17. Tempe

17

Tempe

Sonny is quiet driving me home, and Reyes leads the way on his bike as we enter the Twisted Kings compound. He makes the turn into the neighborhood, and the lights of the house come into view at a distance.

The two of them have become my personal escort service now that I’m back to working the occasional shift at the bar.

Jameson fought me on it at first, but when my manager threatened to fire me if I didn’t turn in a doctor’s note, I didn’t have a choice, and he was finally understanding.

Still, he refuses to let me go to work alone. And secretly, I don’t mind. Working at a bar has never been an ideal job. It’s just something to cover the expenses of my physical therapy degree. But after everything that happened, I dread work even more.

Thankfully, it’s been quiet, and no one has shown up again to threaten me. But I need to start looking for something safer with more regular hours. If only receptionist jobs paid as well as serving alcohol to handsy out-of-towners.

When we pull up to the house, I’m surprised to see Jameson’s motorcycle already parked in his spot in the garage. He sleeps here every night, but it’s rare he shows up before three in the morning, so it’s odd that he’s home when it’s not even past dinnertime.

“Thanks for the ride.” I smile at Sonny before climbing out.

He nods, giving me his usual silent goodbye before pulling away.

We spend every car ride between the compound and work together, but I still don’t know much about him. The most I’ve learned is that he did a stint for robbery a few months ago, and while he was in prison, he met Chaos, who offered him an opportunity with the club when he got out.

I’m pretty sure he told me that story to scare me away from asking for more details, but half my DNA comes from a man with a much worse record than his, so it didn’t.

Shutting the car door behind me, I make my way up the front steps of the house. Things have been tense between me and Jameson since the attack on the compound, and he’s been so busy I’ve barely seen him these past few days.

It’s a good thing. Or so I keep telling myself.

I make my way into the house and find Pearl in the kitchen, humming while she cooks. She’s the exact opposite of her grandson—warm and inviting. She’s welcomed us into her space like we’ve always belonged here, and the company is nice.

Sometimes I wonder if Jameson sees how much Pearl worries about him. She mentioned in passing that he isn’t hiding his stress and that he’s been more distant since my father betrayed him. From what she said, he took that hard, and I’m starting to understand the depth of it.

Jameson gives all of himself to the club. So for his own vice president to turn against him, it must have hurt.

“Where’s Austin?” I glance at his favorite barstool.

Pearl looks over her shoulder, jutting her chin to the hallway. “He’s in the den with Jameson watching a movie. I hope you like tacos; they’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“Love them.”

Pearl hasn’t made a bad meal yet. And she cooks much better than I can.

“Need any help?”

She shakes her head. “No, but if you can wrangle those two, that would be great.”

I head toward the den in the back of the house, pausing to notice the fresh-cut flowers in the middle of the dining room table.

I’ve never lived anywhere that felt like home . My houses and apartments were temporary landing places while I figured things out—something I’m still doing apparently. But being here with Jameson and Pearl feels like family. Even if Austin and I are technically outsiders intruding.

Turning the corner into the den, I find Jameson and Austin sitting on the couch. Austin is up on his knees watching the battle scene, and Jameson is leaning back with his arm stretched across the back of the couch.

“I’d freeze him.” Austin holds his hand out like he’s reenacting the action on the screen, pretending to freeze the villain.

I pause in the doorway when Jameson chuckles. It’s a sound I’ve never heard, even if he’s laughed before. This time there’s no sarcasm, no irritation, no holding back. Just genuine amusement.

“And what about when he unfreezes?” Jameson asks.

Austin sinks back on the couch thinking about the question. “I’d kick him.”

Jameson shakes his head. “Gotta learn to fight first if you’re gonna do that.”

“Will you teach me?”

“Why don’t you ask your sister?” Jameson looks over at him. “She’s a fighter.”

“You’re bigger.”

“It’s not always about being bigger. It’s about being smarter than your opponent.”

“Tempe’s smart.”

“That she is.” Jameson smiles. “And fearless.”

Fearless .

The word swells in my chest. A man who demands the respect of his club, and he’s sitting here singing my praises.

Austin sinks back on the couch, curling his legs to his chest. “Tempe stood up to the bad man.”

“The one who came to your house?”

Austin nods .

“That’s because your sister will always fight for you. Don’t you forget it.”

“Would you?” Austin blinks up at him. “If the bad man comes back, will you help her fight him?”

Jameson’s jaw clenches, and he swallows hard. “With all I am.”

Tears sting my eyes when I watch them. It’s easy to judge Jameson for his club because then I don’t have to face this side of him. The man he is when he lets his guard down. When he lets us see he’s human.

A man with honor.

