Page 42 of Single Mom's Bikers

“He was charming at first. Brought me flowers, wrote poetry.”

“Hard to imagine a poet hurting you.”

She stiffens slightly before relaxing. “People surprise you sometimes.”

The night deepens around us. Through my studio window, stars replace streetlights. Neither of us moves to leave.

“Your turn,” she says. “Tell me something real.”

“Like what?”

“Like how three brothers ended up sharing everything.”

I tell her about growing up tight-knit, about learning early that we’re stronger together. About our first shared girlfriend in college.

“And now?” She traces the rim of her glass. “How do you handle…this?”

“You mean, how do we handle wanting the same woman?”

Her breath catches. “Yeah.”

“Different pieces fitting together—just like you said. Rick’s the protector, always watching out for everyone. Zane’s all fire and impulse, making people laugh. And me…”

“The artist. The one who sees beneath the surface.” She uncurls from the chair, moving closer. “Each exactly what you need to be.”

“And what do you need, Evie?”

Her smile turns soft. “Would you believe me if I said all of it? Every piece of who you three are?”

Early in the morning, we’re still talking. I share stories about learning to ink skin and finding art in unexpected places.

“The girls will be up soon,” she says but makes no move to leave.

“Rose can handle morning chaos.”

“True.” She yawns, curling closer. “Tell me more about teenage Chase. Were you always this smooth?”

“God, no. I was all attitude and bad decisions. Ask Mrs. Wilson about the time I tried stealing her roses to impress a girl.”

She falls asleep in my chair around six, soft and vulnerable in the morning light. I cover her with my jacket, watching her breathe.

We’ve found something rare here—a woman who sees us completely and stays anyway.

Love might come with ink and motorcycles and three brothers who don’t know how to want anything separately.

Sometimes, that’s exactly enough.

16

RICK

Saturday nights usedto mean club runs and bar fights. Now, I’m sitting in my home office at eleven-thirty, reviewing reports while my mind keeps drifting to the way Evie commanded our gallery event yesterday.

The way she charmed potential donors, her confidence as she guided conversations away from MC business, and how perfectly she fits into every aspect of our lives.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, matching my restless mood. Chase is in his studio, working late on designs for tomorrow’s client, while Zane’s been oddly quiet since dinner.

The storm hits full force just after midnight, rattling windows and shaking the old oak between our houses. When the first transformer blows with a spectacular bang, the entire neighborhood plunges into darkness.

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