The Biker Needs A Nanny (Thirteen Bikers for Christmas)

CHAPTER TEN

Lucky—

Brick and I ride east on Hwy 182 along the beach. It’s an hour’s ride from Stillwater to the Liquor & Lotto just across the state line into Florida. This time of year, it’s nowhere near as crowded as the rest of the year. Most of the snowbirds don’t come until after the holidays.

We pull into the parking lot and park our bikes. Technically, the minute we crossed into Florida we entered Death Heads MC territory. Prez sent us on a mission to get a bunch of scratch-off tickets. He plans to hand them out at the Christmas party, so here we are, following orders.

Still, I can’t help scanning the road when I pull my shades off.

Brick follows me through the door, a bell ringing as we enter.

“You need any booze?” he asks, immediately side-tracked by a display of Captain Morgan. Brick is easily distracted.

“No. I just want to get what we came for and get back. Come on.”

“But the booze is so much cheaper across the state line. Look at these prices.” He grabs several bottles and goes up and down the aisles, adding to his growing pile.

I abandon him to his shopping spree and get the tickets. There’s a display, and an older sales woman steps over, eyeing my cut. “What can I get you, honey?”

“Just need a bunch of scratch-offs. Boss wants to hand them out for Christmas.”

“Okay. How much does he want to spend per scratch-off? We’ve got five-dollar cards, ten, twenty.”

I survey the selection and see four different games that are five bucks. “Give me forty of the five-dollar ones.”

“Which one?”

“Just give me ten of each of those games.”

“Sure thing.” She reels them off the rolls, counting as she goes.

I pull out a roll of bills and peel two hundred bucks off the stack. Then lean back and emit a sharp whistle. “Brick, let’s go.”

He walks up with an armful of assorted bottles.

I cock a brow. “You throwin’ a party I don’t know about?”

“Maybe. If you play your cards right, I’ll invite you, VP.”

“How you gonna transport all that?”

“My saddlebags.”

“They won’t all fit.”

“Then I’ll use your saddlebags for the overage.”

“The hell you will.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t be a party pooper.”

“Are any of those glass?”

“No, they’re plastic,” he lies, and we both hear the clinking of glass as he sets them on the counter.

I pick up a bottle and study the label. “Cherry Cola Vodka? Who the hell’s drinking this shit?”

“Why ya gotta rain on my parade? All the Swifties are drinking it.”

I cock my head. The man has lost his marbles. “And you can’t just mix vodka with cherry cola?”

He slumps like a deflated balloon. “You suck the fun out of everything.”

“Right.”

“It might sound like a strange combination, but everything deserves a chance, man.”

I arch a brow. “Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Brick?”

He gives me a toothy grin. “I can’t help it. I’m filled with Christmas spirit.” He looks over at the saleslady. “You understand, don’t you, sweetheart?”

The lady blushes like a teen. “I like a man who knows what he wants.”

“See? She gets me.”

Just then, we hear the rumble of a couple of bikes. Down at the beach, that’s not anything unusual, but I’m already on edge, knowing this isn’t our turf. I dip my head and peer out the plate-glass window, past the neon beer signs, and spot the riders.

“Shit.”

Brick cranes his neck. “Death Heads. Fuck.”

“They your rivals?” the old gal asks.

“Yep,” Brick replies, as we watch them pull in. “Big time.”

“I don’t want any trouble in here, boys. Come with me. There’s a back exit.”

I look at Brick. It’s a pussy move, but neither of us is looking for a fight. If we can slip out, we can be back in Alabama in seconds, since we’re only about fifty yards across the border.

I stash the tickets in my cut and give a nod. Brick leaves his bottles on the counter, and we follow the broad to the back room.

Pausing, I give the old gal a hundred. “Thanks, doll. Any chance you could get them to the back of the store and out of sight of those windows?”

She slides the bill into her bra and gives me a wink. “You got it, handsome.”

I grin, and we ease out the door.

Moving to the corner of the building, I dart a look in time to see them stepping through the main entrance.

Jerking my chin to Brick, we dash to our bikes. We fire them up and roar out of the lot just in time to see the two Death Heads running out the door. I flip them off as we peel out onto the highway and notice a couple of cops parked in the lot of Waffle House. They look up, and we slow down but point behind us. They see the other two bikers gunning it toward the state line and immediately pull out, blocking them.

I turn and grin at Brick.

We keep under the speed limit until we’re out of sight, and then hit our throttles, passing through the state park land that borders the Gulf.

By the time we get to Stillwater, it’s dark, and I know I missed dinner. If I push it, I might get back home in time for the girls’ bedtime.

At an intersection, Brick and I go our separate ways. When I pull in the drive, I text Case that I got the tickets.

When I trudge up the steps and into the house, it’s quiet, and I stroll into the kitchen to find a note propped against the toaster.

Lucky—

There’s a plate warming in the oven.

—Grace

I open the door and lift the foil cover to see a big slice of lasagna and a piece of garlic bread. It smells delicious. Setting it on the counter, I leave it for later and go upstairs.

Grace is braiding Poppy’s hair, and both girls are already in their jammies. Ella is sitting on her bed, flipping through a book.

“How are my pretty girls?” I ask.

