Page 43 of Single Mom's Bikers

“Seriously?” Chase’s annoyed voice carries from his studio. “I was just finishing this piece.”

Zane appears in my doorway, phone lighting his face. “Power’s out all over Wolf Pike. Kip says a tree took down the main line.”

Thunder cracks overhead, making the house shudder. Through my window, I catch movement next door—a flashlight beam dancing across Evie’s living room.

“We should check on them,” I say, already reaching for my jacket. Neither brother questions who I mean.

The wind nearly knocks me sideways as we cross between houses. Rain stings my face, but Evie’s porch light is dead, and the thought of her alone in the dark with two scared kids drives me forward.

Chase reaches the door first, knocking harder than necessary to be heard over the storm. When Evie opens it, she’s backlit by candlelight, and for a moment, I forget why we’re here.

“Power’s out,” Zane states unnecessarily.

“Really? Hadn’t noticed.” But she steps back, letting us in. Water drips from our clothes onto her floor, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

The girls are curled together on the couch, a fortress of blankets around them. Violet peers out, eyes wide. “Uncle Rick!”

“Woah! You girls should be asleep.”

“We were, but the storm woke us up!” answers Violet.

“Did you bring flashlights?” Daisy asks.

“Better.” Zane produces emergency lanterns from his backpack. “Battery-powered. No fire hazard.”

“Practical.” Evie’s lips twitch. “Unlike some men who run through a storm without umbrellas.”

“We were worried about you,” Chase admits, shaking water from his hair. “Old houses, bad storms…”

“We’re fine.” But something in her expression softens. “Though the company’s nice.”

Another crack of thunder makes Daisy burrow deeper into her blankets. Without discussion, we settle in the living room—Zane entertaining the girls with shadow puppets, Chase checking windows for leaks, and me standing close enough to catch Evie’s subtle trembling.

“You okay?” I keep my voice low.

“Just memories.” She wraps her arms around herself. “Last storm this bad, we were…”

She stops, but I can guess. We don’t know yet exactly why she ran, but we get the sense that there’s more to her story. Running. Hiding. Fighting for her life with two terrified children. Before I can respond, the wind howls, and all the candles gutter.

“That’s it.” Zane scoops up Violet, who’s nearly asleep. “Sleepover in Violet’s room. Right, Daisy?”

“But the shadows…” Daisy starts.

“Will stay away,” Chase promises, gathering blankets. “Uncle Chase’s guarantee.”

I watch them head upstairs, our little parade of lantern light and assurance of nothing going haywire. This should feel strange—three men and one woman shepherding children through darkness. Instead, it feels like the right thing to do.

Evie touches my arm. “Thank you. For checking on us.”

“If we don’t take care of you and your daughters, who will?”

“Rose?” She laughs.

I look around mockingly. “Well, I don’t see her around here.”

Upstairs, the girls settle into their nest of blankets on Violet’s bed, bookended by Chase and Zane. Violet’s already drifting off, one hand clutching Zane’s shirt. Daisy makes Chase promise three times to keep the shadows away.

“Story?” she asks sleepily.

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