Page 26 of My Single Dad Biker

I should leave. Should walk out and get in my truck and go get my son. I cup her face in my hand instead and kiss her. Slow and deliberate. Tasting her. Feeling the way she leans into me.

When I pull back we're both breathing harder.

"Tomorrow," I say.

"Tomorrow."

I leave and I hear the deadbolt slide home behind me. Get in my truck and sit there for thirty seconds trying to get my heart rate under control.

Tomorrow I'm coming back. Tomorrow I'm not leaving until I know what she sounds like when I'm inside her. Tomorrow I'm making this permanent whether it's smart or not.

I drive to Ray's place and pick up Louis. He's tired and happy.

They watched a superhero movie and had popcorn. I thank Ray's nephew and get Louis in the truck.

"Dad, your hands are bandaged."

"Just scraped them at work."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not much."

He accepts this. We drive home and do the routine. Bath. Pajamas. Reading. He's asleep by nine-thirty.

I sit on my back porch after he's down. My shoulder aches. My hands ache. I can still feel Katherine's fingers on my wrists and her breath against my mouth.

I told her about Torres and Webb and Keller. About the call I made that killed them. About why my marriage ended. Things I haven't told anyone in years.

And she told me about her mother. About her father still looking for her in the next room. About staying being what matters.

Tomorrow.

I sit there until after midnight just thinking about what tomorrow means.

Chapter 5 — Katherine

I drop my keys twice before I manage to unlock my front door.

It's Thursday evening, just after six, and my hands won't stop shaking.

Not from fear. From anticipation. From the fact that Holt said tomorrow night and tomorrow night is tonight and I have three hours to figure out how to be a normal functioning person before he shows up at my door.

I didn't sleep last night.

Kept replaying the moment in my kitchen when he sat at my table and let me clean blood off his knuckles.

The way he looked at me when he said the first place he wanted to go after burning that warehouse was here.

The way he kissed me before he left and said tomorrow like a promise.

School was a blur.

Louis was in my classroom at eleven and I smiled at him like I always do and tried not to think about the fact that his father's hands were under my shirt two nights ago and tonight they're going to be under more than my shirt.

I taught my classes on autopilot. Kindergarteners learned to clap on beat. First graders practiced their recorders badly.

By the time sixth grade left at two-thirty I couldn't remember a single thing any of them said.