to respect that. Hehad lost both his legs to a car bomb in Afghanistan, but he never lost his spirit. Grandma Ellie, my daughter’s namesake, had seen to that. She had been the one to pull him out of the darkness, to help him rebuild his life when everything he knew had been shattered.

“Did you have a good night?” Dad asked, wheeling himself to the kitchen. His voice sounding tired but still held that comforting timbre that had soothed me as a child.

---