Page 17 of Friar
But the thought of turning her away, of leaving her to face this alone -- that felt wrong in a way I couldn’t articulate, a twist in my gut that had nothing to do with club loyalty or potential fatherhood.
Instead of answering, I pushed off from the truck and opened the passenger door.“Come on,” I said, offering my hand again.“Let’s go home.”
Her eyes widened slightly at the word “home,” but she took my hand and allowed me to help her into the seat.I closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side, giving myself a moment to collect my thoughts.
The engine roared to life, the familiar vibration grounding me as I backed out of the parking space.In the rearview mirror, the clubhouse grew smaller.Cheri sat silent beside me, her hands folded in her lap, gaze fixed on the road ahead.
We were halfway home when I finally broke the silence.“Don’t worry about the two weeks,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road.“I’ll figure something out before then.”
She turned to look at me, surprise written across her face.“You will?”
“Yeah.”I wasn’t sure what that something would be yet -- a paternity test wouldn’t be possible for weeks, maybe months.At least, I didn’t think it was.Wouldn’t hurt to ask the doctor.And even if the baby wasn’t mine, the thought of Nigel claiming her made my jaw clench.The Prospect was too green, too eager to prove himself.And Nugget -- well, that was a conversation that needed to happen sooner rather than later.
“Thank you,” she whispered, the words carrying more weight than their simplicity suggested.
I nodded, not trusting myself to say more.Two weeks wasn’t much time to decide the rest of your life.But watching Cheri from the corner of my eye, her hand resting protectively over her belly, her profile softened by the fading light, I realized that some decisions might already be making themselves, whether I was ready or not.
Chapter Six
Cheri
Morning light streamed through Friar’s kitchen window, turning the simple space golden and warm.I sat at the small wooden table, my fingers tracing the grain patterns as I watched him move around the kitchen.I’d now been here a few days, but I hadn’t tired of our mornings together.There was something hypnotic about his efficiency, the way he cracked eggs one-handed into the sizzling pan, his movements practiced and sure.The domesticity of it all felt surreal after everything that had happened -- the positive pregnancy test, my aunt and uncle throwing me out, me showing up at the clubhouse with nowhere else to go.
The kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee and melting butter, familiar scents that somehow made this unfamiliar place feel safer.Friar hadn’t said much since we’d returned from the clubhouse the other night.He’d made sure I had clean towels and left me to process everything Beast had said.Two weeks.I had two weeks before I might be homeless again.Well, less than that now.
I watched as Friar dropped bread into the toaster, his broad back to me.The leather cut was gone this morning, replaced by a plain black T-shirt that stretched across his shoulders.Without the club insignia, he looked almost normal -- just a man making breakfast on a sunny morning.Not a biker deciding whether to claim a pregnant woman he barely knew.
Friar dropped a spoonful of sugar into a mug before setting it in front of me.His fingers brushed mine as I took it, the brief contact sending an involuntary shiver up my arm.I curled my hands around the warm ceramic, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
“Sleep okay?”he asked, turning back to the stove.
“Better than I expected,” I admitted.It was true.Since coming here, I’d slept better than I had in weeks.
Friar nodded again, using a spatula to slide eggs onto two plates.The toast popped up, and he buttered it quickly before adding it to the plates.There was something strangely intimate about watching him perform these simple tasks, about sitting in his kitchen while he cooked for me.It made my heart ache with longing for things I’d never had -- normalcy, stability, someone who cared enough to make sure I ate.I didn’t count Aunt June.I’d learned early on every act of kindness from her was more about how others perceived her.As for my parents, I’d loved them, but both were always busy.We’d had a revolving door of babysitters during my time with them, and later a maid who not only cooked and cleaned but also would pick me up from school and watched over me until my parents returned.
“Here,” he said, placing a plate in front of me.The eggs were perfectly cooked, the toast golden brown.“Eat while it’s hot.”
I picked up my fork, my hand trembling slightly.I wasn’t sure if it was from hunger, pregnancy hormones, or the lingering anxiety that had become my constant companion.“Thank you,” I said.“For everything.For giving me a place to stay.”
Friar sat across from me, his plate loaded with twice as many eggs as mine.He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then met my gaze.“You need anything?Want anything?Just say the word.”
The morning sun slanted through the window behind him, catching in his hair and turning the reddish-blond strands to burnished copper.It illuminated his face in profile, softening the hard lines and making him look younger, less guarded.When he turned to look at me directly, the light hit his eyes, transforming them.Yesterday they’d looked more green than blue, but in this light, they were the color of a summer sky, ringed with darker blue at the edges.
I realized I was staring and quickly looked down at my plate, heat rising to my cheeks.“I don’t need anything,” I said, focusing on cutting my eggs into smaller pieces.“You’ve already done more than enough.”
“Doesn’t seem like much,” he said, voice gruff.“A spare room and some food.”
“It’s everything to me right now,” I said quietly, raising my gaze to his again.“You have no idea what it means to just… have somewhere to go.Someone who didn’t slam the door in my face.”
His jaw tightened at that, a muscle jumping in his cheek.“Your uncle and aunt,” he said, the words clipped.“What kind of people throw out their pregnant niece?”
“The kind who think unwed mothers are going straight to hell,” I answered, trying for lightness but hearing the bitterness in my voice.“The kind who care more about what the congregation will think than about their own family.”
Friar’s expression darkened.“Some family.”
“They took me in when my parents died,” I said, feeling the strange need to defend them despite everything.“They didn’t have to do that.”
“And they didn’t have to throw you out either.”He took a drink of his coffee, his gaze never leaving mine.“You’re better off without people like that in your life.And so is your baby.”
