Her Possessive Bikers

8. Indy

8

INDY

T he Texas heat beats down through the windshield as I navigate downtown, searching for the lawyer's office. My GPS chirps directions in an oddly cheerful voice that doesn't match my mood. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, mind drifting to the weekend's events.

"Not exactly the den of inequity Mom always warned me about," I mutter to myself, thinking of the clubhouse. The place had been clean, well-kept – almost homey in a rough-around-the-edges way. Nothing like the crime-ridden hellhole my mother described during my childhood.

A smile tugs at my lips remembering Tres stepping in when those prospects hassled me. There was something magnetic about him – commanding but not cruel. Dad always spoke highly of him in our calls.

"Turn right in 500 feet," my GPS announces.

Jacoby's offer to teach me to ride plays through my mind. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, how he'd tipped his beer to Dad's urn – sweet gestures from someone Mom would've labeled a thug.

And Kyler... Something about his quiet nature resonated with me. The way he'd opened up about Dad being like a father figure to him made my heart ache. We're both missing the same person, just in different ways.

"Your destination is on the right."

I pull into the parking lot of a sleek office building, nothing like what I expected in this part of town. The contrast makes me chuckle – just like how different the club and its members turned out to be from my expectations.

"Well, Dad," I say to the empty car, "looks like you weren't exaggerating about your boys after all."

I grab my purse and check my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes are still a bit puffy from the weekend's tears, but I straighten my shoulders. Time to face whatever comes next.

Greene and Associates Law Office is all polished wood and leather chairs that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Mr. Greene slides documents across his desk, explaining each one with practiced precision.

"As his only heir, Ms. Cooper, everything transfers to you. The house on Maple, both motorcycles, the '66 Chevelle – though I see you're already enjoying that one." He offers a kind smile. "There's also his savings account and life insurance policy."

My eyes widen at the figure. "That can't be right."

"Your father was quite... prudent with his finances. He wanted to make sure you'd be taken care of."

I blink back tears, remembering all those times Dad insisted on paying when he visited, despite my protests. He'd been saving all along.

"There's one more thing." Mr. Greene reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a sealed envelope. "He left this for you specifically."

The envelope feels heavy in my hands, Dad's messy scrawl spelling out 'Indiana' across the front. He never called me by my full name. It was always a pet name. Mom is the only one who would shout out "Indiana Brianne Cooper."

"Take your time," Mr. Greene says, standing. "I'll give you a moment."

Once alone, I break the seal and unfold the letter.

The paper trembles in my hands as I unfold it. My thumb traces over the ink spots where he pressed too hard – just like he did everything else in life.

"My dearest Indiana,

If you're reading this, I guess I finally ran out of road. Don't waste too many tears on your old man – we both know I lived exactly the way I wanted to.

You've made me prouder than any father has a right to be. Every time I visited and saw you saving lives in that ambulance, my chest damn near burst. You've got my stubborn determination but your mother's heart. It's a hell of a combination, baby girl.

But here's something your mother never understood – the club isn't just leather and engines. These men, they're brothers. Family. They've been there through everything, even when I couldn't be there for you. They have kept me straight more times than I can count. They're the only family I had besides you, and now they're yours too. You might be surprised by what you find if you look past the patches and chrome.

I love you, baby girl. Always have, always will.

P.S. Don't let Jacoby Wilson anywhere near my Chevelle. That boy drives like his ass is on fire."

A laugh bubbles up through my tears at the postscript. It's so perfectly Dad – serious one moment, cracking jokes the next. I press the letter to my chest, breathing in the faint scent of leather that clings to the paper.

"Okay, Dad," I whisper. "I'll try."

I tuck Dad's letter into my purse and shake Mr. Greene's hand. The leather chair creaks as I stand, my boots clicking against the polished floor.

"Thank you for everything," I say, gathering the stack of documents. "I'll look these over and get back to you if I have questions."

"Of course. And Ms. Cooper?" He adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses. "Your father spoke of you often. He was immensely proud."

A lump forms in my throat. "Yeah, he mentioned that in his letter."

The air conditioning hits me as I step into the hallway, making me shiver despite the Texas heat waiting outside. My fingers trace the edge of the envelope in my purse, Dad's words still echoing in my head.

