Page 89 of Under Pressure

Bluebell shot a glance up at Sean. “Fate had other plans, I guess.”

Don’s heart filled with warmth. “I guess,” he said, trying not to sound too pleased.

Sean turned to Erickson. “So, what does a guy have to do to bail his unruly grandpa and friends from jail?”

“Hey,” Walt grumbled.

Erickson lifted his hands. “Now, wait a minute. I didn’t say they could go.”

“You remember last winter?” Sean glanced up as if trying to recall something. “I believe it was December 22?”

Erickson paled. “You said you’d never mention that again.”

Don’s eyes grew wide.

“Yeah, well, then you put my grandpa in jail. In a hurricane.”

“It’s not like they’re going to die in here,” Erickson argued. “The cells are probably the safest place he could be.”

“But he won’t be with family,” Bluebell said. “No one should have to go through a hurricane without their family.”

Don’s heart clenched.

Sean leaned close to Bluebell and whispered in her ear. She wiped at her eyes and nodded. He moved back. “So what’s it to be, Ryan? You let my gramps and his friends out, or do I start calling in favors?”

A small smile crooked the corner of Erickson’s lips. He pulled his keys from his pocket. “Fine, but if I get in trouble for this, I’m telling them you broke him out. And I want in on your Friday night poker games.”

“Deal,” Sean said.

Erickson unlocked the cell. Walt and Harry led the way, as Don went back for the box of letters.

“Good of you to get us out,” Steve said to Sean.

Erickson moved Steve to the side, one brow arched, to let Don out. “Not you.”

Steve threw his arms up. “Oh, come on! You heard what the lady said about being with family in a hurricane.”

“You’ll be fine here.” Erickson locked up the cell and followed the group out. “It’s wet out there. Keep warm.”

“Thanks, Ryan,” Sean said, shaking his hand.

“No problem,” Erickson said. “Having your grandpa and his friends here made work fun.”

“Because of the dancing?” Harry asked.

“I enjoyed the meditatin’ y’all did. With the Buddha pose.” He did a chef’s kiss. “Epic.”

Don bristled. Getting down on the floor and sitting like that had been hard, dehumanizing, and pointless. And what was with the chanting?

Sean and Bluebell looked at Don and then asked at the same time. “Meditating?”

“I’ll tell you later.” He clutched his shoebox to his side—a move Sean didn’t miss.

Sean and Bluebell headed out to the car first, but just before the guys chased after them, Don smiled at their retreating forms, noticing they hadn’t released one another’s hands once.

He leaned into Harry and Walt, and with an amused grin said, “Looks like getting them both to the station worked after all.”

21

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