“We were. At least until that one night when Zane and I suddenly realized we were more.” She bit her lip, her forehead creasing in worry. “Do you think he’ll want to be a part of Ty’s life? I mean, you guys don’t really live a family-friendly lifestyle.”
“Do you really need to ask that question?” Jagger’s voice thickened. “Despite the shit he went through at home, he was always there for us. He even dragged me out of bed one night to rescue you from that heavy metal guitar player who lured you to his trailer … Derek. Zane called him Derek the Dick.”
Evie’s stomach tightened at the memory. Derek had been wild and exciting, irreverent and cool. All the girls in high school wanted the talented frontman and he picked her. She hadn’t even stopped to think what might happen in that trailer after the concert when Derek invited her to join him and the rest of the band. But, of course, Zane had known and he came to her rescue.
“Zane flew across the ocean using a fake passport to save me,” Jagger continued. “Even though he was wanted by the police. I was dying in a fucking hospital bed and he came to give me a kick in the ass so I would get on with my life. He’s had my back since the day we met. There is no man I trust more than Zane. No man more loyal. And once he finds out about Ty, nothing will tear him away.”
“I don’t know if I want Ty involved in your life, Jagger. It’s dangerous.”
Jagger pulled out his phone. “It’s too late to make that choice. He is involved because Zane is involved. You know my views, but I won’t push you. Do I tell Zane you’re safe and arrange to meet him at the clubhouse, or do I tell him to come here?”
“Mom?” Ty appeared in the hallway. “Can I play my game again?”
Evie smiled at Ty, the spitting image of his father, and let out a ragged breath. “Tell him to come. I’ll get Ty ready.”
*
Hope was his friend once more.
Zane pulled up in front of Evie’s house and nodded to Shooter and Tank, keeping watch as he’d instructed while their president was inside. He’d been at the far edge of town when he got Jagger’s message that Evie was safe at home.
He dismounted his bike, wondering what he was going to say. This wasn’t high school. He couldn’t grab Viper in the locker room and threaten to dismember him if he went near Evie again. He couldn’t stop Evie from seeing him if that’s what she wanted to do. Hell, he didn’t really know her any more. He didn’t know if she still preferred running outdoors to spending time in the gym. He had no idea if she still liked her pizza with anchovies and olives, or if she liked pizza at all. What did she do when she wasn’t at work? How did she look after her boy alone? How often did Mark show up to see him? Why the hell had she married Mark, and what the fuck was she doing with Viper?
The door opened before he could knock, and Jagger blocked his way. “Brother…” He hesitated, his face a curious mix of sympathy and pain. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’ll be right outside. You need me, I’m here. You need to ride, we’ll ride.” He gestured behind him and Connie slipped past, giving Zane a wan smile.
“Hey, there, biker boy. You got a surprise waiting inside for you.”
Zane’s skin prickled as Jagger followed her onto the porch. “What the fuck is going on?”
When nobody answered, he entered the house, slamming the door behind him. “Evie?”
“Is that him, mom?”
His gaze fell on the young boy in front of Evie. He looked to be about seven or eight years old, his dark hair long enough to cover part of his face. Evie had her hands on his thin shoulders and he was staring at Zane, his dark eyes curious.
“Ty, this is Zane. He’s your … dad.” She looked up and swallowed. “Zane. This is your son … Ty.”
His.
Son.
The words hit him in the gut like a goddamned sledgehammer, knocking the air from his lungs.
“He’s eight years old,” she said in a rush, as if he might not believe her. “His birthday is in June.”
But he had no doubt Evie was telling the truth. He could see the similarities, from Ty’s dark eyes to his lightly tanned skin, and from his overlong brown hair to the sharp planes and angles of the boy’s face.
That night—the one perfect night in his life—had produced this perfect child.
He opened his mouth, but words failed him. Caught in a maelstrom of emotion, he fought an internal battle against his instinct to walk out the door, jump on his bike, and ride until he ran out of road. He needed time to come to terms with what he’d just heard. Who he was looking at now.
He had a son.
With Evie.
And he’d left them.
Regret stabbed him in the gut, a pain so sharp he dropped to his knees. Not only had he left them, but when he’d returned and saw her with Mark … saw his son … he’d jumped to a conclusion that had cost him another five years. Jesus H. Christ. To think another man had looked after his boy, and all it would have taken was a word. A step.
Faith.