without the quiet that would remind him he’d never hear the roar of his father’s motorcycle ever again.
I checked on him throughout the night—I checked on them both—and he was always asleep with some movie playing.
“What’s on tonight, my friend?” I asked, moving into his room.
He glanced to me. “Lost Boys”.
I raised my brows. “A classic. Not too scary, though?”
Jack gave me a ‘mom, really?’ type look. “No, Mom.”
I held my hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. You’re a fearless dude, I get it. Don’t stay up too late.”
“Okay, Mom.”
I leaned in to kiss his head. He made a face typical for a twelve-year-old being shown affection by his mother, but he let me.
“Love you,” I whispered.
“Love you more,” he whispered back.
I walked through the house, past the photos I didn’t look at anymore, straightening pillows, putting away shoes. It was the routine I had every night. One that Ranger had always helped with. Then we’d go to bed. Not always together. But since the club had settled, thar had been more and more common. I’d read. He’d read. We’d watch a movie. He’d make love to me. Or fuck me. Usually a combination of both. Not every night. Sometimes twice a night.
Our marriage was stronger after we got through those hard years. But we had valleys. Peaks. Though the lows were far lower, more like potholes really, the highs were higher, more constant.
Now I wasn’t just in a valley. I was in the basement of my life.
I poured myself a whisky and walked outside. It was Saturday. I was allowed hard whisky on Saturdays.
A few years ago, Ranger had spent an entire month working whenever he could to completely redo our backyard. He’d wanted me and the kids to have an oasis. He built a greenhouse similar to the one Olive had. We had all sorts of vegetables in it, and Olive came over once a week to make sure I wasn’t killing anything.
He’d built a large deck jutting off from our French doors, complete with fancy wicker furniture, a small dining area, a hammock. Pavers led to our built-in barbeque area and a corner where we could pitch a tent and have campouts with the kids. Solar lights that automatically came on and lit up the entire area when the sun went down were strung across the entire area. It was my favorite place to be no matter the weather. The kids loved being outside too.
I hated it now, with all its memories. But it wasn’t as loud in its silence as the house was. So I came out here, for respite. For... something.
“I don’t really know that much about astrology, but I know there’s power in a full moon,” I said, looking up to the sky. “I might’ve liked to learn more about it all, but kids and all.” I trailed off, embarrassed that I was talking to the moon like it was some old high school friend I’d ran into at the grocery store. “I know there’s probably a lot of people out here doing the same thing as I am right now, looking for some strength, asking for something. Surely those people need it more than I do. But I’m not asking for a lot. Anything you can spare. I just need a little...” I trailed off as my voice cracked.
It was a large crack, resounding evidence of how damaged I was. How close to falling apart I’d become. But I wouldn’t let myself break completely. I had to stay strong because I had two children inside that house who needed their mother whole. Who at least needed to believe that she was.
So that’s why I was out here looking to the moon for help. For strength.
“I just need something,” I continued. “Whatever I can get, whatever you can give. I just need it. To get through this night. I just need to get through this night. I think I’ll be able to figure out tomorrow when it gets here. I just. Tonight...”
I stayed out there for a long time. Maybe too long. The moon didn’t answer. No one did. I was alone.
Chapter 3
There were a plethora of women who I could trust with my children. I was aware that there were a lot of mothers out there who couldn’t say the same, so I knew what a blessing it was to be surrounded by women who would protect my children as if they were their own. Who loved them.
Adored them.
Cared about me.
For years that