Soon after I’d gotten out of bed, Becca had woken up, and I changed her and then got her and myself dressed. I made her a cream cheese and strawberry jam sandwich, and she nibbled at it while she colored at the kitchen table.
I wandered around the house, holding my cup of tea, my free hand tracing over the wainscoting in the hallway.
The slight chill in the air had me invading Boner’s closet, where I’d found a faded black hoodie on a shelf with about five other similar hoodies. I brushed my cheek against the worn smooth cotton as I curled up in a corner of the sofa and sipped on my tea. The soft pink-orange glow of dawn was now a stronger yellow filtering through the bay window, and I smiled to myself.
I glanced at the impressive fireplace and the high wall of stone over it.
This house was Boner’s quiet castle of solitude away from the uproar of the clubhouse, but wasn’t it big for a man alone? A man who had been an adamant bachelor all his adult life? Why invest money in it, work on it, if he wasn’t planning on filling it with his own family one day?
My toes curled into the sofa cushion as I pretended for a second that this was my house, and I could wander around in it and feel completely comfortable in it.
But I already do feel comfortable in it.
There I was, like a teenager with my out-of-wedlock kid living in my ex-boyfriend’s childhood room. Camped out and cramped with all of my and Becca’s earthly possessions, but we did enjoy living with Rae and Tania. I liked living with women who had positive energy. I hadn’t had that in a long while.
I belonged and would always belong, thanks to my daughter.
And here was Boner, all alone in this roomy house. Clean, organized, able to be filled, yet he kept it empty.
We were on opposite ends of the spectrum.
My gaze lingered on the open kitchen with its sleek tiled countertop, dark wood floors, and black-and-stainless steel appliances. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone. Maybe in the back of his mind he was hoping, preparing, wishing for another kind of future.
I moved to put my mug on the coffee table. A big piece of paper lay there with Firefly written in big letters in Boner’s handwriting. Writing was visible on the other side of it, and I turned the paper over.
A poem.
A new poem.
A poem about a firefly.
He wrote a poem for me.
For me.
For me.
For me.
He’d said he hadn’t written anything in a long while, and all the others had been about her.
But now, there was me.
Me and Boner.
A shiver raced over my neck, and warmth flooded my insides at the memory of our lovemaking last night. His lips at my ear, his shaky voice uttering incendiary words just for me.
And now this gorgeous poem. I pressed the paper against my chest, my eyes closing.
My man, my lover, my heartbeat.
My phone pinged with a text. I grabbed it from the coffee table.
Grace.
Where’s your old man? LOL Is he avoiding me?
I laughed and tapped the button to call her.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Oh, geez. Did I wake you? I didn’t realize it was so early. I’m sorry.”
“No, not at all. I’m sitting here in Boner’s house, drinking herbal tea, and Becca’s coloring.”
“Oh shoot! That explains it then.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I’ve been trying to reach him since last night, but he hasn’t been answering. I intruded on your special night together. I’m sorry.”
“He didn’t say that you’d called, and I didn’t hear his phone ring at all.”
“He actually shut his ringer off? Wow, he never does that. Good for him. I hope it was a really, really special night then. Is he still asleep?”
“Grace, he’s not here. He left first thing this morning with the guys.”
“He did?”
“They went on a run somewhere. He said he was meeting everyone at the club and taking off.”
“Really? Wait, hang on.”
Grace asked Lock about a run, and his deep voice was muffled in the background over the line. Lock usually didn’t go on runs, with Eagle Wings being so busy.
“Honey, there’s no run anywhere. In fact, everyone’s been told to stay put,” said Grace, her voice thinner than before.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. “But Boner made it sound like he would be with Butler and Kicker.”
“No, Jill, nobody left.”
Something cold and hard coated my chest. “But he left first thing, just after five.”
“Did he tell you where?”
“No, he just said…”
“If that bright life could come true, baby, I’d want it with you.”
If.
If?
He’d told me he loved me, said good-bye, and left me a poem, a testament of his soul.
I clutched the phone tighter. “Grace, he’s been acting a little strange lately. Moody, withdrawn, emotional.”
“Honey, none of those things are strange for him.”
“True, but he’s been different the past couple of days. I’ve felt it. Last night, he told me about his life in Denver—before the One-Eyed Jacks.”