14. Fourteen

Fourteen

Anna

It's Friday afternoon, and a strange sense of harmony hangs in the air. I feel like there's been a subtle shift in my relationship with Carson. It started the other day. I don't know what happened, but Carson seems to have softened toward me.

It feels like a fragile peace, but I'll take it. I've heard back from the school, and somehow, I have a suspicion that Carson was involved. Connor will be starting fifth-grade classes next Monday at Bolles, a private school that offers excellent sports programs.

We've just returned from shopping, mostly for school clothes, because our moving boxes won't be delivered until early next week. But everything seems to be coming along. Each of us grabs a shopping bag as we head toward the elevator.

Connor suddenly spies a motorcycle parked off to the side. With his usual enthusiasm, he rushes toward it, eyes wide with admiration. "Hey, look. It's a Harley like Uncle Chase has."

Carson and I both stop as well. Connor continues to admire the sleek black Harley Davidson cruiser. I'm juggling the shopping bags when I hear Carson admit, "Yeah, it's mine."

"What? Really?" Connor, his eyes wide, turns toward Carson. "That's yours?"

Carson nods, "Yeah, I came down this morning and took the cover off it to make sure it was ready for tonight," he tosses the words out casually. "I thought you'd like to ride with me to Wild Riders."

My son's face lights up with excitement. "Really? Dad, that's so cool!" He turns to me, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. "Mom! Did you hear that? I'm going on a motorcycle ride!"

I feel my face go pale as I imagine my son on the back of that… that machine. What if…? A wave of nausea washes over me, followed quickly by a wave of anger.

Connor doesn't seem to notice my lack of response. But Carson does. He glances over at me as I give a furious frown at his high-handedness. How dare he offer Connor a ride without consulting me first?

Without saying a word, I stalk toward the elevator, viciously jabbing the button. Distance is what I need right now. Otherwise, I will say something in front of my son, and he doesn't need to hear us arguing. And there will be an argument!

The apartment door slams shut behind me with a satisfying bang. I head straight for the laundry room. Ripping the new clothes off their hangers, I try to take deep, calming breaths, but the air seems thick with my pent-up rage.

My hands are shaking with my emotions as I brace my arms against the cold metal of the washing machine. I remind myself to be rational and to give Carson the benefit of the doubt. He's new to this whole parenting thing. Yet, my anger rises like a tidal wave, drowning out the voice of reason.

Suddenly, Carson enters, carrying the remaining shopping bags. He casts me a wary glance.

"I... uh… I told Connor he could shoot some hoops while we… talk."

I let my head fall forward between my arms as I take in a deep, shuddering breath. I will myself to not lose control as I straighten.

Lifting my head, I lock eyes with Carson. He seems to instinctively take a step back, his gaze flickering to the fury burning in mine.

"Did it not even occur to you to ask me first?" I prop my hands on my hips and advance toward him. "Before you volunteered our son for a joyride on that… that…" I struggle to find a word that adequately expresses my feelings. "That death trap?"

Carson has the grace to give me a sheepish look. "I'm sorry. Honestly, our entire family rides, so I didn't even think—"

"That's right. You didn't think!" I cut him off with righteous indignation. "He's ten years old, Carson! Ten! What happens if there's an accident? Motorcycles offer zero protection!"

"I bought him a helmet—" He cuts off his sentence the minute he realizes his words just added fuel to the flames.

"When? When did you buy my son a helmet?" I realize my mistake the minute the words leave my mouth. Carson, who was on the defense, suddenly stiffens. "Your son?" he questions in a sharp voice, his eyes like chips of ice. "He's my son too, Anna. In case you've forgotten."

My shoulders suddenly slump, "I know." I say quietly, my voice losing its earlier venom. "It's just… you can't just promise him things without consulting me first. And this is dangerous."

He nods and runs a hand through his hair, his shoulders tense. "I bought the helmet today. I wanted it to be a surprise. Asked the guy at the store what size to get while Connor was looking at shoes." He glances at me, his face devoid of emotion, "I had planned to show it to you first, but when Connor saw my bike…" He gives an apologetic shrug.

"I get it. I do," I say, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender, "It's just… I don't want to be the bad guy. The over-protective parent, who now has to tell him no." I feel my anger dissipate, replaced by a wave of exhaustion.

A flicker of understanding softens Carson's features. He steps closer, his voice gentler now. "You don't have to be the bad guy, Anna. We can figure this out together. Maybe we can find a compromise."

His words offer a lifeline, a way out of this emotional storm. Perhaps there is a way to negotiate this new reality, a way to balance safety with the desire to give Connor a taste of adventure.

"Maybe," I reply, a sliver of hope returning to my voice.

A hesitant smile touches Carson's lips. "Sounds like a plan. Now, how about we put these clothes away? Being a parent is hard work."

A reluctant smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. Maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to make this crazy, unexpected family we're building together - work.

It's just beginning to darken outside as I steal a glance in my bathroom mirror. A satisfied smile spreads over my face. I like the way my new outfit hugs my curves perfectly. Sometimes, I feel like everything I own screams ‘Mom.' But my new black jeans and halter top don't even whisper the word.

I shake out my hair, letting it cascade down my shoulders. My silver earrings shimmer as they catch the light. Three coats of mascara later, my eyes are accentuated by a touch of smoky eyeshadow. A hint of blush and a touch of shiny lip gloss complete my transformation. I feel confident and attractive. Feelings I haven't embraced in a while.