A man who has done nothing but help us when I’m the one who threw his life into upheaval.

Lifting off the doorframe, the floorboard creaks beneath me, and Jameson catches me wiping a tear from the underside of my lashes when he looks my way.

Luckily, Austin doesn’t seem to notice as he flies off the couch and runs for me.

“Tempe.”

“Hey, kiddo.” I crouch down and give him a hug. “Pearl said it’s dinnertime.”

“Yes!” He bounces up and down. “I’m hungry.”

Austin lets me go and darts from the room as Jameson lifts off the couch.

He always takes his cut off when he walks into the house, and it’s obscene how this man wears jeans and a simple gray T-shirt. It’s no wonder the club girls fight over him.

Glancing away, I swallow that thought .

“Tempe—”

“Dinner’s ready,” I cut him off, forcing a smile. “I hope you’re hungry.”

I leave the room before he can stop me. Every second alone with him lately has my mind spiraling, and the more I give in, the harder it’s going to be to leave.

Jameson’s helping us out to save his club. That’s it. That’s all this can be.

Pearl’s tired when we finish dinner, so I offer to clear the table and do the dishes. It’s the least I can do to help when we’re staying here.

Pausing halfway through cleanup, I finish Austin’s bedtime routine with him. Except tonight, since Jameson is here, he wants him to read him his story, and Jameson surprises me by agreeing to it.

I’m finishing drying the final dish when Jameson’s footsteps sound from above, and he makes his way back downstairs.

Glancing up from the dishes, I spot Jameson walking down the steps.

“Austin likes you.” I turn to face him.

“Against better judgment.” Jameson sets Austin’s cape over one of the chairs in the kitchen.

“I need to start working with him on taking the cape off.”

“If he likes it, who cares?” Jameson shrugs.

“He starts kindergarten this fall, and kids are mean. ”

“I guess you’re right.” Jameson holds the counter, leaning against it. “Why’s he always wearing it anyway?”

“Superheroes make him feel safe. He didn’t have much of that growing up.”

“He has that now.” Jameson tips his chin up. “He has you.”

“I guess.” I make my way over to the couch and sink onto it.

Jameson grabs a bottle of whiskey and a glass out of the cabinet and meets me on the couch, pouring two fingers and taking a sip.

“Want some?” He holds his glass out, and even if I’m not usually a whiskey drinker, I take it.

The energy is different when I’m alone with Jameson. The air is thicker, and I can’t deny the tension. Taking a small sip, I let the whiskey settle my nerves before handing it back to him.

“Thanks.”

Jameson nods, taking the glass. “How’s Austin doing with everything?”

“Some days are better than others.” I brush my hair back. “He still wakes up every morning asking for her.”

“Your mom?”

I nod.

“It’s strange how the brain resets like that. How you can fall asleep and forget. And then it’s like you’re losing them all over again.”

I turn to face him. “You sound like you know something about that.”

“I do.” He sets his glass down but doesn’t elaborate .

My gaze drifts while the constant hole inside me widens. “The other day Austin asked me if this is what it takes to become a superhero. He asked me if that’s why all this happened. Because he thinks you don’t get your powers until you’ve lost something big. He’s still too young to know the difference between a hero’s origin story and real life. How am I supposed to explain all this to him? I don’t have the answers he’s looking for.”

“He’s not looking for answers, Tempe. He’s looking for comfort. He’s trusting you to keep him safe.”

I curl my legs up under me. “I’m not a superhero, Jameson.”

“You are to Austin. He sees you stepping up for him—being there for him. You’re grieving your mom’s loss just as much as he is, but you put him first no matter what you’re feeling. Your actions say more than words ever could.”

My heart hurts when I think about my mom. How I’m all he has left, and I’m still nothing close to what he deserves.

“You’re his superhero, Tempe, and it gives him hope. Let him have it.”

I shake my head. “If anyone is his superhero, you are .”

“I’m no hero.” Jameson scratches the scruff on his jaw.

“Your men think you are.”

“My men know I’m not.”

I mull over that confession, wondering what side of Jameson they see, and wondering if maybe he’s right. Maybe he never shows them the parts of himself we get to see. The man who strips his cut off when he walks through the front door and leaves the club outside it .

I can’t imagine how hard that must be on him. While Austin relies on me, Jameson has an entire club resting on his shoulders.

“How heavy is it?” I glance at Jameson.

“How heavy is what?”

“Your men rely on you. The women rely on you. Your whole club does. Hero or not, you’re responsible for them. And when things go wrong, you’re the one who carries the burden. How heavy is that weight?”

Jameson stares at me, and it’s impossible to read his expression. His gray eyes soften, and I sense his defenses slowly coming down, no matter how much he fights it.

