Page 86 of The Girlfriend's Guide to Dating a Biker
She pressed her finger to my lips. “Don’t argue. I want to help you.”
I want to help you.
Her words settled in my gut, and fuck, they felt good. I’d never been with a woman who wanted the real weight of me or my life. They’d only wanted the good parts. The sex, the danger, the stories they could tell their friends. Not the hard stuff or the mess. Not the parts that could break you.
Eden wasn’t hesitating. She was walking straight into it.
The hospital smelled like death and disinfectant when we arrived. It always did. Made my skin crawl every time I walked through those doors.
We found Mum already dressed and arguing with a nurse about some policy. My guilt came roaring back at the sight of her. She was in hospital because of me. Because a rival club thought targeting her would send a message.
The rage that had been simmering in me flared white-hot. I wanted to find every fucking Black Deeds member in Brisbane and show them what happened when you touched my family.
Eden must have felt my mood shift. Her hand found mine, fingers threading through, giving a soft squeeze. It was a simple touch that said I’m here and it helped pulled me back from the edge I’d been walking since I got the call that Mum had been hurt.
“There’s my favourite couple,” Mum said, her smile tired but genuine.
I pushed my anger to the side and kissed her forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but she didn’t meet my gaze. Instead, she looked at Eden and changed the subject, which was exactly like Mum. Always trying to hide her pain from me. “Thank you for coming last night, love. It meant more than you know.”
Eden’s cheeks went pink. “Of course.”
I caught the flicker in her expression, like she didn’t quite know what to do with Mum’s gratitude. The softness in her eyes told me she felt it, though. I had the sense she wasn’t used to being seen like that or maybe wasn’t used to having anyone thank her. That ended here. I’d make damn sure she never felt unseen again.
The nurse finished whatever lecture she’d been giving about follow-up appointments and left us alone. I helped Mum stand, my hands gentle even though everything in me wanted to punch something.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my throat tight around the words.
“For what?”
“For this. For you being here because of me.”
She fixed her gaze on me, all traces of frailty gone. In its place was hard determination. “Don’t you dare.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. Mum was a woman who knew how to be heard without raising her voice. “I grew up in this life, Jake. I know how it works. This isn’t on you.”
But it was. Every part of it was on me.
Eden sat with Mum in the back of the car on the drive home, their heads bent together over Eden’s phone while she showed Mum some new movies she’d added to the spreadsheet. I caught glimpses of them in the rearview mirror. Mum pointing at something on the screen; Eden laughing at whatever Mum was telling her about some actor from the seventies.
Watching them, I thought about how different they were, and yet, how similar in some ways. In the conversations I’d had with Eden about her parents and brother, I’d picked up how important family was to her. My mother felt the same, and she’d had no time for any of the women I’d brought home before because she didn’t think any of them measured up when it came to prioritising family.
Fuck, it hit me while I watched them: I’d never seen Mum take to any woman the way she had with Eden. And hell if I didn’t want to see them together like this a fuckuva lot more.
In my apartment, Eden helped me settle Mum on the couch and set her belongings up in the spare room. She moved through my space like she belonged there, anticipating needs before they were voiced, bringing that whirlwind energy of hers into my ordered world.
When Mum was finally resting, I caught Eden’s hand before she could busy herself with something else. The weight of my spare key burned in my pocket where I’d put it this morning.
“Eden.” My voice came out rougher than intended, thick with everything I wasn’t ready to name.
She turned, and something in my expression must have given me away because her breathing slowed and she watched me, waiting intently to hear what I had to say.
I pressed the key into her palm, letting my fingers linger against her skin. “With Mum staying here and you offering to help . . . you’ll need to be able to come and go.” The excuse sounded weak even to my ears. This wasn’t about convenience or practicality. This was about wanting her in my space, in my life. About the way my chest betrayed me when I imagined her using the key, making herself at home in my home.
She traced the metal with her thumb, understanding flickering across her face. We both knew I could have waited, could have figured out other arrangements.
“Just for while your mum’s here?” Her voice was soft, testing.
“No.” The truth blazed in that single word. “For as long as you want it.”
