Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 126840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
I wasn’t. You never got used to a controlling parent’s ever-changing and sometimes escalating attempts at control.
I also was. Because I might not be close with my grandparents, but I didn’t want them to die. And this was further indication that it was healthier not to have my father in my life.
“I am,” I told her. “You?”
“It’s entirely messed up, but at least Granddad isn’t dying.”
She was right there with me.
I told her Core and I were on our way to dinner, and she let me go.
I’d barely taken my phone from my ear when Core demanded, “What was that?”
“Granddad isn’t dying,” I began, then told him the rest.
Okay, so maybe there wasn’t a mood coming from Core when we got in the truck, because now, there was definitely a mood.
“Honey, I’m used to this kind of thing,” I placated him.
He reached for my hand.
I gave it to him.
He squeezed it, pulled it to his lips, kissed the back of it, and then let me go.
I smiled.
All righty then.
All around all better.
“Okay, I feel the need to apologize,” I said to Janna.
We were in her kitchen.
She was doing something with corn in a skillet, I was placing biscuits on a baking sheet.
I’d discovered a bit earlier that Janna and Beck’s kids were adorable, but very young (aged two and a half and a six-month-old baby). They had Beck’s dark hair and Janna’s dark eyes. I got to meet them, then they had to put them to bed.
Which made me feel even more crap I’d been late.
“No, you don’t,” she replied.
“We were late.”
“Core said you own your own business. It probably gets hairy sometimes.”
“It does.”
“So that’s understandable.”
That was sweet.
Then again, Janna was sweet.
She moved to the oven and peered in.
I got to the heart of it.
“Okay, then I need to apologize about not taking the hand you were offering when Core and I had our thing.”
She came to me, took the tray of biscuits and returned to the oven.
Opening it and sliding them in along with what appeared to be the most delicious stuffed pork chops known to personkind, she said, “Relationship stuff never needs an apology.”
Again, sweet.
“I think it’s an adjustment, being in the life,” I remarked.
“What life?” she asked the oven she was closing.
“The biker life.”
She turned to me, tipping her head to the side. “Do you think that?”
“Well…I…”
Shit, I’d put my foot right into my mouth.
She walked to me, leaned into a hip on the counter and placed a hand on it.
She then looked at me with an expression that was guarded, but also kind.
“You two are back together, so obviously you listened to Beck and made your decision. My opinion?” She touched her chest and offered a small smile. “The right one. I’d not known good until I met Beck and the club. What they were before, that doesn’t matter to me. It didn’t then, and I met Beck close to after it happened, and it doesn’t now. I have two beautiful babies. I have a husband who loves me deeply and who has always treated me with almost excruciating care. And we never have to worry if we need a babysitter.”
Three things struck me about that.
I filed away the babysitter information.
And I addressed the first.
“I’m sorry you’ve never known good.”
“Until Beck,” she corrected.
And that was the last thing that struck me.
Almost excruciating care.
“Until Beck,” I murmured, not sure I knew her well enough to ask her to unpack that with me.
“But you know what he did. And I know what he did. And still, that’s my reality.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
She touched my arm, dropped her hand and said, “It’s simple. You’re just a woman who met and fell in love with a man. People put labels on stuff. They do that so they can justify making decisions about things they don’t know anything about, so they can’t possibly understand them. Core’s not your first boyfriend, am I right?”
I shook my head. “No, he’s not.”
She nodded once. “So it’s that. You’re learning to be with your boyfriend. He just happens to ride a bike and hang with other guys who ride bikes. Of course, the biker world might not be one that you’re used to, but it’s not that much different, unless you focus on the differences, instead of seeing they’re just people.”
“You think it’s that simple?” I asked as she moved back to the corn.
She picked up a wooden spoon and started pushing it around.
“You might think I’m crazy, but I think people making blanket decisions about who people are is what complicates everything in this whole wide world. You don’t know unless you know, and you can’t possibly know every living being on this planet. So you can’t possibly say, ‘They’re all like that,’ and then treat them how you decide people ‘like that’ should be treated. Not one single person is just like another, no matter what traits or customs or inclinations they share. The biker life isn’t an adjustment, it’s just life to bikers. In other words, it’s just life. It might be different than the life you live, but once you live with people who live that life, it becomes just life to you too.”