Page 25 of The Biker and the Baker
Mom lives in Germany with her husband and two daughters. I was eleven when she left us. She and my father would argue a lot about the club and the life he was living, the club whores he kept banging. He would promise her that he would change, leave the club. But as young as I was, evenIknew those were lies.
When some woman turned up on our doorstep one night claiming my father knocked her up, it was the last straw for her. I remember the explosive argument that followed. The begging and pleading from my father.
I remember her cupping my face in her trembling hands and telling me the choice was mine, to go with her or to stay. I chose to stay. I stood in our driveway and watched her leave with rivers of tears streaming down her face, while my father smashed everything in the house behind me.
Two weeks later, the woman who’d showed up on our doorstep was found with a bullet in her head. Though my father swore to anyone who asked that he had nothing to do with it, I still have my doubts.
I resented Mom for leaving. For years I refused to have anything to do with her. But she never gave up on me. It wasn’t until my eighteenth birthday party, where I spent the entire night hiding in my room and bawling my eyes out ’cause I missed her so much, that I decided to drop the resentment and let her in again.
Shortly after, she fell in love with a German, got married, got pregnant, then decided to move to her new husband’s country. When she asked me to move to Germany with her, I told her to fuck off and shut her out again. All I could see was her driving out of that driveway again, leaving me behind.
Months later, she gave birth to a daughter. And then another a year later. Once again, I dropped the resentment, but only so I could meet my sisters.
It wasn’t until my dad died two years ago that I decided to work on rebuilding our relationship. Now I fly to Germany every couple of months and spend time with them, and Mom calls me two or three times a week to check up on me.
“I’m good,” I tell her. “How are Lily and Lola?”
“They miss you. They keep asking when you're coming back.”
I grin big. “Tell them I’ll be there soon. Real soon. Are you good? How’s Jeff?”
“Jeff’s out on the lake fishing with the boys. And yes, baby, I’m fine. I’m...happy.” She smiles and it’s so big and genuine that I know she isn’t simply happy—she’soverflowingwith joy.
Took me years to admit it, but she made the right decision to leave us. And I made the wrong decision when I chose to stay.
“So, have you met anyone special yet? I need some grandbabies dammit!”
She asks me this every single time she calls, and the answer’s always the same.
But this time, I hesitate as an image of Pia’s face blinks across my mind. I can feel her arm looped around mine, hear her flowing voice calling me her boyfriend. No one’s ever called me their boyfriend before. ‘Cause I’ve neverbeenanyone’s boyfriend before. Never had a girlfriend or even entertained anything serious.
The closest thing I’ve ever had to a “relationship”—and I use this term loosely—is with Kyor, and that’s because she’s also one of my best friends.
It felt weird when Pia called me her boyfriend. Weird in a good way. Warm and comforting. And...I liked it. Even though it was all fake, I still enjoyed the feeling of being her boyfriend for as long as it lasted.
I must have been silent for too long because my mother exclaims, “Oh. Oh my! You’ve met someone, haven’t you?”
Again, there goes Pia’s face. Staring at me with those defiant eyes, daring me to say she isn’t special.
I blow out a reluctant breath, “Well…”
Chapter 6
Pia
I hit ignoreon Calvin’s incoming call for about the fiftieth time, as I chomp down on another succulent piece of pickled mango. Relentless, that one.
I'm never averse to a sexfest hook-up with him, but a fiancé plus a baby on the way is where I draw the line. Boy needs togo home. I don’t need that kind of drama in my life.
And yes, thatisthe only reason I’m rejecting his calls.Notbecause I've become sort of mentally preoccupied with another, um, someone. Nope, not at all.
Again, my phone vibrates across my abdomen and I'm about to auto-reject when I realize that it's Lissa.
I answer, “Yes, madam?"
"So, I waited. I waited to see if it would pass. To see if it was the alcohol. But it’s three weeks later and I'm still thinking about him."
Nonplussed, I mutter around a piece of mango, "Huh?"
