Page 2 of Bedding the Biker Next Door

“I’ve traveled plenty, Luke.” Maybe too much, Cole thought. He’d been on a trip—not even one for business, but leisure—the day his mother died. Granted, she’d seemed completely fine when he’d left, so he hadn’t known it was coming. But he should have. And because he hadn’t, his mother had died alone.

Tense silence filled the car for several long minutes while Luke merged onto the freeway toward Cole’s apartment.

“Look, Cole, I’m worried about you. I know you feel guilty for not being with your mom at the end. I get it. But it’s been over three months since she died. At least start with the houses. Your mom would want you to begin the healing process, and dealing with her things seems the best way.”

A tight band wrapped around Cole’s throat as he imagined going through his mother’s belongings or signing papers to sell her houses. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

Luke was probably the only person in Cole’s life he could be that honest with. They’d been friends since high school, even longer than the rest of their group of buddies who met in college. Luke had witnessed the battle Cole’s mother had faced, from the time she was first diagnosed with cancer thirteen years ago to the very end, plus every remission and relapse in between.

Cole’s mother had been his only family. His so-called father had been a sperm-donor as far as Cole was concerned. His birth had been the result of a short affair his mother had with a man she later told him was someone “high-profile.” She’d raised Cole herself, and although his “father” had sent him multiple anonymous letters in her care over the past five years, Cole had ripped up every single one.

Except for the one he’d gotten right after his mom died, addressed directly to him this time. Again with no return address but the same slanted handwriting on the front. He’d ripped it in half and tossed it on his kitchen counter, where it had sat for the last three months.

He knew why he hadn’t thrown the letter away. Because he was tempted to read it. Part of him wanted to know, now that his mother was gone, if he had another parent he might be able to develop a relationship with. And that pissed him the hell off.

His mother had been his only parent. His birth father wasn’t going to get a pass for abandoning them. Not even if that’s what his mother had wanted.

“I miss her, too, you know,” Luke said quietly.

“I know you do.”

They rode in silence the rest of the way to Cole’s apartment. It was a slick building in a trendy neighborhood. Nothing like his mom’s little track home in a generic suburb on the outskirts of LA. He liked his apartment, but it didn’t feel like home. Not the way Mom’s house always had. Made sense since he’d spent most of his childhood there. But he knew the best thing to do would be to put the past behind him and start fresh—beginning with selling his mother’s houses and investing the money into expanding the business.

Luke pulled up to the curb and put the car into park, then just sat there. Expectant. Waiting. Letting Cole breathe.

“You’re right about Mom,” Cole said with a heavy sigh. “I’ll start working on getting the houses sold as soon as possible. It was always in the plan anyway, since we need the money to start things rolling in San Francisco.”

“I’ve already cleared your schedule for the week. I’ll come by after work on Monday and we can—”

Cole quickly held up a hand and shook his head. “I appreciate the offer. But this…” He took a deep breath. “This is something I need to do alone. Plus, you’re already swamped. Maybe if you have some spare time, you can talk some damn sense into Eric.”

Luke pressed his lips into a grim line. “He’s not responding to texts or email anymore.”

“Shit.” Last week, another college friend of theirs, Eric Davenport, had left his fiancée, Brianne Whitcomb, at the altar. Eric had texted and emailed them that he was okay but he needed space, and he’d been off the grid ever since. Cole and Eric’s other close friends had decided to give Eric until the end of the month to get his shit together, then they were tracking him down. “He’s got a few more weeks.”

“Agreed. Take it easy, Cole. If you need anything, call me.”

“I will.” He opened the car door and got out, then lifted his bag from the back. Before shutting the passenger’s side door, he peered back into the car. “Thanks for the ride.”

Luke gave him a grim smile and nod. When Cole slammed the car door shut, Luke took off.

Upstairs, Cole’s airy apartment greeted him: wood floors, open plan, not much furniture. A complete weight set took up the majority of the living room—he still had the black, leather couch pushed back to the wall from when he’d caught a football game on TV. The kitchen was tiny but suited him. His place was sparse, he admitted, but most of the time, the lack of amenities didn’t bother him. The only art in the place was a painting he’d bought at ArtWalk downtown. It was propped against a wall, not even hung up yet. Bright colors splattered out from the center where a young woman leaned over a little table, her dark hair sweeping forward to cover her face. Mysterious…kinda racy in an innocent way. It was that mixture of sexy and sweet that drew Cole in, and sometimes he’d stop with a beer in his hand and stare at it for minutes on end.

He checked his phone, hoping Eric had called back. Nothing. After carrying his bag into the bedroom, he dropped it on the bed and started unpacking, but as he did, his conversation with Luke about his mom, her houses, and his own transparent effort to push away his grief ate at him. He swiped a hand over his face and closed his eyes, mentally counting to five before he opened them back up.

Then he saw it, and a sick sensation entered his stomach.

Over the years, he’d bought his mother countless snow globes for her collection. When he’d spotted this one in San Francisco a few days ago, complete with a miniature Golden Gate Bridge, he hadn’t been able to resist picking it up. Then buying it. Even though his mother was dead and would never see it.

He lifted the small package, which had been wrapped in paper and stuffed into the corner of his bag, and opened it. He stared at the tiny snow globe, its trapped iridescent flakes of shiny plastic swirling in a slow, wintry dance. Mom would have loved it.

What the hell was he going to do with a cheesy-assed snow globe now?

“Fuck!” He flung the snow globe across the room, and glass exploded everywhere. Water dripped down the wall into a sad puddle on the floor.

Luke was right. He wasn’t dealing with things. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t interested in anything other than getting from one meal to the next while maybe doing something halfway productive in between.

He stared at the mess he’d made, then at the meager contents of his bedroom. There were still sealed boxes from when he’d moved in, sitting and waiting for him to open. This apartment would never be his true home. Home wasn’t a place; it was family.

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