Page 17 of Outlaws' Single Mom
I pause. A photo of Georgia with a man I don’t recognize, standing in a bar that I do. She looks younger, probably pre-Logan, and he’s got his arm around her waist, grinning. He’s wearing a leather biker jacket, but the way they’re standing I can’t make out the patches. I slip it out and take a picture.
It could be nothing, but it could be a clue about why she told Logan to find the bikers. Did she mean the club? Or did she mean The Burnout which isn’t that far away?
I send the picture to Stiff. “Is this someone you know?”
10
DAKOTA
I was expectinghim to text back, and when I don’t hear anything, I forget about it long enough to get sucked into a YouTube video about Japanese paper making. So I have to admit I wasn’t quite ready for the knock at my door.
I pull myself off the couch and go look out the peep hole. Stiff is standing there, holding… is that Mr. Larson? My brain short circuits at the sight of probably the toughest looking of the three bikers standing on my landing holding a stuffed dog in a train conductor outfit. I suppose when you look like you can kill a person with your bare hands, you don’t have to care what people think.
Unlike me, in my unicorn pajamas. Oh well, at least they saw me dressed up halfway decent last night. With a little resigned sigh, I throw back the deadbolt and open the door a little. “Is the intercom broken?”
“Don’t know.” He shrugs. “The downstairs door was open.”
“How do you even know where I live?”
His snort tells me exactly what he thinks about my super-secret life. “Sorry, I was going to call, but we found this guy in the garage and I thought Logan might want him back. Two birds with one stone and all that shit. Can I come in?”
I step back, pulling the door open for him. Our apartment’s nothing fancy, just a cheap two bedroom in a whole complex of identical buildings built in the nineties. It’s a standard apartment, and usually feels like plenty of room for just me and Logan, but Stiff looks oversized standing here. It’s not just his physical size, though he is a tall guy, but everything about him. All the bikers feel like they’re too much to squeeze into normal lives.
“Um, I wasn’t really expecting company, so I don’t have a lot to offer, but I can make a pot of coffee if you want to stay.” I reach out and he lets me take thestuffed animal out of his hands. “Thank you so much for finding Mr. Larson. I haven’t gotten around to packing Logan’s bag for tomorrow so I didn’t notice he wasn't in the backpack. Mr. Larson is Logan’s pre-school buddy, and Lo’s best friend Trevor has a stuffed bear that’s Mr. Larson’s best friend. I think they’d have a meltdown if he went missing.”
“Hey, it’s never too early to learn to watch each other’s backs,” Stiff says with a lopsided grin. He looks around, taking stock of everything. “The dog’s name is really Mr. Larson? Not like Spot or Teddy?”
“Nope. He got him for his last birthday, and he’s named after the guy that works in the rental office.” The look on Stiff’s face makes me laugh. “The human Mr. Larson has a name plaque on his desk, and Logan sounded it out while I was in there paying rent one month. It stuck with him.”
“Smart kid. Does he know yet? About your sister I mean?”
“No. I keep wondering if I’m doing the right thing, but I want to wait until the case is settled. I think it’ll be easier to explain if I can talk him through what’s happening. He’s smart, but he’s still only four.” I spoon out enough grounds for both of us. NormallyI wouldn’t drink caffeine so late, but since I don’t have to work in the morning I’ll make an exception. “Do you have kids?”
“Nah. Who would want to stick around and have kids with a guy like me?”
I almost laugh, but when I look over, I find him checking out Logan’s drawings on the fridge, with no sign that he was fishing for a compliment. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Huh? No. Shit, don’t look at me like that. I know who I am and who I’m not.”
Impatient, I pour our coffee while the machine is still dripping, and a couple drops sizzle on the warming plate before I can get the pot back in place. “That’s ridiculous. Milk? Sugar?”
“Black’s fine.” He takes the mug that has the Regional Health logo on it and takes a seat at my little round table.
I pour a good amount of milk in mine. “Sure, if you want an ulcer.”
“Honey, look at me. You think it’s an ulcer that’s gonna do me in?” Stiff holds his arms open, mug in one hand, gesturing vaguely at himself.
“I think tall, dark and dangerous isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I’ve been to your little biker bar, remember? There are plenty of people who seem to like it.” I must be going crazy, because I reach out and brush my fingers over the spot under his chin where the black hair in his beard swirls into white. “And chicks dig scars, right?”
His hand snaps out and grabs mine and for a moment our eyes are locked. Then he lets go with a scoff. “We’ll see.”
“I always thought I was going to have a bunch of kids,” I admit, sitting across from him. “But I don’t see it happening. I’ll be thirty in a couple years, and I barely have time to work and take care of Logan. It’s not so bad. Maybe when I’m fifty I’ll meet a good guy and we can get an RV and travel the country with our dogs.”
“What about Logan’s dad?”
“I told you guys. He’s not in the picture.”
He keeps pushing. “His choice? Or yours?”
