Page 38 of Single Mom's Bikers

The night air hits my face as they lead me out. Something rumbles—an engine?

“Okay,” Rick says. “Look.”

The motorcycle gleams under streetlights. Sleek lines, midnight paint with subtle purple undertones. A beast of a machine that makes my heart race.

“You didn’t.”

“We did.” Zane sounds proud. “All three of us.”

“Happy birthday,” Chase adds softly.

I touch the chrome, unable to speak. Luca never let me near bikes. Said they weren’t for proper wives. But here’s freedom on two wheels, gifted by three men who see me.

“She’s crying!” Violet announces to everyone. “Happy tears or sad tears, Mama?”

“Happy.” I pull her close and reach for Daisy too. “Definitely happy.”

But there’s sadness too. For the woman I was, who never got real birthday celebrations. For Elena, who let a man dim her light year after year.

Rose hugs me next, whispering, “You deserve this. All of it.”

The party moves inside. The cake gets cut. My daughters charm everyone, especially Piper.

Through it all, the brothers stay close. Like they understand that sometimes happiness hurts when you’re not used to it.

Later, they teach me the basics—kickstand, clutch, gears. They promise proper lessons soon. I sit on my bike, feeling its power, and think maybe August 15 isn’t such a bad birthday after all.

“Thank you.” I catch each brother’s eye in turn. “Not just for this. For everything.”

Their smiles say they understand. Some gifts mean more than chrome and engines, and some celebrations heal more than the day they mark.

“Mama!” Violet calls from inside. “Come see what Uncle Teller brought!”

Uncle Teller. These men, this town, these moments—all built on carefully crafted lies. But watching my daughters bloom here, feeling the brothers’ steady presence, I realize that maybe Rose is right.

Sometimes, who you’re becoming matters more than who you were.

I head inside, leaving Elena’s ghost with the bike. Tonight belongs to Evie Ashbourne, whoever she might be.

14

RICK

Empty parking lotsfeel different at dawn. Just my bike, Evie’s new Harley, and the sunrise painting everything gold. She arrives right on time. Her leather jacket suits her perfectly, and I almost can’t tell she’s not been a biker before.

“Ready for your first lesson?” I check her bike’s controls one last time, remembering how my father taught us. Some lessons stick, even decades later.

“Born ready.” But her hands shake slightly as she approaches the machine. When she thinks I’m not looking, she rubs at her collarbone where her latest tattoo peeks out.

“Healing okay?” I gesture to Chase’s work.

“Yeah, just…” She glances around the empty lot like she’s checking for witnesses. “Mrs. Peterson, at school pickup yesterday, acted like I was corrupting the other mothers by showing ink.”

“Fuck Mrs. Peterson.” The words come out harder than intended. “She giving you trouble?”

“Not exactly. Just those looks, you know? Like how dare the tattooed single mom who hangs around bikers show up at their precious PTA meetings.”

I move closer, adjusting her jacket collar. “You know half this town rides with us, right? Those judgy looks usually come from people who moved here thinking they’d gentrify the place.”

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