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I watch Jamie drive off and turn to look at my home for the next twelve hours. I love my job, but sometimes I wish I could do more for those kids. Shorter shifts are a close second on my wish list. Spending twelve hours with severely disabled children, going through autism tantrums and Down’s syndrome communication frustrations, drains me. My heart bleeds for them. Some haven’t seen their birth parents in years, having been sent away and forgotten because they can’t live up to their parents’ expectations. It’s heart-breaking.

But working at the residential home fulfills me. I’ve regretted the move from waitressing to being a caregiver. I’ve looked after my little brother, Nathan, from age eight or nine, and full-time since our mother died. God knows, he struggled with her death and my father’s violent nature. Professional help finally sorted him out, and he’s now ready to leave for college. A bit later than most, but well on his way to a brighter future . . . without the club.

I’m so relieved he decided not to prospect or get more involved in that life. He’s experienced the impact of club life firsthand. I shudder as I push thoughts of the old days aside.

No need to think about that. Not now, not ever.

“Morning!”

I turn around and greet Sarah, my co-worker and friend. “Morning, Sarah. How can you be so cheerful at this godforsaken hour?”

“Easy. Leo was a good boy this morning, no tantrums. He’s at Grandma’s house for the weekend, so I’m child free.” She grins at me, and I inwardly groan . It’s Friday, so I know where this is going. “So, are you finally going to take me to the club party tomorrow? You’ve been promising for ages,” Sarah states.

“Sarah, you know I don’t like the club much, and yes, the parties are awesome, but I’m really not feeling it. Can we make it another weekend?” I beg.

“Ashley, I’ve taken the weekend off and organized childcare for Leo, which you know is nigh on impossible. So, if you pull out now, I will not only have to slap you but withhold Leo for the next five years and wine club is closed to you.” Sarah stomps past me up the stairs to the entrance, not looking back. She’s pissed. The wine club closure is tough, but not seeing my man, Leo, Sarah’s thirteen-year-old autistic son, is too much.

“Okay, okay, you win.” I race after her up the steps, and she smiles as we walk in together. Evil woman, she knows exactly how to railroad me. I consider for a split second asking my manager to change my rotation and put me down for work, but Sarah knows my schedule since we work on the same floor. She’d immediately suspect it was me who initiated the change and that’s just not a temper tantrum I can handle. Hence, left with no choice, club party it is.

At least I don’t have to dress up or think much about what I’ll wear. Jeans and a T-shirt will be appropriate. I ain’t looking for anything or anyone, nor would the brothers give me a second look. I’m family, after all. The club princess. No one would touch me even if I wanted them to. Raven would go berserk, and they all value their patch too much. No one goes against Raven’s instructions.

Besides, I’m not exactly ready for the beauty pageant or anything. Don’t get me wrong, I’m okay, but I’m not a stunner. I like my curves, boobs, and hips. They suit me, I think. Most men today prefer super skinny to naturally curvy, and the guys I know, especially the brothers in the MC, are no exception. At five-foot-ten, I’m well proportioned, but model material? Definitely not. I look after myself, take care of my skin, walk ten thousand steps each day, and meditate to maintain a healthy body and mind. I’m happy with myself, inside and outside. Whoever dislikes me doesn’t have to look at me. That’s my motto.

???

Today, I’m working with Belle, a beautiful little blond girl with Down’s syndrome. Her almond-shaped, bright green eyes sparkle when she sees me.

“Ash, Belle wuvs you,” she screeches, toddling toward me. I catch her in my arms and swing her around. Her screeches hurt my ears, but her giggles warm my heart.

“Love you too, pumpkin.” I lean down to kiss her cheek. “Let’s get you dressed and ready for breakfast, huh?” I smile at her and swing her around. She nods vigorously, scrambling to get down, then running ahead of me to her room. At six years old, she normally attends a special school the next town over, but today, we’re having a day out.

