Page 73 of Gonzo's Grudge
She smiled. “Smart. Because I’d catch you.”
I pulled her toothbrush out of the bag she’d brought, unwrapped it, set it in a cup by mine. It looked obscene in its simplicity. Like a stake in the ground made of plastic.
“Sleeping over?” I asked.
“Sleeping home,” she corrected, and the word went through me like a bullet that heals instead of wounds.
Night in the cabin has a sound to it you learn if you stay—trees talking, coyotes far off, the creek interesting itself in rocks. I used to hear it and itch to be out in it. That night it sang like a lullaby I didn’t know I’d earned.
She brushed her teeth. I shaved not completely, but I always kept my beard trimmed down. I didn’t need to shave, but I did it because sometimes a man does the little rituals as a way to tell the part of him that wants to bolt we’re staying. When I came out, she was standing in my old T-shirt and nothing else. The sight alone had my dick hard and my chest full because I could absolutely spend every night like this.
We slept like people who finally figured out how to lie down without keeping boots on. She tucked herself into my side, head on my shoulder, hand flat on my chest. I let myself fall all the way. No exit. No plan B. If the world came in, it could find me with my arms around the thing I chose.
Before dawn, my phone buzzed. I slid out from under her slow, grabbed it off the nightstand, stepped into the hall.
GJ: Ridin’ out at first light. You home?
Me: Yeah.
GJ: You good?
I looked at the closed bedroom door, at the helmet hooks by the front door, at the drawer with the whisper in it that said we’re an us.
Me: For once, yeah.
Dots. Then:
GJ: Tell her thank you for making you less of an ass. See you at breakfast.
I grinned like an idiot in a hallway with a gun safe and a coat rack.
She padded out, sleepy soft, hair messy, eyes half closed. “You talking to your girlfriend?” she teased, voice low.
“My son,” I shared. “He says thanks.”
“For what?”
“For making me less of an ass,” I gave her honestly.
She snorted and stole my coffee mug.
We rode to breakfast feeling the chill in the air. The winter was nosing around the edges of fall; air crisp, sun late. She leaned perfect; I asked her what she felt just to hear her say alive again. Being around her was how she made me feel more than any ride ever had.
At the diner, people did what they do—stared and then stopped staring because staring at me gets you the kind of attention you don’t want. We took a booth. GJ came in five minutes later, loud and bigger than his time served, with Shanks on his six and a laugh that made the waitresses give the longing for a bad boy gaze.
He hugged her. Not a question in it. He’d made the decision to like her and that was that. “You stickin’ around?” he asked, straight to it.
She lifted her chin. “For as long as he will have me.”
“Then get comfortable, baby. Told you this is a life deal for me.”
GJ laughed. “Yeah, cuz you ain’t gettin’ any younger.”
We ate eggs and biscuits and told lies that turned to truth when you looked at them from the right angle. GJ headed out with Shanks for a run out to check the farms that fence the county to make sure the old barns that houses some of our guns hasn’t been messed with. I paid and left a tip that made the owner’s eyebrow go up and got a pie put in a box we didn’t order. Always try to support local businesses.
On the way out, Shay was on the sidewalk. She looked like sleep missed her, lipstick trying to change the subject. Her eyes cut to IvaLeigh’s hand looped in my belt and then back to my face.
“Prez,” she said, chin high. She didn’t reach for me. She’s not stupid.
