Page 32 of Colt
Betty appeared beside me, pressing a cup of tea into my hands.
“That went better than expected,” she said.
“Knox decided he wasn’t a bad man, just sad.”
Betty nodded. “Smart boy.”
I watched Colt boost Knox up into the treehouse, his hands careful, his expression almost reverent. Like he couldn’t believe he was being allowed to do this. It hurt to watch and I couldn’t look away. “He’s trying,” I said, my voice unsteady.
“He is.”
“I don’t know if it’s enough.” The tea cup trembled slightly in my hands.
“It’s a start.” Betty squeezed my shoulder. “Give it time, sweetheart. Give yourself time.”
I nodded and sipped my tea, as I continued watching the man I didn’t remember fall in love with the sons he’d never known.
Chapter 13
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— Colt —
The first few visits were brutal. I showed up at Betty’s every day, rain or shine, and every day the boys looked at me like I was something dangerous that had wandered into their territory. Luca especially. He’d positioned himself as the man of the house, and he wasn’t about to hand over that role to some stranger who’d made his mama cry. Knox let him have it, probably because Luca had been born several minutes earlier and figured that made it his birthright.
I didn’t push. Didn’t demand. Just showed up, sat on the porch when they didn’t want me inside, fixed the loose railing Betty had been complaining about, mowed the lawn without being asked. I made myself useful without making myself a problem.
Lilac watched me from the kitchen window sometimes. I could feel her eyes on me, assessing, waiting for me to prove her fears right. I was determined to prove them wrong instead.
Lilac wasn’t the only one watching. Betty intercepted me on the front porch this morning. She’d been pleasant enough since that first night—civil, even helpful—but there’d always been something guarded in her eyes. A judgment she was holding back. Today, apparently, she’d decided to stop holding back.
“Sit.” She pointed to the porch swing with the air of a woman who’d lived the MC life and didn’t take shit from anyone. “We need to talk.”
I did as I was told and sat.
Betty settled into the rocking chair across from me, her silver hair gleaming in the morning light, her expression giving nothing away.
“My husband was Iron Wolves,” she said without preamble.
I nodded. “I remember.”
“Forty-one years married to an MC man. I’ve seen it all, Mr. Spencer. The good, the bad, the bloody.” She held my gaze. “I know exactly what your world looks like. And I know what happens to women who get caught up in it.”
I didn’t say anything. Just waited for her to continue.
“When Graham brought Lilac to my door, she was more dead than alive. Beaten so badly I wasn’t sure she’d ever wake up. And when she did wake up—” Betty’s voice hardened. “She didn’t know her own name. Didn’t know she was carrying twins. Didn’t know anything except fear.”
“I didn’t do that to her.”
“No. You didn’t.” Betty leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. “But you come from a world where it could happen. Where things like this are always one bad night away.”
I wanted to argue—to defend myself, my brothers, the life I’d chosen. But looking at this fierce old lady who’d spent seven years protecting my wife and raising my sons, I found I couldn’t. “You’re right,” I said. “I can’t deny any of that.”
Betty’s expression shifted. Surprised, maybe, that I wasn’t fighting her.
“I’ve seen how you look at her,” she continued. “Like she’s your salvation. Like loving her is the only thing keeping you human.” She paused. “My husband looked at me that way too.”
“Was he a good man?”
