I gaped at her. “Amy, it’s barely lunchtime,” I told her.
Amy gave me a confused look. “So? We’re talking Bull entering into a relationship here. Wine is needed. I’ll get glasses.” Without another word she disappeared without asking where the kitchen was.
Lucy surprised me by hugging me. Something danced beneath her eyes. “Knew someone like you would catch one of the boy’s eyes,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t guess you would commence in fixing something I always thought would be broken,” she said softly.
I jerked, not really knowing how to answer that, so I instead gestured to the hall leading to the back. “Let’s take this outside.”
So that’s how I ended up replaying the story of Zane and I to Amy, Lucy and Rosie, who interjected routinely with questions and had their mouths agape when I finished the story.
Amy had a small smile on her face when I finished. “This is so fucking awesome!” she declared and I was surprised she didn’t fist pump.
I sipped my second glass of wine. “I don’t know. Isn’t this too fast? Especially in front of Lexie?” I asked uncertainly.
Rosie waved her hand. “No such thing. Your girl’s sixteen. She’s a product of modern society—she ain’t gonna bat one of those pretty little eyelashes, especially when she sees her mom’s happy,” she reassured me.
“Yeah, but this is just so intense, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. He seemed so adamant he couldn’t give me more. Now here we are...more.” I held out my hands.
Rosie gave me a sad smile. There was something behind it I couldn’t place. “Bull’s been through a lot. He probably didn’t think he’d ever have more. Ever want more. Now he does. Probably took him awhile to get right with that. He’s still probably trying to get right with that,” she told me softly.
Something moved in my mind. “What did he go through?” I asked, mindful of my own ordeal locked beneath years of hurt.
Lucy and Rosie exchanged a look. “That’s not for us to tell you. It’s better to come from Bull,” Lucy said slowly.
Rosie pursed her lips like she didn’t agree but nodded.
I groaned. “I’ve only barely got him on full sentences, I don’t know when we’ll make it to his life story,” I complained.
“Man like that, who needs him to talk?” Amy commented.
On that we all laughed and conversation lightened and moved on. I didn’t forget Rosie’s words, or the niggling feeling in the back of my mind that there was a lot to Zane I didn’t know about.
The women left a few hours and a bottle of wine later. Lexie popped in to have a chat and charmed the socks off them all before retreating back to her room to finish her homework. I switched to water after my second glass, not needing to promote day drinking in front of a teenager. Rosie was the designated driver, so she stopped after one glass. But I was happy to have a weight off my chest, even if it meant I still had more unanswered questions when it came to Zane and the Sons of Templar. I had asked the women what exactly went on with the club and they had told me it was like a big family. I knew there was more than that to what seemed like an outlaw motorcycle club, but they didn’t betray too much information. I got that. It was Zane’s place to fill me in. I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to know, but I knew I had to. I had more than one person to think about. And as much as it would pain me to have any kind of distance between not only Zane but the people connected to the club, I would do it for my daughter’s safety. I couldn’t jeopardize it when I’d worked so hard to keep her safe from her own blood.
“Mom?” a small voice asked me, jolting me out of my thoughts. I was doing the most dreaded job in existence, folding laundry, so I was happy for the distraction.
“I’ll give you a hundred dollars right here and now if you agree to fold the washing for the reminder of your time living at home,” I offered.
She scrunched up her nose. “That’s one hundred dollars over three and a half years. That’s like...thirty-eight bucks a year, give or take.” She raised her eyebrow. “That’s slave labor—even Cinderella would have gotten more pocket money than that,” she observed, sitting beside me.
“Cinderella got fancy shoes and a prince for a husband out of the deal,” I reminded her.
She gave me a look. “So in addition to the hundred dollars, you’re going to wave a magic wand to get me horrifically uncomfortable shoes and a prince for a husband?” she asked.
I shook my head, “Of course not, I don’t need a wand to give you horrifically uncomfortable shoes. Just check out my closet. Fashion is pain,” I told her sagely. “And on the prince front, I don’t doubt your ability in snagging one of your own, though you better hurry up. All the good ones are getting snaffled up,” I finished.