Page 18 of Frosty the Biker

“No clue,” I murmured.

“He’s here every year. He can’t be a serial killer or terrorist bomber. Right?” She lifted her gaze to mine again.

“Want me to open it?”

She nodded.

Carefully, I untied the satin bow and let it fall to the table. Nothing happened, so I lifted the lid and frowned in confusion at the contents.

She craned her neck to look inside.

There was a folded piece of paper, what looked like a house key with an address written on the cardboard tag in a shaky scrawl, and an oval-shaped stone the size of my palm. The stone had several stripes with a sort of reflective sheen to them. I realized there was also a small key attached to the house key as well.

“That’s a labradorite,” Ryian murmured. “Anson loves them for some reason. He carries one in his pocket like a little old man.”

After handing it to Ryian, I opened the note and smoothed it out on the table. It read, “Best Surgical Oncologist with a phone number. Call him—he’s already aware of her case.”

Ryian started crying.

“MainAttraction”—JeremyRenner

My day had been one upheaval after another. Just when I thought there couldn’t be more, I got sucker-punched with something else.

New Orleans was a crazy city, but it seemed to be especially off the chain today. What made me decide to ride along with the sport bike guy that passed me on the outskirts of town? There had simply been something about him that called to me. There was a connection that I thought was just the thrill of an accompanied ride with a fun stranger.

“Ryian?”

With a sniffle, I tried to stop the tears from falling. It was a hopeless cause.

Today, I’d seen my son’s father for the first time since I left my home behind. My son met his father, who he acted like he’d known all his life. My son revealed that he’d been “seeing” his father in his head and was fully aware of who he was. I believed my mom was being blackmailed, or at the very least, harassed by possibly the mob. My mom was diagnosed with cancer. I ran into Dalton again while I was out riding my bike. I found out that the reason I left may have been a huge misunderstanding and an out and out lie. Then some Santa-looking dude stopped at our table with a cryptic message and a box that was full of more odd things.

I was left with so many questions—the least of which was how the hell did that man know us?

“I don’t know what is happening,” I practically sobbed out.

“Me either,” Dalton softly replied.

“I want you to know Anson. I want you to be a part of his life. It was never my intent to keep him from you or vice versa.”

“Thank you. It was never my intention to hide from you because you were pregnant. I hate that because of a series of unfortunate events I missed so much of his formative years. Yet if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that we can’t go back and change things. Regret for past decisions will eat you up if you let it. I’d rather revel in the now than wallow in the past,” Dalton said as he stared into my eyes.

“So now what?”

“Now, we do the best we can with our son. Have you told him he saw his father today?” he asked.

Uncomfortable with what I was about to say, I cleared my throat. “Um, so I didn’t need to—he knew.”

“Come again?”

“He said he has seen you.”

“But that’s impossible. You’ve been in Chicago, and I’ve been in Montana. Did you show him pictures?”

I shook my head. “He said he sees you like a TV in his head—like he has visions of you.”

His jaw dropped and he fell back in the seat. “Like I do?”

“I think so.” When we first started dating, Dalton had told me he would dream about things that would come true. He said that sometimes he would see things when he spaced out that also came true as well.

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