my baby when the clock strikes three forty-five. I’ll give the school a few minutes grace, but I better see that smile soon after the bell rings.
Ariel finds a friend from preschool and the two talk. Or if I’m being honest, Ariel talks and the other girl listens. My daughter could talk fleas off a dog, has never met a stranger, and I admire her love of life. God help anyone who ever tries to snuff that light out.
I glance around, and it’s a familiar scene. Staring at me like I don’t belong are a few parents in suits for their corporate work life or stay-at-home moms with a boxed in view of what a dad should be. Whispering to one another as they glare at me, because in their mind, talking about me in hushed tones is somehow polite. With sleeves of tattoos on both arms, earrings in my ears, a T-shirt, jeans and steel-toed boots for work, I’m not their definition of a parent.
I’m well-schooled on judgmental stares and gave up caring about anyone else’s opinion of me years ago. What they don’t know is that Rachel and I make more money than five of these well-off families combined. What they don’t know, because we chose to remain anonymous, is that the new playground the school unveiled on orientation day was thanks to me, my wife and our friends, because our friends are doing just as well in their jobs as Rachel and I.
I don’t care what the other parents think of me, but I do care how they treat my daughter. Because of that, I keep my mouth shut and focus only on Ariel.
Rachel returns, calls Ariel over, and Ariel is a constant jumping jack as Rachel places the stickers on her backpack and back and slides the bracelet on her wrist. My daughter’s eyes are trained on the school and on her next new adventure.
“Okay,” Rachel says and plants a fast kiss on her forehead. “You listen to your teacher, have a good day, and your daddy and I will be right here to take you home after school. We love you.”
“Okay,” Ariel replies, and she bolts for the front door.
“Ariel,” I call out, and hold her backpack out to her. She blinks as she looks at me as if wondering why I said her name and then recognition dawns on her face.
She runs back at full throttle, and as I lower her pack so she can grab it, she runs right past it and into me. My heart stutters as I crouch and accept her hug.
“I love you, Daddy,” she whispers in my ear, and then gives me a kiss on my cheek. She pulls back and all I see is that love. Yes, she’s loved and I’m loved in return.
“You forgot your backpack,” I say, and she smiles as she realizes that’s why I called her back. “Have a good day, baby girl. I love you.”
“You, too.” And then she’s gone, past the double doors, and after she greets her teacher on the other side, she turns back to wave at us.
I wave, Rachel waves and then I wrap my arm around my wife’s shoulder. She leans into me, and I kiss her temple.
“We did something right in this world,” Rachel says.
“Yeah,” I answer. “We did.”
The First Loves Collection:
The First Meeting
Nowhere but Here, the first book in the Thunder Road series, is the story of Emily, a girl who is forced to spend the summer with her biological father, the head of a motorcycle club, and Oz, a soon-to-be member of the club. When a rival club places Emily in danger, Oz is assigned to help protect her. They spend the summer getting to know each other, falling in love and figuring out the secrets of Emily’s parents’ past.
My original idea for the Thunder Road series involved Eli and Meg, Emily’s biological parents. But once I played Eli and Meg’s story out in my head, I realized that it would end in a sad place. Being a happily-ever-after type of girl, I decided to take a different look at Eli and Meg’s story and tell it through the eyes of their daughter.
After reading Nowhere but Here many, many readers contacted me, asking for Eli’s story. This may not be his full story, but I thought my readers would enjoy seeing how Eli and Meg met.
Chapter 9
Eli
Assholes. The world is filled with them, and unfortunately my hometown of Snowflake, Kentucky, has more than its share.