บททั้งหมดของ Mummy, Please Marry Uncle Biker Daddy: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

Mara I woke up reaching for him and hit cold sheets instead. My hand stilled halfway across the mattress, fingers curling around nothing, and my stomach dropped like I’d missed a step in the dark. For one sharp second, panic flared. Stupid, reflexive, the kind that comes from being left too many times. Then I heard water running. The shower. I exhaled slowly, heart still hammering like it hadn’t gotten the memo yet. The room smelled like him. Soap. Leather. Heat. And me. The air felt used, heavy with what we hadn’t undone when we finally stopped last night. The sheets were twisted, one pillow on the floor, my clothes scattered like evidence. Fuck!. This wasn’t a one-night blur I could pretend didn’t matter. I sat up, pulling the sheet around myself, skin still warm, still sensitive, like my body hadn’t decided whether it was done yet. My thighs ached in that dull, satisfied way that made denial impossible. I wasn’t ashamed. That surprised me. I should have be

Lily I woke up because Mommy dropped her keys on the floor. Clink! It wasn't super loud, but it felt wrong. It felt like when you drop a spoon at dinner, everyone stops talking, looks at you, and you want to hide. I sat up and did my best listening. The house was too quiet. Not the nice kind of quiet like when you’re sleeping, but the kind where you have to walk on your tippy-toes so you don’t break a toy. I went into the kitchen and I saw Mommy. And I saw Cole! He wasn't supposed to be there. Usually, he goes away before the sun comes up. I know that because I’m good at observing things. They weren't hugging or anything. They were just standing. They were close but not close close. It was like my magnets on the fridge that push each other away if you hold them the wrong way. Mommy had her arms all bundled up and Cole was holding onto the counter really tight. Mommy’s face looked all puffy. It was the kind of face she gets when she cries but tries to pretend she didn’t. Co

Cole They were waiting for me. Not subtle about it. Three bikes out front that weren’t scheduled. Two trucks I didn’t recognise. The clubhouse door opened like an invitation or a warning. Inside, the air felt tight. Jax leaned against the bar, arms crossed. Rhea sat at the table near the window, fingers drumming once against the wood before going still when I walked in. The rest of the room pretended not to stare. I shut the door behind me. “What,” I said. Jax didn’t smile. “You’ve been busy.” “Yeah.” “With her again.” “Yeah.” “With a custody fight brewing.” Silence. I stepped further in. “Say it.” Rhea stood. “This isn’t about you getting laid.” I didn’t react. “This is about optics,” she continued. “A private investigator showed up here this morning.” That made me pause. “A what showed up.” “They didn’t come inside,” Jax said. “They circled. Parked. Took pictures.” My jaw tightened. “Of what?” “Of bikes. Plates. Faces.” I'll hand it

Cole The next morning, when I came back I didn’t park down the block. I didn’t roll in quietly. I pulled straight into her driveway. Engine low. If someone was watching, they’d watch me pull in. Mara opened the door before I knocked. She looked like she hadn’t slept much. Hair loose. No makeup. Nerves under control but not gone. “You said less visibility,” she said. “I said fewer visits in daylight.” “This is daylight.” “Yes.” I stepped inside without waiting to be invited. The house felt different after last night. Like walls had ears. I walked through the living room slowly. like I was inspecting. My jacket went over the back of the couch. My helmet on the kitchen counter. Boots by the door. Small things. Territory without a flag. Mara watched me. “You’re doing that on purpose,” she said. “Yes.” “Why?” “Because if someone’s building a picture, we control the frame.” Her brows pulled together. “That sounds manipulative.” “

Cole I didn’t go home. I rode. Didn’t have a destination. Didn’t need one. When you’ve been in this life long enough, you learn something early. Men like me don’t stay. We don’t build houses. We don’t get attached to kitchens with chipped mugs and little girls who trust too easily. We move. We leave things before they leave us. That’s the rule. I broke it. I parked two streets away from Mara’s place and killed the engine. Sat there in the dark with the helmet still on like I needed to run She asked for distance. Not fully. But enough. And I gave it. Because loving her openly right now could cost her everything. That’s the part people don’t romanticise. Protection isn’t always standing in the doorway. Sometimes it’s stepping back so the bullets don’t land on her name. My phone buzzed. Jax. “Yeah.” “Where you at.” “Out.” “Rival crew been sniffing around the east route.” Of course, they had. Pressure on one side. Pressure on t