Emily. The only woman he had ever truly loved, and the one he had walked away from seven years ago in a storm of pride, reckless youth, and fear of being tied down. He had spent the last seven years convinced that she despised him for leaving. He had ridden across every backroad in America, running from the shame of his cowardice, unaware that when he left, she was carrying a piece of him with her.
"Your mother... her name was Emily?" Jackson whispered, his voice cracking into pieces.
The girl nodded, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. "Yes. She told me... if I ever found you, I had to tell you something."
Jackson’s eyes reddened, hot tears mixing with the cold rain streaming down his weathered face. He looked at the girl—at her eyes, her gentle expression—and saw the unmistakable reflection of the woman he had lost.
The little girl took a step closer, raising her small arms and wrapping them tightly around the giant biker's neck. Pressing her cold cheek against his soaked leather vest, she whispered softly: