Temper (Knights of Fury #3) - Chantal Fernando Page 0,43
pictured a big biker like Temper to ever share a moment like this with me.
When we make it back to the shore, with people around, he still has the soundtrack playing. He doesn’t care what people think, and I love that about him.
I also love that he pulls me out of my comfort zone and makes me do things that I never would have done otherwise. I get out of the canoe first, and wait for him to get out and pull the canoe up on the shore before I take off my life jacket.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” I say. “It was honestly so amazing out there.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you for coming along with me, even though you had no idea what the hell we were doing,” he says, winking at me. “At least I know that you trust me again now.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, okay, don’t get ahead of yourself there, buddy.”
He laughs and wraps his arm around me. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”
He can do no wrong today.
When we get back to the clubhouse, Temper gets a call and says that he has to head out, but will be back later with dinner. So I decide to have a long shower, brush out my knotty canoe hair and get into my pajamas before calling my mom.
“Abbie? Are you okay?” is how she answers the phone, so my voice message clearly did nothing to ease her worry over me being gone.
“I’m fine,” I reply, hesitating. “How’s everything?”
“It will be better when you get home,” she states, sighing. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, Abbie, but you need to be home where you belong.”
I try not to let her saying “where you belong” irk me.
“I told you I will be there soon,” I say. “I’m actually calling because I have something to ask you.”
“What is it?” she asks instantly. “If you want me to come and get you from somewhere, I can leave right now.”
“No!” I say, a little too forcefully. “No, Mom, I don’t want you to come and get me. I’ve told you that I’m fine. I’m not a little girl, I’m twenty-eight, and it’s actually not a crime for me to be somewhere on my own.”
“I know that,” she huffs. “I’m just—”
“Worried, I know,” I cut her off. “But I’ve told you a million times that I’m fine, happy even, and that I’ll be home soon.”
“What did you want to ask me then?”
“Who is Grayson Palmer, and how do you know him?” I ask, getting straight to the point.
She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Why do you ask?”
“I saw a picture of you and him,” I admit. “An old picture. And I just want to know what your connection is to this man.”
Who apparently is a fucking drug lord.
Her long hesitation lets me know that she does know something about this man; she just doesn’t want to tell me. If it wasn’t a big deal, she would have just said Oh, I knew him in high school, why? or something along those lines, but she’s acting sketchy as hell.
“Mom?”
When she starts crying, I’m wondering what the hell is going on.
“It’s all my fault, Abbie. I’m so sorry. I panicked and called him.”
“You called Palmer?” I ask, trying to make sense of this whole thing and why she’s suddenly so upset.
“When Ivy said you were close to L.A., I called him because I know he lives there, and he used to be an old friend of mine. I asked him to find you, and to make sure that you’re okay,” she explains, sniffling. “Did he find you? What has happened?”
I open my mouth and close it a few times before I actually answer. “Let me get this straight. You were worried about me, so you called up your old friend, who is apparently a drug kingpin or whatever, and asked him to find me and check up on me to make sure