She waited until his footsteps faded away and then fell back on the bed. How the hell was she going to keep this up? It was everything she could do not to run after him and tell him she’d changed her mind. He’d just shown her that the Zane she had loved—the sensitive, caring Zane who knew her better than she knew herself—was still there, hiding beneath the leather cut and the cool exterior. Part of her wanted to cuddle up to him in her bed with his strong arms wrapped around her, and feed that longing to feel safe and secure, but the other part wasn’t prepared to give up control in any other part of her life. If she let her guard down, if their connection felt too good, she would just be setting herself up for more pain when he disappointed her again. And although she felt a deep connection to Zane that went beyond the child they shared, she had lost her trust and faith in relationships.
Intimacy and connection only lead to pain. And she’d had enough pain to last a lifetime.
FOURTEEN
Try and try again. Don’t think you’re stupid if it doesn’t go right the first time. Even experts make mistakes.
—SINNER’S TRIBE MOTORCYCLE REPAIR MANUAL
Someone was watching him.
Zane slid his hand under the cushion and grabbed his weapon. He had only just fallen asleep after tossing and turning all night on the couch, wondering what the hell had gone wrong with Evie, or whether, in fact, it had gone right.
Did he really want to get involved? He’d been on his own so long he couldn’t imagine integrating not just a woman, but a kid into his life. And what kind of life did he have to offer? If he’d thought himself unworthy of Evie back in Stanton, he certainly hadn’t improved the situation by becoming an outlaw biker. Wasn’t it better to have dealt with the sexual tension between them so they could both move on? The answer came in a heartbeat. There was no other woman for him. He’d been searching for her since the day he left Stanton, and now that he’d found her, he wouldn’t let her go.
But first, there was a threat to deal with, and Evie and Ty were under his protection.
In one smooth motion, he rolled off the couch and onto his feet, his weapon pointed in the direction of the shallow breaths that had awoken him. It took him a moment to register the face in front of him, a mini mirror image of his own.
“Don’t shoot me.” Ty covered his face with his arms. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Christ. Talk about the wrong way to start the day. He placed the weapon in its holster across his chest, and fell back on the couch, drawing in a calming breath as adrenaline surged through his body. “Sorry about that. Not used to people sneaking up on me. You got quiet feet, but loud breathing.”
“Is that good?” Ty lowered his arms, his thin wrists protruding from his Batman pajamas. Good choice. Batman had always been Zane’s favorite superhero. Dark, secretive, isolated, not given to overt displays of emotion. But the whole Robin thing … he didn’t need that lame-ass sidekick.
“You want to keep your presence hidden, you got to breathe through your nose, quiet like. Become one with the room. Even then, people can sense when they aren’t alone, so standing in plain view isn’t the best plan.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide. I was just seeing if you were awake.” Ty’s eyes drifted to the gun. “Is that real? Can I hold it?”
“Yeah it’s real. Can’t protect you if I got a play gun.” He pulled the gun from its holster and removed the magazine, then handed it to Ty.
“Who are you protecting us from?” Ty pointed the gun at Zane and pulled the trigger. Sweat beaded on Zane’s brow, and he silently congratulated himself for having the foresight to remove the magazine as opposed to just putting on the safety, even as he fought the urge to dive behind the couch, an instinctive response after what seemed a lifetime of gunfights with the Jacks.
“Bad guys.” He gently pushed Ty’s hand down so the gun pointed at the floor. “This isn’t a toy. You point a gun at a man, you gotta be prepared to kill him.” His pulse slowed and he wiped his brow. Lesson number one. Kids didn’t have a lot of common sense. Or maybe his son wanted to scare him to death. So far he was two for two this morning.
“Aren’t you a bad guy? I thought all bikers were bad. I see them on the news ’cause they blow up buildings and set fires and hurt people.” Ty handed the gun back to Zane, then spun around and walked around the room, holding his fingers in the form of a make-believe gun. He aimed at the vase on the kitchen table, then the window, then Evie’s bedroom door. “Pow. Pow. Pow.”
“Sometimes people hurt you and you gotta teach them a lesson so they don’t do it again.” Zane shifted on the couch. Did Ty need to learn those lessons yet? Wasn’t he too young?
“Pow.” Ty pressed his fingers to the back of Zane’s head.
“Jesus Christ.” Zane leaped off the couch, heart thudding in his chest. “You gotta learn to be careful with weapons. Even pretend ones.”
Ty’s face fell, and his bottom lip quivered. “Sorry.”
Fuck. Five minutes and he’d already screwed this up. He handed his gun back to Ty. “Here. I’ll show you how to handle it properly.”
For the next half hour, he showed Ty how to hold and carry a gun and load the magazine. He told him about the safety and how to aim at a target. He explained about recoil and how someone without much strength would have to brace against the backward thrust after a shot. Ty caught on pretty fast, considering he was only eight years old. When he held the gun perfectly balanced, his stance relaxed and his arms braced for an imaginary recoil, Zane felt a sting of pride. His son was no pansy. He’d get him out to a shooting range and—
“What’s going on? Ty! Put down that gun.”
Maybe not.