Dark Guardian (Black Hoods MC #3) - Avelyn Paige Page 0,45
face doesn’t waver at my joke. “I’m not taking no for an answer, Grace. I’ll go get the kids, and we’ll swing by your place to get your things. You’ll be staying at my house.”
He pivots away from me and heads for the hallway. I guess I understand why they call him Judge now.
Judge
“But... we haven’t seen our dad in years,” Kevin says, his eyebrows squished together in confusion. “He took off when Nat was born. I don’t even really remember him.”
Natalie just stares ahead, her gaze unfocused.
Moving beside her, Grace wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay, honey?”
Natalie lays her head on Grace’s shoulder. “I want to stay with Mr. Judge.”
“You’re not going anywhere, kiddo. You’re staying with me. I won’t let anyone take you away.”
Natalie finally focuses her gaze, and when she does, she turns it on me. With a slow smile, she throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist and hugging me tight. “You’re our father, not him.”
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. But good bricks. These kids haven’t even been in my care for two months, and we’re already a family. We argue sometimes. We laugh together. We play together. And most of all, we love each other.
“Damn right I am,” I tell her, but my voice is thick with emotion.
“You kids go on up and get into bed. It’s late.”
“Goodnight, Grace. Goodnight, Mr. Judge,” Natalie says with a musical lilt.
“Night,” Kevin says, following his sister out of the room and down the hall.
Grace’s eyes follow them before they disappear from view. “They’re amazing kids. They’ve been through so much, but they’re sweet, kind, and care about others.”
“They’re fucking incredible kids.”
Grace smiles. “You’re a pretty incredible father to them too.”
Heat blooms in my chest. “Fucking incredible,” I correct her.
She bites her lip, attempting to hide her smile. “Oh, excuse me. You’re a fucking incredible father.”
I lift my arm and flex my bicep. “Fucking right I am.”
Grace’s laughter fills the common area of the clubhouse, and a few of the guys look over. I can tell they don’t trust her, seeing as she didn’t exactly make a good first impression. But they will. Once they see the real Grace—the one not hiding behind her glasses and a stack of case files—they’ll realize she’s a good woman.
“I never had a father,” she tells me. “I was an orphan from the day I was born.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“I’m not sure, really. And I think that’s the worst part. There was no information in my file. Not their names, their ages. Nothing.”
I take her hand in mine. “Is that normal?”
She gazes off into the distance, looking at nothing. “Nope.”
“So you grew up in foster homes?”
“More than I care to count,” she says sadly. “All over the state too. I never stayed in one place long enough to get settled.”
“But they were good to you, right? I mean, not all foster homes are bad. And they’re screened by DFPS.”
“I had one good one, Mrs. Rosenburg. She was a retired school teacher. Her husband had passed away a couple of years before she’d taken me in. She was really nice. An excellent cook too.”
Though she’s right beside me, her voice may as well be a thousand miles away. “You don’t have to talk about this, darlin’.”
“No.” Pulling herself out of her thoughts, she meets my gaze. “Sorry. When I talk about that, I get so lost in the memories. Mrs. Rosenburg always had a batch of freshly baked cookies on the counter when I got home from school each day. But whenever I try to remember the good things, it’s always squashed by one other memory. I guess this time is no different.”
Digging her fingers into her knees, she takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “She had a heart attack while I was at school. I found her on the kitchen floor. The cookies were burning in the oven, and it was too late to save her.”
“Jesus.”
“It devastated me when I found her. I didn’t even care when they sent me off to another place—a group home that time.”
“You’ve had it rough.”
“I have, but others have had it far, far worse. I was lucky enough to come out okay in the end.”
I give her shoulder a playful shove. “Says you.”
Sticking out her tongue at me, she huffs, “Bite me, biker. Now it’s your turn. What’s your story?”
I groan. I hadn’t expected to spill my guts tonight. “I’m not that interesting.”
“Baloney.