“Daddy!” Ella jumps up, bringing the book with her to give me a hug. “Daddy, can you read me this story?” She holds it up excitedly, and I can tell right away it’s a library book.

“Where’d you get this?”

Poppy is sitting with a doll in her hand while Grace finishes her hair. “Grace took us to the lie-berry. We got lie-berry cards and Christmas books.”

“Did you, now?”

Ella runs to her bed and crawls in. “Read mine first.”

Grace finishes with Poppy’s hair and gives her a hug, then Ella. “Night, angels. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She leaves, and I sit next to Ella. “Scoot over, sweetie.”

She makes room, and Poppy crawls up and snuggles in.

I take the book and look at the cover. The Night Before Christmas.

“Daddy, did you read this story when you were little?”

“I think your grandma read it to me, yes.”

“Did you believe in Santa?”

“Of course. He doesn’t bring you presents if you don’t believe.”

“Oh. Billy Stanwell said there’s no such thing as Santa and that he’s made up.”

“Billy Stanwell doesn’t know everything, does he?”

She frowns, considering my answer. “I guess not.”

“I liked going to the lie-berry, Daddy,” Poppy says. “We each picked out ten books.”

“Ten? Wow.”

“Daddy?” Ella looks at me.

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you like the decorations? We worked hard on them.”

“I like them. They’re real pretty.”

“You were mean to Grace.”

“Was I?”

“Uh huh.” Ella studies me. “You should get her one of those drinks she likes to say sorry for being a grumpy pants.”

“A grumpy pants? Is that what I was?”

“Uh huh.”

“Hmm. So, what drink did you want me to get her?”

“She said it was a type of coffee, but it looked like a chocolate shake with whipped cream. I think she called it a fat pea.”

I stifle my grin. “You mean a Frappe?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“And you think I should get her one?”

“Yes, and don’t forget the whipped cream, Daddy.”

“How about we read the story?”

Poppy scoots closer. “Daddy, is it bad to steal?”

I frown. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“When we were at the lie-berry today, I saw Grace take a scarf from a box. Is that stealing?”

“She took it because she was cold, Poppy. It’s not stealing if it was from the lost and found. Is it, Daddy?” Ella asks.

She looks up at me, and I know she wants me to assure her that her new hero hasn’t tarnished her halo. “Not really. It’s just stuff no one’s claimed. I’m sure it’s fine. Now, let’s read this story you picked out.”

I crack open the book, and they both lean closer to look at the beautiful illustrations.

Reading it, I can’t help but think of Melanie. She should be here reading to them. I miss her so much, and once again, the unfairness of her death hits me like a ton of bricks. But I’ve got to be strong for our girls. She’d want them to have a happy Christmas. She wouldn’t want her death to hang like a pale over it.

I have to try. For her. For the girls. I have to move past the pain. A part of me feels like to do so is being disloyal to her memory, but if I don’t change that, I’ll only build a wall between myself and our daughters. I don’t want that for them, so I have no choice but to suck it up and do the right thing.

It won’t be easy. I’m not even sure if I’ll be capable of pulling it off, but I at least owe them the effort to try. I owe Melanie that much.

When I finish the book and close it, the girls yawn, and I kiss both their foreheads. “Bedtime, angels.”

I tuck them in and turn out the light.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Ella whispers.

“Goodnight, honey.”

I head down the stairs and into the foyer. There’s an entryway storage bench, and Grace’s coat hangs on a hook above it, along with the ratty scarf the girls were talking about. Her jacket looks like it’s seen better days as well.

She arrived with all her belongings in a single duffel bag.

I suddenly realize how little I know about this woman. I’m desperate to know every detail.

I hear her in the kitchen and join her. She’s pouring some milk over cereal and turns like she’s been caught doing something wrong.

“Hungry?” I ask.

“Oh, I—”

“It’s okay, Grace. I’ve been known to have a bowl of cereal late at night.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh.” I pick up the plate of food she kept warm for me. “I’m a Count Chocula guy.”

She hooks a thumb toward herself. “ Captain Crunch girl.”

“Can I join you?”

“Sure.” She scoots on a barstool at the island, and I grab a fork and join her.

At the first bite of lasagna, flavor floods my mouth.

“Do you like it?” she asks timidly.

“I do. Thanks for saving me up a plate.”

“No problem.”

“We’re supposed to get a cold snap next week,” I say, trying to think how to get to the point.

“Oh? I hadn’t heard.”

“The coat in the hall? Is that the only one you’ve got?”

She lowers her spoon. “Um, yes.”

“You might need something warmer.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“How about I take you shopping? I’ll buy you a new coat. Call it a Christmas present.”

“Thanks, really… but I don’t need your help. I’m going shopping when I get paid.”

“Right. Payday. I almost forgot. Cash okay?”

“Cash is fine.”

I dig a roll of bills and peel off fourteen hundred dollars.

Her eyes widen at the large amount of money.

“We good?”

“Yep. Thanks.”

We eat in silence for a while.

She’s not her usual bubbly self, and I know that’s my fault. I’ve done nothing but snap at her since she got here. I try to think of a way to break the ice that’s frozen between us, but I’m not very good at this kind of thing.

Before I can come up with anything, she gobbles down her cereal and slides off the stool, heading to the sink.

“Well, goodnight.”

My eyes trail after her. “Goodnight, Grace.”