Page 24 of Riding Free

I don’t say any of that, though. Maybe this is coming from a good place in her heart. At least I hope it is. I would hope she is asking out of concern for our safety, not for any other reason. But I also know my mother, so I’m not sure that’s the reasoning here—her concern.

“Brock has asked me out, and I’m going to go. He’d like us to move in with him, but I haven’t given him an answer, and I won’t immediately. We need to get to know one another a bit better.”

And that is that. I’m not entertaining anything else. My parents don’t even have to watch Thea. I’ll take her with me if I have to. But I’m not going to just demand Brock pay me money for Thea and then live my best life, not when deep down, I want him—and I very much want to keep him—forever.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

HOUND

Instead of rolling up on my bike, I decided to take my truck. It’s nothing fancy—a Silverado 4x4. I don’t use it often, but it works when I need it. And right now, I need it. Pulling up to her parents’ house, I whistle to myself as I look around the neighborhood.

It’s one of the nicer ones in Boulder City, and now I wonder exactly who she is and who her parents are. She’s from the upper middle class, and clearly, she’s from a much more affluent family than I could probably ever imagine.

This doesn’t make me nervous, but it does make me somewhat wary.

Walking up the front walkway, I step onto the front porch and reach out, touching my index finger to the bell. The door swings open, and a man greets me. He’s older, in his early seventies, silver hair combed neatly, wearing chinos, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, and a drink in one hand.

“You must be Brock,” he announces.

Giving him a jerk of my chin, I press my lips into a tight smile. I’m not sure how to do this. I might be over forty, but I’ve never done a meet-the-parents thing in my fucking life. Extending my hand, I decide to greet him like a man.

“Brock Mercer,” I state.

He slips his hand in mine and curls his fingers around my hand. I do the same, and we shake. His gaze stays connected to mine. He doesn’t look at my cut. I know he hasn’t seen it yet. I can tell when someone realizes what I am, and since he’s from Boulder City, he would know what these patches mean, but he’s searching my gaze, trying to read me.

“I guess I should invite you in,” he murmurs, dropping his hand. “I’m Warren.”

He takes one step backward, and then it happens. His eyes flick down to my cut. They widen and then fly up to meet mine. I watch as his entire body trembles, but he covers it quickly, then clears his throat.

“Please come in,” he says, his voice shaky, wavering, no doubt realizing just who and what I am now.

I wonder how he’s going to handle this. He doesn’t tell me to get the fuck out of his house, so either he’s too scared to say something or is willing to give me a chance. Maybe he’s going to allow me in just enough that I won’t be perceived as an asshole, but he’ll never invite me back. If he wants to avoid confrontation, that would certainly be a way.

Too bad I’m not going anywhere.

Keely is mine, and Thea is definitely mine, so I won’t be going anywhere. They’re going to have to get used to me and accept me. It is what it fucking is at this point.

Walking into the house, I stop in the living room, and that’s when I see her. A woman sits in one of the two chairs. It’s got flowers printed on it. She’s wearing a pair of pants and a blouse, with pearls strung around her neck, and her silver hair is cut fairly short and curled under.

I watch as she stands, her smile firmly in place as she turns to face me, then that smile falls. Unlike her husband, she clocks me immediately. She doesn’t hide not only her distaste but also her disgust at the sight of me. Her lip curls, and one of her eyes squints at me from across the room.

“Brock, is that you?” Keely’s sweet, naive voice calls out.

Turning my head, I tear my gaze away from her mother and watch as she walks down the stairs. Her blond hair is in waves, swinging around the tops of her shoulders. She’s wearing a cropped shirt that hangs off one shoulder with a low-slung pair of jeans that are wide-legged.

My lips twitch at the sight of her. She’s absolutely gorgeous, this woman. “Brock,” she breathes, “you’re here.”

I almost laugh, because where the hell else would I be? There’s nowhere other than with her that even fucking exists in the realm of my goddamn fucking world right now. There’s only Keely.

“I’m here,” I confirm.

She smiles, then takes another step, and another, closing the distance between us. When she’s close enough for me to reach out to, I extend my arm, curling it around her waist before I haul her body against mine.

Wordlessly, I dip my chin, touching my mouth to hers with a brush of my lips. “You are,” she whispers.

I lift my head, shifting it back slightly, my gaze not leaving hers. Maybe I should give a fuck that her parents are standing here staring at us, but I don’t. To me, she’s the only fucking person in the world right now.