Page 12 of Crow’s Haven (Savage Legion MC #15)

Sharon

I t’s the weekend and Crow has training scheduled with the prospects again today.

And the best part is Scout is getting his cast off today.

Dr. Patchett, or Patch as he’s known here, is meeting us at the clubhouse.

And much to everyone’s delight, we’re taking the motorcycle with the sidecar.

All in all, it’s shaping up to be a wonderful day.

By the time we hit the road today, I know what to expect.

I’m growing accustomed to the way the engine vibrates under us, the pull of gravity as we round curves, the stretch of road that smells like pine trees.

I’ve learned to lean in and let the ride take me.

All these precious memories and lots more have been carefully committed to memory.

Beside us, the boys shout something I can’t quite make out over the wind. The sidecar rattles slightly as we ride. The sound of their laughter rising and falling like waves.

Crow glances over his shoulder as we merge onto the quiet secondary road.

I smile at him and run one hand down his shoulder.

His eyes find mine in the mirror, and I catch the sexy smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.

My breath catches before I can stop it. There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes me want to do naughty things with him.

I like his quick glances as much as his long lingering looks.

I give him a tiny nod, squeeze my knees gently against the bike and wrap my arms more firmly around his waist. Days like this are my favorite.

He doesn’t take the coastal highway when the boys are with us.

It’s too risky. Too much traffic at higher speeds and too many blind turns.

Instead, he sticks to the inland secondary roads, ones with wider lanes, and less traffic.

The boys don’t care. As long as they are in the sidecar, they’re happy as little clams. And he won’t ever hear a peep out of me.

There are still enough long stretches and gentle curves to make the ride feel exciting.

Crow shouts over his shoulder as we crest a hill, his voice barely audible over the engine and wind. “You holding up okay back there, Ladybug?”

I grin. “I am. Just enjoying a Sunday ride.”

Crow doesn’t respond right away, but I feel his posture relax a bit. His head turns slightly. Something makes me think he’s smiling beneath the helmet.

The next stretch of road is smooth, with gentle dips and shallow curves.

The sun cuts through the trees as it rises in the morning sky.

We couldn’t have asked for better weather for a ride to the clubhouse.

Riding with Crow and his boys is the closest thing to joy I’ve felt in a long time and I’m loath to give it up.

I guess that’s why I chickened out about telling him about my past.

Without meaning to, I find myself gently caressing his stomach. And that is absolutely the wrong thing to do in this situation.

The bike comes to an abrupt stop at an intersection and Crow glances back at me. “Try not to distract me,” Crow tosses over his shoulder after a beat. “I need both hands on the throttle.”

“Sorry,” I tell him, crying on the inside. “I didn’t mean to do that. I just got lost in thought.”

He flashes me a quick grin. “Darlin’ I ain’t complainin’ about your hands on me, just not when I’m ridin’.”

“Got it,” I tell him, my cheeks burning red.

I glancing down at his boys, but I don’t think they can hear what we’re saying.

The heat in his eyes tells me he likes my touch more than he thinks he should, so I don’t feel too bad about getting handsy.

Crow gets in his share of flirting when he thinks the boys aren’t paying attention.

Chase interrupts with a dramatic yell from the sidecar. “I saw a deer! Or maybe a log! It was fast!”

“That was a log,” Scout corrects him. “Deer have legs, dummy.”

Crow gently rebukes Scout, “Don’t call your brother names, Scout. You know better than that.”

“Respect, right?”

His dad just nods but before he can say anything, Chase cuts into the conversation again.

“Logs have legs if you believe hard enough!” His tone is grumbly, and he folds his arms over his chest. Only the harness is in the way, making him look more cartoonish than serious.

Scout snorts, and I can practically feel the eye roll he’s making behind his visor.

Crow revs up the engine and we take off again. The road straightens, and we coast along at an easy speed, wind tugging at my jacket.

There’s a natural closeness between us now.

Comfortable, but still careful. We haven’t crossed that line.

Not yet. But I can feel us edging towards it, bit by bit.

It’s telling by the way our glances hold just a beat too long.

The warmth in his voice when he says my name.

The way I catch myself taking notice of how gorgeous his bare feet are when he pads around the house in the morning and how I’ve memorized all his tattoos.

