Page 69 of Rebound

Whatever happens, I need to have my own life. I need to be the leading lady of my own story, not just play a supporting role in his. Dancing in a community center with a load of kids and a slightly eccentric former nun was liberating—because it had nothing at all to do with my former life.

“You’re recreating yourself,” she says. “Phoenix, ashes, all that shit. I get it. I did it myself. Well, okay, if you want in, you’re in. But before you decide for sure, did Vicky mention the uh, guys who help us?”

“She said something about bikers?”

She chews the inside of her cheek. “So, there are a lot of great people in this neighborhood. The vast majority are decent and hardworking. Normal folks. But there are also problems, bad elements. They harass the neighborhood kids, try to encourage them to get involved in stuff they shouldn’t. You know what I mean? We try to offer them an alternative. Shawn’s a good example. He’s a smart boy, and his mom has been working her ass off to keep him on the right path—but he’s also cute and fast and would be an asset.”

“Why?” I ask. “I’m sorry to sound naive, but what use could he be to them?”

“Kids like Shawn are useful to some of the less law-abiding folk around these parts. Looking innocent goes a long way. They’re also expendable.”

I blanch at the idea of any child being expendable to anyone, but I’m not so naive as to believe Sissie is exaggerating. “That’s where the bikers come in. Informal security. They help us keep this place nice and friendly. Other than the boxing and wrestling classes. And the baking contests.” She laughs. “Those can get pretty hairy.”

I’d be lying if I said I don’t have a moment of doubt. Not fear exactly, because this seems like a safe place, but more of a concern that I truly don’t belong in this world. Never have I considered myself a snob, but I’ve been accused of it enough times that I can’t pretend like the shoe doesn’t fit at all.

What if I’m as vapid as Elijah’s brothers think I am and I let these kids down by not being able to ignore the siren call of high society, designer shoes, and exclusive dinner reservations? No. That’s not possible. I’ve felt more joy since I moved out of Manhattan and walked away from that life than I have felt in the previous ten years combined.

“Tell me about the bikers,” I say.

“Well, they’re called Misfits MC—motorcycle club in case you hadn’t figured it out—and the clue is kind of in the name. Most MCs are made up of pretty stereotypical macho dudes with big bikes and small dicks.”

I laugh at her choice of words, and she winks at me. “These guys are different.”

“They have small bikes and big dicks?”

“The bikes are plenty big, and I cannot comment on the dicks. But they’re from all over, you know? Different types of people from different backgrounds. It shouldn’t work, but it does. Rafael is in charge. He’s Salvadoran. He ended up here after doing a stretch in Rikers for smashing someone’s head in for kicking their dog.”

“I like him already.”

“He’s easy to like. Not all of them are. They’re all tough men who’ve had hard lives. They’re like a family—a really fucked-up family. They’re around a lot, and your paths will cross, which is why I’m telling you all of this. They’re our protectors. They have enough muscle and enough crazy that even the gangs are wary of them. They help us keep this place safe.”

I try to imagine their world—the one these kids live in, where they need bikers to keep them safe from gangs—but I can’t. All I can do is try to add something positive to it. “Here’s Rafael now,” she says, nodding at the window. The throaty roar of an engine is followed by a massive motorcycle pulling up outside the building. “I told him you were coming, and he wanted to meet you. Don’t try to get him to dance, okay?”

I laugh, but my mind immediately goes back to that night in the studio with Elijah. The way he tried to match my warm-up, even after he pulled a muscle in his back. The way he held me in that lift, so strong and reliable and so damn hot. The amazing sex afterward…

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

But I can’t help wondering what he’s up to right now. I’m worried he might do something reckless about Freddie and get himself into trouble. Deciding I’ll call him as soon as I’m done here, I put him out of my mind.

The giant of a man switches off the bike’s engine and meets my eyes through the glass. He nods once in acknowledgment, and I nod back, admiring the graceful way he dismounts and strides toward the building with his helmet under his arm, all muscle and tattoos. He wears a black tank underneath his leathers, and every inch of visible skin is inked, right up to his throat. His intimidating appearance is offset only slightly by a classically handsome face—square jaw, high cheekbones, deep brown eyes. His mouth is wide and his lips full, and they quirk at the corners when he steps into the room and greets Sissie. I’m guessing that’s this man’s version of a full-on grin.

“Mrs. James,” he says, his voice deep and surprisingly quiet, a hint of an accent I can’t place coming through. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Rafael Reyes.” He tugs off a leather glove and offers me a meaty hand to shake. It completely engulfs mine, and his fingers are covered in tattoos.

“Did that hurt?” I ask, staring the elaborate designs swirling between his knuckles.

“Like a motherfucker,” he replies, half smiling. He lets go of my hand and quirks one eyebrow at Sissie.

“As you can see, Amber, Rafael here is not a big talker. That eyebrow just asked me what I’ve decided about you, whether you’ll be joining our merry little team here. And yes, Rafael, she will be—assuming that is what she wants?”

They both turn to look at me, and I feel the weight of their gazes. They both seem like tremendous people in their own way, albeit completely outside my entire sphere of experience. But they give off nothing but positive energy, and I know that this is what I want. I wasn’t lying when I said I need joy, and I can find that here. I can make a difference here in a way that has nothing to do with money or the family I married into.

“I’d love to join you,” I say. “And I promise I’ll do my very best.”

Rafael nods once. “That’s all we can ask, ma’am.”

ChapterThirty-Two

ELIJAH

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