When I expressed concern about Connor at a biker bar, Carson assured me that it's upscale, and besides, he and his brothers used to hang out there when they were teenagers. I thought about pointing out that Connor isn't a teenager but held my tongue. The man is already compromising on the motorcycle ride; the least I can do is put on a good face.

Walking into the living room, the conversation comes to a halt. Connor's eyes widen in surprise. "Gosh, Mom, you look amazing!"

A warmth spreads through me at his compliment. "Thank you, honey," I reply, trying to ignore the heat of Carson's gaze.

Connor's outfit is jeans and a T-shirt. Carson, standing beside him, practically oozes charisma tonight. His low-slung jeans hug his hips in a way that makes my breath hitch. His black T-shirt paired with the leather jacket screams bad boy charm. I discretely watch his masculine strides as we leave the apartment.

Connor, seemingly oblivious to the unspoken tension, casts a wistful glance at the Harley before clambering into the backseat of the SUV.

Pulling into Chase and Val's driveway, the garage door stands open, revealing Chase leaning against his motorcycle. Val emerges a few minutes later, a playful glint in her eyes as she hands Carson the keys to her Spyder.

"Take good care of my Bella, Carson," she says with a teasing lilt in her voice.

"Absolutely," Carson promises. He then turns his attention to Connor and assists him in securing the new helmet. Across the driveway, Chase throws a leg over his Harley, a picture of biker cool.

Thankfully, a quick Google search earlier today reassured me about the Spyder's safety features compared to a traditional motorcycle. Small victories, I remind myself.

Val and I head to her SUV, and she states, "Bonnie's watching Gabriella tonight. So, I'm treating this like a date night." She says as she throws a kiss at Chase.

"Thanks, Val, for letting Carson take your Spyder. I know I'll have to get used to the Knight family's obsession with motorcycles."

Val waves her hand dismissively. "Think nothing of it. I wouldn't ride at all while I was pregnant. Safety first." Her gaze flickers to me with a knowing glint. "So, I know you said there wasn't anything serious between you and Carson. Pity, by the way. But you should know that the air practically sizzles whenever you two are around each other."

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, "We're attracted to each other, but I don't think Carson is willing to let go of the past." I see the question in her eyes, and I hold up a hand. "That's all you're getting out of me for now."

"Alright, I won't push it," she promises me with a grimace.

"So, tell me about Wild Riders. Carson mentioned it's upscale. That's kind of hard to imagine."

"Well, it's run by Sam Knight, their uncle. You'll like him," she says with a sideways glance. "He's a retired cop who is still active behind the scenes with the Jacksonville Sheriff's office."

"How does that work out with him owning a biker bar?" I question her.

"Exactly! He insists on anonymity for everyone who goes there, mostly for himself, I'm sure. So, everyone uses their biker nicknames." She shrugs.

"Really? Do all bikers name their motorcycles?"

"Wild Riders do," she says with a sly grin. "Since you don't have a bike, we'll call you and Connor by your names. But it's considered rude not to use everyone's nickname."

"Interesting. So, what are the names?"

"Chase goes by Chaser. No imagination." She rolls her eyes, "But most of the names have deeper meanings. Like mine, my dad used to call me Bella. Carter's name is Freedom, which is important to him. And Kat doesn't ride… yet. But you never know," she adds with a laugh.

The crunch of gravel announces our arrival at the parking lot. "Here we are."

I turn to get my first glimpse of Wild Riders. It looks like a converted warehouse. Wild Riders is written in bold letters across a large chrome sign. The front of the bar is adorned with flaming skulls and other types of biker paraphernalia.

As Val slams the car door, a handful of rough-looking men standing by their motorcycles turn to offer nods and smiles.

"Hi, guys!" She turns toward me, "This is Anna. She's with us."

Their gazes soften in respect as they each give me a nod. I return a tentative smile.

The guys pull in beside Val's SUV, and Connor hops off the back of the Spyder with a look of pure excitement. "That was awesome!" he exclaims.

We wait for them to secure their helmets before Carson pulls open the heavy oak doors.

The interior is surprisingly upscale. The wooden floors gleam with polish. There are spotlights strategically placed, and large flat-screen TVs adorn the walls, displaying a mix of silent motorcycle races.

Just before finding a seat, Connor asks, "Dad, where's the bathroom?"

"I'll show you," Carson says, turning to me. "We'll be right back."

I nod as we slide into a corner booth. A tall, broad-shouldered man approaches. He has silver hair, and he's sporting a goatee. In a booming voice, he says, "And who might you be, pretty lady?"

Chase states, "This is Anna." As the man turns to me, I state, "I'm here with Carson. We're old friends."

"Old friends, eh?" He says with a considering look, "From college?"

I blink at the abrupt question. "No. Not college," I stammer, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the conversation. "We met on a cruise. At a party. A masquerade party, actually."

At my words, the entire table falls eerily silent, and all eyes turn toward me. I try to hide my sudden nerves as the older man gives me an intense look, his gaze sharp under his bushy white eyebrows. Just as the silence starts to feel suffocating, a wave of relief washes over me as I see Carson appear behind the man, his hand resting on Connor's shoulder.

A hint of amusement dances in the older man's eyes, but I can't tell if it's directed at me or the situation. His voice cuts through the tension-filled air as he states, "Ah, here's Masquerade now."