Wild Like the Wind (Chaos #5)(83)

“Sounds like you have good taste,” he replied.

I gave him a small grin. “Yeah, I totally do.”

“It’s gonna be fine, Keely,” he said gently. “And just to say, don’t know you all that well, but do know the woman I find myself separated from during lunch a lot of the time for, I don’t know the last four or five years, is not the woman I’m sitting with today. So I’m thankful to this Shep for pulling out the woman who’d reach across that separation to me finally and give me a bit of yourself. It’s an honor. Thank him from me.”

“Oh my God.” I stared at him. “Now you are gonna make me cry.”

He looked concerned. “You’ve been crying a lot recently?”

“I’ve been grieving my dead husband for nearly two decades, let my life slip away, then decided to take a shot on jumpstarting that life, doing it with Shep. Lost a woman who came to mean a lot to me in the expanse of a weekend. She died in her sleep last Monday. Almost lost Shep because I was playing to win but I failed to tell him the booty was me. And tonight, we’re telling my sons, who he helped me raise, that they finally got the stepdad they always knew was just that, we’re just making it official.”

“So you’ve been crying a lot recently.”

“Yeah, or on the verge,” I confirmed.

“Let those tears loose, Keely,” he advised. “Because I’m thinking those days are gonna be over for you soon so you might as well let them out when they come now. When the reasons for them disappear, you can look back at them fondly.”

“Stop being awesome,” I demanded.

“That might be tough but I’ll give it a shot,” he returned, lips twitching.

He bit into his delicious-looking sandwich.

I bit into my floppy, tired-looking bean burrito.

Once I swallowed, I asked, “Who’s the guy you know and what club is he in?”

“His name is Carson, goes by Joker in the club. And it’s Chaos, the men behind that custom car and bike business and auto supply store on Broadway.”

That got him a huge smile. “That’s my man’s Club.”

And I got a return huge smile. “Then maybe we’ll see you at a hog roast. Joker has been asking us to come for months. But my wife and I had a new baby and she wasn’t wanting to get a sitter. But the time is coming she needs to give Dora some space, and get some herself, so maybe we’ll see you at one.”

“I hope so,” I replied. “And I contributed to the pot when it went around to get you a baby gift. Was so happy for you guys. Everyone was.”

“Not as much as us,” Keith told me.

“Yeah. Kids are da bomb.”

“They absolutely are.”

We talked about Dora. We talked about Dutch and Jagger. And when our lunch breaks were done, Keith walked me back to my office before he went to his classroom.

I watched him go, thinking that suddenly, I had a new friend and we had something in common.

And oddly enough, that was kids … and Chaos.

I’d worked there years, but also when I was in my other jobs, when I was volunteering, when I was at school, and just in life, I had not opened myself to making a new friend since Black died.

I had not opened myself up at all.

I was about Dutch, Jag, anger (at both Graham and my asshole families, but also just at life) and grief.

Oh yeah, I was going to tell Hound I made a new friend and express Keith’s gratitude that he got the same.

Because Hound gave me that.

Sure, I walked up to his door to get in his face and make the first play.

But Hound walked down that hallway then dropped to his knees and went down on me.

And now here we were.

Here I was.

So perhaps we would not be sharing widely how it all started.

That said, I didn’t think ever in my life there was anything as amazingly beautiful and scorching hot as watching my biker badass drop to his knees and bury his face in me.

So being his biker bitch, that kind of start so totally worked for me.



At six twenty-four that night I was a nervous wreck.

This had to do with the fact that the boys were showing imminently and there I was, in my kitchen, making pork chops, mashed potatoes and buttered, real bacon-bit covered green beans with Hound.

This also had to do with the fact that just hours earlier he’d told me he loved me, had not given me the chance to return that sentiment and now …

Now …

Now I didn’t know what to do.

I loved him, but could I declare that love to him before my sons arrived to eat their first dinner with us as a couple?

I mean, we didn’t need to be fucking on the kitchen table (again) when my boys walked in the back door.

“Keely, chill,” Hound growled.

He was at the stove, manning the pork chops.

I was at the KitchenAid mixer, squeezing roasted garlic cloves into the boiled potatoes.

The kitchen table was set. It would be nice to eat in the dining room but there wasn’t an odd number of people that would make even seating unless all ten seats could be taken.

Anyway, I figured the kitchen table was more homey, intimate and familial instead of formal, so I went with that.

The green beans were ready to blanch. The buttery, bacon-bit goodness ready to toss them in. The rolls were warming in the oven. I’d bought a pistachio mousse cake from LeLane’s on the way home from work (both the boys’ favorite, if I didn’t make the cake that was).