Page 20 of Amy's Santa

She picks up another potato. With two of us we’re getting through them faster now.

“Hey, you might be a grandma soon.” Starting to relax I feel able to joke.

Her eyes widen. “Fuck that shit. No bloody way. I’m too young.”

“Better tell Hawk to keep it wrapped up then.”

“What’s my son wrapping?” Sam overhears.

“His dick,” says Sophie. “Don’t want any grandkids anytime soon.”

“Grandkids?” Sam stops with her hands on her hips. Then lets loose a chuckle. “Well, I suppose they’ll come in time. Just as long,” she points her wooden spoon at Sophie, “as they know when to stop, unlike some.”

“What can I say? Wraith wanted a boy.” She winks at me. “Talking of kids. Let me just go check on Eliza and Hilda, fuck knows they’ve been quiet too long.” Putting down the peeler, she gets up and walks out.

“Teenage girls,” Sam laughs. “I swear they’re worse than boys.” She takes Sophie’s place and swaps the spoon for the implement Sophie had been using. For a moment I’m uneasy, knowing she’d witnessed the start of my panic attack earlier, but her warm smile shows she’s purposefully keeping the conversation light. “Xander seems a fine man. So caring and attentive. Things serious between the two of you?”

How can I tell her it’s all a pretence? How can I tell her there’s nothing going on? How do I explain that Xander was the one who I saw as my rescuer that night, and that once he’d taken me home, I hadn’t wanted him to leave, and he hadn’t? He’d become my protector, the one I leaned on to keep me safe, pushing down he was only doing it out of guilt, that he hadn’t stayed watching me. I didn’t blame him at all, it hadn’t been his fault.

Once Flint started stalking me, Xander had been there, keeping me out of harm’s way. How can I tell her he’s my safety net? How? When I don’t understand what I feel for him myself. Do I like him because he’s a Dom? Because he’s keeping me out of harm’s way? Or, do I feel more? Either way, I don’t want him to go. So I settle for, “He’s a good friend.”

She eyes me carefully, as if she knows there’s a hundred things I can’t bring myself to say. But having witnessed my freak-out earlier, she doesn’t press. All she says is, “Look, I know you’ve got your stepmom, but I’m here as well if you ever want to talk.”

“You’re my proxy-mom.” I smile, remembering when Drummer and Sam had taken me in when Dad hadn’t been able to cope. “Hey, remember that bike you bought me that Christmas?”

“Do I, heck?” she laughs. “Couldn’t stop you riding it. You were a right little pest. Insisted on riding it around the clubroom. Kept bumping into people’s legs.”

“It had training wheels on. It was bright red.” I show I remember it well. At the time I hadn’t understood why Dad had left me as well as my mom who’d had no choice as she’d been killed. Drummer and Sam had anchored me, opened up their home and hearts to a lonely three-year-old girl.

Now I better understand how loss and grief had almost destroyed my father. I haven’t been a fully functional adult since the night Flint had raped me.

I don’t want to think about him. “What time are they going on their run?” I ask, knowing it’s what happens on Christmas day.

“Ourrun,” Sam corrects with a wink. “Me, and my crew, Becca, Marcia and Charlotte are going along. And of course, the old ladies up behind their men, most of the kids are as well.”

Charlotte is Shooter’s old lady. Happened a few years back and yes, she’s got the riding bug too.

“We’re leaving at noon. The sweet butts will be down later to carry on the prep while we’re gone. You want to come along? Jacob’s got his own ride now, or you could go up behind Throttle.”

I shake my head. “No, I’ll stay here.” I need to talk to Xander and find out what mood Dad’s going to be in, and what exactly he now knows.

“You’ve reminded me. I left my jacket at the house. Think it’s chilly enough I’m going to need it today. I’ll see you later, okay?”

As she leaves, I hear a timid voice behind me. “Er, have you seen Mom or Dad?”

I swing around and give a big smile to the meek little Rose. She’s far more like her mom than her father. Now she’s standing, jacket already on, a helmet swinging from her hand. “No, I haven’t seen Rock or Becca. You going on the ride?”

“Duh,” she laughs, swinging her helmet.

“Who you riding with?”

“Mom,” she replies glumly.

My brow creases. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Dad’s more fun.”

Risk taker Rock probably is, but I can understand him preferring her with Becca.

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