At least the ones I can see…

***

The clubhouse comes into view around the next bend.

Even though it’s really early, the lot is already dotted with bikes, sunlight gleaming off chrome.

A few trucks and cars are parked along the far edge of the parking lot.

There’s movement near the garage, someone in a cutoff flannel leaning over an open hood, but I can’t make out who.

The boys erupt in cheers as Crow slows the bike and pulls into the back lot.

“Clubhouse!” Chase yells, punching the air. “We made it!”

“I get to open the gate!” Scout announces, even though the gate is clearly already open. They’re just pretending, like usual.

Crow cuts the engine, and the sudden quiet enables me to hear the birds chirping in the trees and the boys’ voices more clearly.

I swing my leg off slowly, taking off my helmet as I look around.

My anxiety climbs up again, even though I’ve been here before.

It might be a family friendly place, but the clubhouse still feels like a private club I’m not entirely sure I’ve earned the right to enter.

I’m not patched, claimed as Crow’s old lady, or anything, really. I’m just a tagalong.

But Crow is already climbing off the bike and turning towards me, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder for a moment before he stoops down to unbuckle the boys.

The back patio of the clubhouse is bathed in sunshine.

It’s the bright, warm space where the boys normally play while Crow trains the prospects.

There is a fire pit off the side, surrounded by stone seating.

The boys have claimed the whole space as their personal kingdom, turning every bench, rock, and stick into part of some imaginary battlefield.

Chase barrels around the corner with a plastic dinosaur in one hand and a stick-turned-sword in the other. “The lava’s coming! Get to higher ground!”

Scout leaps dramatically onto a bench. “Too late! You’re melting!”

I watch him teeter for a moment before he gets his footing and jumps forward to catch him.

It proves to be unnecessary, because he flings his arms out wide, his casted arm flailing, to regain his balance.

I want to tell him to be careful, but I don’t.

This is the way they play. I’m not going to nag them incessantly.

They jump back down and roll in the grass like puppies, giggling. I smile to myself, seeing them like this—sweet. They could make a game out of anything.

I sit on a shaded bench at the far end, legs tucked up beneath me, Chase’s hoodie bunched in my lap where he tossed it earlier.

I almost can’t take my eyes off Crow. He’s in the clearing just beyond the patio, working with two of the prospects.

He’s sweating in the sun, black T-shirt clinging to his back in a way that makes my mouth go a little dry. Then, without a word, he peels it off and tosses it onto the railing.

I freeze. I’ve rarely seen him shirtless. And every single time I have, it’s been a genuine treat.

Crow’s chest is broad and solid, with muscles tight beneath his inked skin.

I especially love his tattoos. Intricate designs cover most of his chest and crawl down both arms. It’s enough to make a woman wonder what else is tattooed.

His chest is particularly fascinating with intricate designs framing a black-winged skull over his heart.

The tattoos are more than decoration. They’re a story, inked in pain and pride.

He’s promised to tell me what every drop of ink means.

I’m very much looking forward to that day.

I try hard not to stare. I really do. But my eyes keep drifting back.

“Ladybug?” a small voice chirps.

I blink and look down. Chase has climbed into my lap, cheeks flushed from running. He curls into me without hesitation, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Hi, sweetheart,” I murmur, brushing a leaf from his curls. “Tired already?”

He shrugs. “Kinda. Can we just sit here?”

I wrap my arms around him. “Yeah, we can sit.”

We watch the others for a while in companionable silence. Scout joins the prospects, trying to mimic Crow’s movements with exaggerated flair, earning him an approving chuckle from Evan. Levi shows him how to block a punch using slow motion, and Scout soaks it up like it’s gospel.

Chase fidgets in my lap. His voice is quieter when he speaks again.

“Are you gonna be our mommy?” he asks, not looking at me. “Or are you another butterfly?”

The words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. I go still, barely breathing.

My eyes lift automatically to Crow. He’s focused on Evan again, mid-demonstration, unaware of the tiny question his son just asked.

“I…” My voice falters. I look down at Chase, who’s still not meeting my eyes, his thumb brushing the edge of my sleeve. “What do you mean, another butterfly?”

He shrugs, but I know exactly what he means. “Butterflies are pretty, but they always fly away.”