Page 91 of Iron Hearts

When Dad was alive, interacting with Grandma had been much easier for both Mom and myself, being that he kind of acted like a shield for the both of us… but with Dad gone? It was like Mom was starving for Grandma’s approval all over again and she would bend the knee whatever it took, and most of the time? It took me going under the bus. Or at least, so it felt like to me.

I knew it was coming… but it was like any accident or collision – you knew it was coming, you could see it was coming, the dread and suspense and anxiety of it was building, the utter horror at what was to come – knowing it would be bad. Knowing that bones would crunch, blood would spray, and it would be all kinds of gory and you wouldn’t be able to unseeanyof it, but God dammit, you still couldn’t look away.

I could do confrontation all damn night at the bar. I could even do it all damn day at the craft store… or when it came to keeping the boys in line, but when it came to my grandma or my mom – I couldn’t tell you how much I avoided it and didn’t want to deal with it.

My grandmother ran through a bunch of seemingly innocent questions with Striker, but I knew she was fishing and it would only be a matter of time before she found something to be unhappy about.

“How long have you been doing that? Working for your friend, I mean,” she asked.

Striker was polite and succinct in his answer, and I put my hand over where his rested on my knee and gave it a warning squeeze.

I’d come clean about what she could be like, had spilled all of my fears, and he was honestly the only person I felt like I was free to do that with, you know? He was certainly the only person I was comfortable doing it with.

“And before that?” she asked and I swear it almost felt like my throat was closing up.

“US Military service, Army Stryker brigade. I’ve done several tours,” he said and he definitely was clipped talking about his service. I knew he didn’t like talking about it. Hated the hero worship that came with it, because as he’d confided in me in one of our late-night talks – he didn’t feel like what he’d done over there was any type of ‘hero shit.’ His words, not mine.

“Well, thank you for your service!” my grandfather said, and all Striker did was give him a tight nod, once up, and once down acknowledging the thanks politely.

I could see my grandmother doing the calculations in her head, like that one internet GIF of the woman with that justlookof confused concentration as the math equations in sheer gibberish went up around her head.

“How old are you, Striker?” my grandmother asked.

Shit. Fuck. Goddammit, here we go,I thought.

“I’m forty-two,” he answered honestly and the table suddenly went very still and very quiet as Grandma, Grandpa,andMom all traded glances.

“Forty-two?” my grandmother asked innocently, as though she hadn’t heard him plain as day.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

My mom surprised me then. She met my eyes and with a faint smile said, “I always knew my Rarity would see older men, she’s got an old soul.”

Aw, Mom…

I took a deep breath, and tried not to tear up, because I hadn’t expected that. My mom hardly ever stood up for me where Grandma was concerned but she’d clearly just put out her flag on top of this hill and proclaimed she was going to die on it with that endorsement.

I stared at my mom and tried to telegraph all of my gratitude and love with that one look, and she smiled over the top of Caden’s head who was seated in her lap, and gave a slight nod back.

I don’t know why she did it, but it meant the world to me that she was on my side with this one.

Striker and my grandmother traded questions and answers, and I could tell Grandma was getting worked up and didn’t like things one bit.

I guess Striker saw the signs, too and rather than continue engaging to where my grandmother caused a scene, he said, “Why don’t y’all enjoy the park some more, I’d like to take Rarity over on yonder to see something cool about this place. We’ll meet back up at the bleachers for the show at three o’clock.”

“That sounds great,” my mom said with a big smile, heading off my grandmother’s argument which she had barely gotten to draw breath to try and make.

Striker stood up right then and there and held a hand down to me, I took it, even though I wasn’t done eating and I was still hungry.Anythingto extricate myself from my grandmother feeling like she was some kind of bloodhound on a scent.

We excused ourselves and wandered in whatever direction he wanted to take me.

“Sorry, Princess,” he murmured softly as we went up over one of the boardwalks around the main alligator pit where the shows happened.

“It’s okay,” I said with a nervous laugh. “Anything is better than sitting through one of gran’s humiliating third degrees.”

“Still hungry?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said ruefully.

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