The Chevelle's black paint sparkles under the midday sun. I slide behind the wheel, inhaling the familiar scent of leather and old car.

"Family," I murmur, thinking of his words about the club. My hand hovers over the key in the ignition. Through the windshield, I watch people in business suits hurrying past, living their normal Monday lives while mine feels turned inside out.

The engine roars to life, and I can't help but smile. I pull out of the parking lot, muscle memory taking over as I navigate the streets back toward his house.

My phone buzzes from the passenger seat. Millie's name flashes across the screen.

"Hey girl," I answer.

"Are you okay? I'm so sorry I couldn't be there Indy…"

"Mills, I promise you're fine." I assure her.

"Well, how was the funeral?" she asks.

"It was beautiful," I tell her, feeling myself tear up. "Everything Dad would have wanted and more."

She sighs a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad. So, are you wearing leather and riding a Harley yet?"

I snort. "Not quite. Though one of Dad's guys did offer to teach me."

"Ooh, tell me more about these guys. Your dad always made them sound like a bunch of teddy bears with tattoos."

"You're not far off." I say, fiddling with the radio. "There's this one, Kyler – kind of quiet, keeps to himself. Reminded me of that guy from your favorite band."

"Oh shit, the pretty one with the man bun?"

"Exactly like that, actually."

"And the others?"

"Well, there's Jacoby – total flirt, but sweet about it. And then there's Tres..." I trail off, remembering how he'd stood up for me.

"Oh honey, I know that pause. That's the good pause. Dish."

"He's the new president. Saved me from some prospects giving me grief. He's..." I search for the right words. "Different than I expected."

"Different how?"

"Remember those silver fox romance novels you're always reading?"

Millie squeals so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear. "No way! Your dad's biker club has a hot older guy? This is like every bad boy romance novel ever."

"Stop it," I laugh, but feel my cheeks warm. "It's not like that. Besides, he was Dad's best friend."

She gets quiet for a second. "Ah, I see. When are you coming home?"

I glance out the window, looking at the town and all the memories surrounding me. "Actually, I plan to stay for at least a month. I actually just left the lawyers office. Got some things to sort out with Dad's estate. Plus..." I finger Dad's letter in my pocket. "I think maybe there's more here than Mom let on."

"Well, as much as I'm gonna miss you, girl," Millie says, her voice cracking a bit, "you've got to navigate this new stuff on your own. Who knows what might come out of it?"

"Yeah," I reply, tracing the edge of Dad's letter. "I guess you're right. I mean, it's not like I have a choice."

"And hey," she continues, "think of it as an adventure. A really weird, emotional adventure where you get to ride motorcycles and hang out with hot bikers."

"Millie," I groan, but can't help but laugh. "Trust you to see the silver lining in everything."

"That's why you love me," she says smugly. "And don't worry about work; we'll hold down the fort. Just focus on what you need to do."

"I will," I promise. "Thanks for understanding."

"Anytime, babe. Call me if you need anything. And send pictures of that Chevelle!"

"You bet," I say, feeling a bit lighter. "Take care of yourself."

"You too, Indy. Talk soon."

I end the call and idle there for a moment, absorbing the quiet that follows Millie's infectious energy. The Chevelle's engine rumbles beneath me like a living thing, waiting for my next move.

"Alright," I say aloud, starting the car and pulling onto the road. "Let's see what else you've got in store for me, Texas."

I pull into Dad's driveway, his letter still burning a hole in my purse. The two motorcycles gleam in the late afternoon sun – an Indian Chieftan and a custom Chopper Dad always called Cher. Beautiful machines, but a lot to handle for just me.

"One of you has got to go," I say, running my fingers along the chrome of ole' Cher. "And I know just where to start looking for a buyer."

Inside, I change into ripped jeans and one of Dad's old band t-shirts I found in his closet. It hangs loose, smelling faintly of leather and motor oil. I gather my hair into a messy bun and grab the choppers keys.

The car guides me to the clubhouse. The parking lot's half-full – seems like a slow afternoon. Music drifts from inside, some classic rock song I can't quite place.

I park the Chevelle and take a deep breath. "Okay, Dad. Let's see about finding one of your bikes a new home."