The home’s minibus will take us into Duluth, where we’ll go shopping, get her a haircut, have lunch, and then the bus will pick us up after speech therapy at two-thirty this afternoon. Belle doesn’t get out much. Her parents never visit her. Four years ago, her parents signed her up, dropped her off, and haven’t been seen since .

I wonder if Belle would even recognize them.

Belle needs help washing and brushing her teeth, so I make sure she manages. All goes swimmingly until we get to the clothes laid out for her.

“No,” she shouts and stomps her foot. I roll my eyes.

“What would you like to wear, sweetie?” I ask calmly. She runs to the wardrobe, pulls out every item she can reach, looks at it, and throws it over her shoulder.

“This one!” Her triumphant voice comes out from the bottom of the wardrobe. She turns and holds up a Princess Elsa costume for me to see. I groan, but it’s not worth arguing about clothes with Belle because she’ll throw a never-ending tantrum and make us late for our appointments. So, reluctantly, I help Belle get dressed and we enter the dining room for breakfast. Rice puffs and a Pop Tart are already laid out at the table for her. She wolfs down her breakfast and just finishes when the horn of the minibus marks its arrival.

“Come on, princess, let’s have an adventure.” I smile at her, her hand firmly in mine. Let the fun begin.

???

I’m exhausted by the time six p.m. rolls around, having spent hours today trying to get Belle’s hair cut. The poor salon lady, I felt sorry for her. Belle was so fidgety, even I considered using a trimmer for a crew cut, and my patience is usually endless. This was followed by a tantrum because Belle wanted blue ketchup with her fries for lunch, which had customers leave the diner en masse, lots of them turning their noses up at us. I think we can safely say we weren’t the most popular customers today. I can giggle about it now, but admittedly, I felt a bit intimidated by the vicious glare from the lady at the next table.

Clothes shopping had to be abandoned. Belle was in no mood to try on anything except pirate costumes. I guess that’s a project for my day off over the weekend. The mere thought makes me break out in a sweat, and I think I may have to smuggle the clothes into her wardrobe when she isn’t looking.

Speech therapy went well though. Belle has come along in leaps and bounds. She’ll still have to attend for a good while, but she’s improving slowly.

On our return, she was so tired and overwrought, reasoning with her became impossible. She refused to eat her dinner and just snacked on some chips and an apple. Good luck to Eve, the night caregiver I handed her over to. I love those kids dearly, but a day like today takes it out of me. I’m desperate to get home, have a long hot bath and a glass of wine, and read my Kindle for a couple of hours before going to bed.

Sarah walks toward me, as I see a club truck roll into the parking lot of the care home.

“Hey, missy, what time tomorrow? I’ll pick you up.” I grit my teeth. She’s so chipper and obviously looking forward to the party, I can’t really make an excuse without hurting her.

“Seven-thirty will be fine. We can chat, have a drink, and get there for nine.”

“Sure, it is.” She smiles at me, looks at the occupant of the truck, and whistles. “Is that hottie going to be there?” Weird. The prospects are quite young and well out of Sarah’s age range, I would have thought. As I take a closer look at my driver for the night, a hot and cold feeling creeps over me. Vegas! Out of all the club members, it had to be Vegas. I still drown in shame when I think about our last accidental meeting.

Get over it already. That was two years ago. I give myself a stern talking to and shake my thoughts out of my mind. Before I can say anything else to Sarah, Vegas jumps out of the truck, stalks around to my side, and opens the door for me.

“Get in. I haven’t got all night,” he grouches, obviously as pleased to see me as I am to see him. I shrug my shoulders, climb up into the cabin, and wind my window down. Sarah stares open-mouthed at the exchange in front of her.

“Rude or what?” she grumbles, giving Vegas the stink eye. “I’ll be at yours at seven thirty Ash, no worries, we take my car since it doesn’t look as though yours is fixed.” She waves at me and turns toward her car.