Page 11 of Road Rash

4

Old Man

Ilink our fingers together to lead her back to bed. She’s right. We sure as shit need to talk. I lay her down, tucking the covers around her.

“How you feelin’?”

“I could use some Tylenol,” she says, wincing only slightly. That’s a good sign, I think.

“Right. Be back.” I lean the shotgun in the corner of the room closest to my side of the bed before heading across the hallway to the bathroom to fetch her the bottle of Tylenol. She loves Cath’s peach iced tea. I had her make a pitcher along with the soup. I walk to the kitchen to pour her a glass of that to wash down the pills. I get myself a bottle of Bud. I think I deserve it, considering.

She’s so damn beautiful laying there in my bed. Back when she showed up to town as a wide-eyed teenager, dragged into town by a friend who’d heard the Backwoods Rally was one of the best places to make a lot of cash fast. Her friend, who’d stopped coming years ago, didn’t want to come alone—Jonesie took my breath away. Never seen a prettier woman. But she was eighteen and I was thirty-four. No way would it have been right for me to go there. But now, ten years later, does the age gap really mean shit?

Nah, we’re both adults.

I set the glass of tea and the pills onto the nightstand then move around to my side, slipping into bed next to her. While she washes two pills down with the fragrant tea, I take a long pull from my beer and roll onto my side to face her. Bent elbow resting on my pillow. My hand propping my head up.

She plays with the plastic bottle instead of looking at me and I’m about ready to start this conversation when she beats me to it. “I’ve been coming here for years and you’ve never given me any ins. Now you’re calling me baby and kissing me. What’s going on, Old—er—Dane? That’s another thing. You’ve never asked me to call you by your first name before. What’s changed?”

“What’s changed is that when I saw you lyin’ there on the ground unconscious, I realized how stupid I’ve been. You’re mine, baby. Mine.”

“I wanted to be yours my very first rally.”

“You were only eighteen. I was at a different place in life. I couldn’t saddle you down with this life. You needed to live yours first.”

“And you think I have now?”

“I think when that asshole tried to take you from me, I realized that even if you weren’t ready to go there with me, I was willin’ to do anything and everything it takes to get you ready. Not letting you go now.”

“I live in Michigan.”

I shake my head, laughing. “Not anymore. Hard to fuck you, to plant my babies in you, with you all the way up in Michigan. It don’t work. And before you say shit—you and me both know you live in a crappy apartment and you hate your job. Bitched about it enough over the years.”

“I do hate my job.”

“Right.”

“You want to plant babies in me?”

“Baby, I’m forty-four. Ain’t gettin’ any younger. You tellin’ me now you don’t want kids?”

“No. I’m not saying that. I’ve always wanted at least a couple.”

“Right. You don’t want ’em with me?”

Her face burns a bright red. “No. I’m not saying that, either.”

“Then it’s settled. You’re movin’ down here. Can work at the bar or wherever the hell you want to work. Wanna go back to school? We’ll make it happen. The time is over for Betsy-Grace Jones not gettin’ everything she wants out of life.”

“Dane…” she whispers my name letting whatever thought she had trail off. Then she turns those goddamn puppy eyes on me and she swallows. Hard. “It’s crazy how badly I want you to fuck me right now.”

I growl because yeah, I feel that in my dick. “We can’t.”

“I know. It doesn’t decrease the desire, though.”

“So we’re on the same page, you’re sayin’ yes to movin’ here. To officially bein’ my woman. To sleepin’ in my bed, callin’ my home yours, lettin’ me put a ring on your finger and planting my babies in you?”

“Yes.”

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