Page 3 of Heart of Stone (Stoneheart MC #1)

ANDI

D ay one of my new life as a parent to three children starts as any parent would understand: way too early.

I wake to find a child peering at me from the side of the bed.

"Wawy, wawy," Amy says, touching my face. "Potty."

With a groan, I roll out of bed and stumble to my feet, guiding her to the toilet.

She does her business, kicking her tiny chubby legs as she chats on about everything and nothing.

She keeps gesturing to the bathroom, and I interpret her hand movements as approval for the cleaning job I did last night.

I poke my head into their bedroom and note that Adam is still fast asleep after his 4 AM feed, while Abby has managed to climb out of her bed and now sits on the floor of their bedroom playing with stuffed toys.

I didn’t clean their bedroom last night, opting to let them sleep, but it’s on my list for today after breakfast and shopping.

I take the twins into the kitchen and make them some cereal, watching carefully as they use their fingers to fish out the soggy pieces.

It’s always been like this, and I’m starting to realize this is less a quirk of a two-year-old and more that they’ve never been taught how to use spoons or cutlery.

Just another thing to add to my list.

It’s Friday, and normally on a Friday, I’d be finishing up my jobs for the week, but today it feels like I’m beginning the rest of my life. I sip some shitty instant coffee I uncover in the back of Amanda's next-to-bare cupboard and start making plans for the day.

First, I need to buy a car. I can’t wait.

If one of the kids gets sick, I need a way to get to the hospital and cart them around.

I’ll need to put my bike up for sale. I know it’ll fetch a pretty penny, but God, what a blow.

That bike is everything I’ve ever wanted.

I worked my ass off for that bike, saving up for twelve months to buy an absolute wreck of a Harley.

Over the next year, I slowly restored it myself.

Every beautiful inch of it is my blood, sweat, and tears.

She purrs like a tiger, flies across the road like a graceful gazelle—delicate but solid.

The bike is perfect in every single way, every decal from the powder blue down to the gorgeous hand-pressed silver with march violets.

She’s the first thing I ever earned that showed me I was a success, that I could do this, that life could be better.

My favorite time of the year is in the middle of summer when I take a week off and just ride her into the sunset.

Wherever I land is where I set up camp. I love that.

I love the feeling of freedom, of adventure, of knowing that my entire world is the bike between my legs and the open road.

I close my eyes, biting back tears as I realize I have to give up the one thing in my life that has brought me so much joy.

I’ve had offers on her before—thirty, forty grand. She’s a classic, and she’s my daily. Forty grand. If I can get that for her, I can’t pass up that kind of money when I need to pay for childcare, rent, and a bunch of other stuff I had no idea kids bring with them.

It hurts. It hurts so bad.

Knowing it’s better to rip the band-aid off rather than draw out the pain, I dial my boss. He picks up on the second ring.

"Yo, you okay?" he asks, his voice heavy with concern.

Duck has owned the mechanic's shop for close to thirty years. Now in his late sixties, the guy has forgotten more about engines and motorcycles than I could ever hope to learn in a lifetime.

"Yeah," I lie. "Just peachy."

"So, what's going on? Your cousin bail again?"

I make a noise of affirmation. "Yeah, but this time I—" I swallow hard. The words I’m about to say will turn what is in theory a decision into reality. Sucking in a deep breath, I do what I have to do.

"Yeah, this time I don’t think it’s changing. I’m gonna take custody of the kids."

"Damn. That’s rough."

I nod, aware he can’t see me but unable to speak around the thick lump of emotion filling my throat.

"What do you need?" His question doesn’t surprise me. Duck’s a good guy.

He might be a biker and a mechanic, but he knows his stuff, and he cares about each of us.

He’s also the first guy to take a chance on me when I was fresh out of school, and for that, I’m grateful, considering how many other places took one look at my gender and decided I was better off in the office than under the hood.

“I need to sell my bike.”

He sucks in a breath. "You sure?"

I swallow. "Yeah."

"What price are you looking for?"

"As much as I can get."

"Got it." I hear him moving around, shuffling. "I might have someone. Let me give them a call."

I push away any regrets I might be entertaining as I watch the girls slurping their milk. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Anything else you need? Aside from a shoulder to cry on?"

I chuckle. "You know any good babysitters? Or maybe we could turn the back office into a daycare?"

