Page 30 of Outlaws' Single Mom
We watch him go before ordering another round.
“Those three months are important,” I tell Stiff with a grin.
“If you say so. Must be a thing that happens once you hit thirty. I wouldn’t know yet.” Stiff smirks.
I wrap my arm around his neck in a loose headlock. “You fucker!”
Stiff jams an elbow into my gut, laughing.
“Hey! Sit your asses back down or take it outside!” Hector yells, reaching for his bat.
“Yes, sir!”
17
DAKOTA
“Are we gonna see them again?”Logan asks after waking up for the tenth time since bedtime. He was crushed when I picked him up on my own today, and he’s still fixated on when he can see his bikers again.
“Of course we will, Lo, but I’m not sure when.”
He sighs, clutching the plush helmet that they won for him at the arcade. It’s a football helmet with a pocket inside that has a stuffed football, but according to him, it looks more like a motorcycle helmet, andeverythingis about motorcycles now. Even insects have been pushed into second place.
“Jackal says I can ride his bike if they get the rightstuff.” He pets the helmet, pushing the fabric back and forth to draw patterns. “You’ll say yes, right?”
“Yes, if it’s safe.” The idea terrifies me, but Logan’s been through so much that I hate to stomp on his dream. I just have to make sure they’re riding in circles around a parking lot at a snail’s pace while strapped between two mattresses.
I stroke my fingers through his dark curls and his eyes flutter shut before springing back open. I stretch out next to him on top of the covers as his breathing slows.
I feel drained after yesterday, even with taking today to recover and do nothing but catch up on laundry and cleaning. I’ll have to go back to Georgia’s apartment soon and box up the rest of her stuff. Jay can deal with the furniture if he wants it. All I care about are her personal things.
“They’re nice.” Logan mutters sleepily. “I wish they were my dads.”
My heart stutters. He hardly ever talks about having a father, but since starting pre-school, it comes up more often. He’s starting to recognize that even the kids who don’t have daddies to pick them up, stillsee them sometimes, or at least know who they are. It shouldn’t surprise me that he’s thinking about it.
“They are nice, honey.” I’m not even going to touch the idea of Logan and his three dads, and I really hope he doesn’t repeat it at pre-school.
I could certainly see the appeal for me. Single parenthood kind of landed in my lap, and I don’t regret it, but I’m the CEO, the janitor, the chef,andthe entertainment department all at once. Splitting even some of that responsibility sounds like heaven, thank you very much.
I yawn and my eyes drift closed. What would it be like to share some of the load? Playing pinball with Stiff while the others kept Logan busy was so nice. And for as much as I like to tell myself that I can handle all of my ownneeds, it’s not the same.
I’d be naive to think it means forever, but I’m going to enjoy their company for as long as it lasts, and maybe it would be a good idea to start cautiously dating again. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed the little stuff like flirting, or being held. Kissing. The feel of another body beneath my hands. Being wanted.
Before I completely fall asleep, I slip out of Logan’s bed and carefully close the door. I walk through the apartment, tidying up as I go, and getting the dishes into the dishwasher to run in the morning.
The echoing sound of something hitting the railing in the stairwell outside my door gets my attention. It’s a quiet building, and at almost midnight on a weekday, it’s usually completely dead. Not that I begrudge anyone coming home late, but it’s unusual. Curious, I flip open the peephole, only to realize I’m looking straight into the shadow of someone standing on the landing outside my door.
I flip the cover back and double check the locks to make sure they’re secure, both the regular and the safety bolt. Heart pounding, I wait for whoever it is to knock or ring the bell. It’s probably just a middle of the night delivery driver looking for the right door.
Probably.
In addition to all my other roles, I’m also the chief of security. I shuffle to the hall closet and slip out the aluminum baseball bat I keep in there for emergencies. I’m not the strongest person in the world, butwith enough motivation, I’m pretty sure I can do some damage.
I stand still, right next to the door. There are soft sounds of shuffling out there, but nothing else. I hold my breath and listen. It’s like my door is being stalked, but no sign of them trying to break in.
Should I yell something? Try to scare them away?
There’s no good reason for someone to be right outside my door for this long. But my throat is closed up in terror. What if making noise just tells them what they need to know before forcing their way in? The longer I wait, the more jumbled my thoughts get. I turn one of the kitchen chairs towards the door and sit, baseball bat over my lap. I set my phone in front of me, ready to dial 911.