“Heavy enough that it’s easier not to focus on it.”

I absorb that.

The weight he carries. The responsibility. The burden.

I resented the Twisted Kings because of my father, but Jameson offers a different perspective on his club. The more time I spend with him, I understand that he does so much more than enjoy the perks that come with being a biker.

Jameson is there for the people who depend on him. He helps them when they have nowhere to go. And for the first time, I’m seeing the full burden of that responsibility sitting in front of me.

Turning, I sit on the edge of the couch and widen my knees, pointing to the ground at my feet. “Come here.”

Jameson’s face pinches. “Why?”

“Just come sit on the floor.” I roll my eyes.

He’s so used to issuing orders that he finds it impossible to let anyone tell him what to do .

Jameson reluctantly climbs up, standing in front of me. I sense an internal battle waging in his eyes before he turns and sits with his back against the couch between my legs.

I place my hands on his solid shoulders, and he stiffens for a moment before relaxing as I knead my fingers into his thick muscles.

Steel —living up to his name.

“What are you doing?”

“Thanking you for everything you’ve done for me and my brother.” I rub my fingers over his shoulders, digging my thumbs into his shoulder blades as he relaxes into it. “I think a lot of people want things from you, but very few people actually thank you for it.”

“Here we are again...” Jameson chuckles. “You’re keeping me on my toes by being nice to me.”

I bite back a smile. “Against all odds.”

Jameson groans when my thumbs dig deeper, and my chest tightens at the sound.

“You keep doing that, and you can be nice all you want.”

I knead deeper just to get him to make that sound again.

His chin drops, and he sinks into the feel of my touch. I run my thumbs up the back of his neck, slowly feeling his muscles relax beneath my hands.

“You do so much for your men, and they probably don’t even notice. They expect a lot out of you because they know you’ll live up to those expectations.”

“And what are your expectations of me, Tempe? ”

I rake my fingers up into his thick hair, dragging them slowly back down again, and appreciating how I have the power to make this man melt beneath my touch when he is an unmovable wall in any other situation.

“I don’t have expectations, Jameson. Life taught me better than that. I just want to make it through the day. And then the next day. And the next. And hopefully, through all of it, I’ll slowly build a better life for me and Austin.”

“All by yourself?”

“If that ends up being the case, then yes.” I rub his shoulders. “My life comes with baggage, and after what happened, there’s even more of it. I don’t expect anyone else to want to take that on with me.”

“What if someone wants to?”

I shrug. “I guess that’s on them.”

Jameson lifts his head, staring straight ahead. “And what if they’ve got even more than you?”

I pause, resting my hands on his back, feeling his body expand with every deep inhale.

“I honestly don’t know.” I sigh. “A few months ago, I might have said it didn’t matter. But that was before Austin became my responsibility. He deserves better than I had, and I’ll do everything to make that happen—sacrifice anything. Even having a relationship if it comes down to it.”

Jameson hums, and I glide my fingers over his shoulders.

“Feel any better?”

“Much.” He brushes his palm along my shin .

It’s a gentle graze at first. A friendly thank you for helping him release a little tension.

But when his hand doesn’t leave my bare skin, and he tightens his hold, I dig my thumbs into his shoulders, and static crackles between us.

“I’m not the only one taking care of everyone around me, Tempe. You do plenty of that too.”

“Yeah?” My voice shoots up slightly as his hand moves up my leg.

“Mm-hmm.” He brushes his thumb over my calf, kneading it, teasing me with slow strokes. “Who makes you feel good when you’ve taken everything on? Who takes care of you?”

I swallow hard as he moves down my leg, gripping my foot and kneading the arch.

“Myself, I guess.”

Jameson rubs up my foot—my leg. His other hand does the same, and my head is light. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched that I’ve forgotten how it felt. And Jameson’s firm grip and purposeful strokes are unlike anyone else.

“That’s a shame,” Jameson says, pulling my legs further apart as he rubs them, and I’m suddenly very aware of how his body is warm against my core with how I’m spread open.

He leans back when I’ve stopped massaging him, laying his head back on my thigh and looking up at me. But I don’t lean away; I don’t back up. I stare into his eyes and lose myself in the ocean of his gaze .

His hands roam my legs, and I lose all sense at his touch.

“Thank you, wildfire.”

“For what?”

A smirk climbs up in the corner of his mouth. “Lifting the weight.”

“Even if I’m one of the people who makes it heavier?” The tension between us is so thick, the heat of him has me in flames.

“Especially then.”

Before I can shoot off another sassy comment, he reaches up and grabs the back of my hair, pulling me to him.