Duck snorts. "Over my dead body. Don’t get me wrong, my grandkids are cute and all, but no one wants them running around during office hours."

I sigh. "Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but about our health insurance..."

"Don’t worry about it," he says, cutting me off. "You’re covered."

I exhale heavily. "Thanks, I really appreciate it, Duck."

"Seriously, don’t sweat it, kid. We’ve got your back. Now, you need a car?"

"How—how did you know?"

"Call me a clairvoyant or the dad of six kids and 18 grandkids. Either way, you’re going to need transport, especially if you’re thinking of selling the bike."

"Yeah," I admit. "Amanda didn’t exactly leave me with the most useful of cars," I say, thinking of the wreck that’s been sitting in her yard for the last six months. Even I, as good as I am, wouldn’t dare attempt to salvage it.

Sure, the parts would be useful, but the car itself is an absolute goner, the engine beyond repair.

"You got anything cheap?" I ask. "Something in my price range?"

"Take the loaner."

I sigh. "I can’t, Duck. That’s for customers."

"We look after family here," he says, ignoring my protests. "And you’re family, kid. Best employee I’ve had in 30 years."

Tears burn the back of my eyes. I’ve never had a dad—just one deadbeat after another that my mom brought home.

Some were okay, offering me sweets or candy.

Others tried to be a dad, disciplining me or urging my mom to take an interest in my life.

But the rest? They all disappeared pretty quickly.

The longest stuck around for three months; the shortest, a couple of days.

I’m not unfair or resentful, never have been.

But I regret not having good people in my life, and Duck and his wife, Maggie, are good people. Really good people.

"Thanks," I mutter, unable to convey exactly how grateful I am. "Add me for an extra shift or something. I’ll pay you back, I promise."

Duck makes a sound, a cross between amusement and annoyance. "You’ll do no such thing. Be here on Tuesday. If you need a sitter, you let me know. Mags would love to look after your kids."

I swallow hard.

Your kids.

That’s going to be me from now on. The single mom of three kids.

Jesus Christ, what have I signed up for? What am I getting myself into? I can’t do this. Who am I to think I can take over as their parent? I’m no one.

“All right, got to go, girl,” Duck says. “I’ll get one of the boys to drop around the car.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. “Oh, by the way, let me text you the address. I’m staying at Amanda’s until I can work out what to do about an apartment. Mine isn’t exactly child-friendly.”

“Got it. Text me the address, and we’ll organize the drop-off today.”

“Appreciate it. Thanks, Duck.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He hangs up, and I stare down at my phone as Adam begins to make noises in the back bedroom. What the hell am I doing with my life?

It takes some wrangling, but I manage to get all three kids fed, clean, and out the door.

Another bus ride across town takes us to one of those kids' stores, where I get all three of them measured up for car seats. A lot of money later, we’re off, headed to the real goal: lunch.

I feed the twins McDonald’s while Adam nurses and I call my landlord.

I moved to a month-to-month lease a few months back, which I never thought I’d need. I guess there’s a lot that I never thought I’d need.

I phone in my notice and ask hopefully if he might have any two- or three-bedroom apartments in my price range. It seems my shitty luck is holding as the answer to this is a resounding no.

After lunch, we troop over to the welfare office, where we sit in a long line in a cold, clinical waiting room with slightly flickering lights, waiting to be seen by a case manager.

I don’t begrudge them the wait, but I get frustrated by the other people in the room who don’t seem to understand that juggling three kids while waiting to speak to someone has to be one of the nine circles of hell.

Finally, after three hours, two tantrums, and a ton of snacks, we’re ushered into a room.

“Sorry about the wait,” the woman says, tucking her grey-speckled hair behind her ears. She has a kind face but no-nonsense eyes, and her brisk manner puts me at ease. This is a woman who’s been around the system for a long time, and I can tell with one look that she knows her stuff.

“I’m Robin. How can I help?”

I explain the issue with Amanda and Paul and the filth of the house.

Thankfully, last night, I had the foresight to take pictures of the conditions the kids were living in.

Robin writes up a report, admitting that, yeah, we’ll have to go through CPS, but since I’m already taking care of them and am happy to take on the responsibilities, there doesn’t seem to be any reason why I can’t continue doing so until the court-ordered mandate is imposed.