Page 75 of Gonzo's Grudge
That night I did what I do when something is too big for my throat—I wrote it. Paper. Pen. No phone. I wrote three sentences and folded them under her toothbrush because I am a dramatic son of a bitch when no one’s looking:
No secrets.
No sharing.
No exits.
She found it in the morning and pressed it to my chest like a brand.
“You missed one,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Always tell me how it feels.”
I huffed. “It feels like us.”
“Then we’re good.” She smirked.
We were.
The first test came sooner than I liked. Tests always do. Catalina called from a number I shouldn’t have answered and I answered it anyway. Old ghosts don’t need doors to get in.
“Gonzo,” she said, like an accusation and a prayer in one word. “We need to talk.”
“No, Cat,” I tried to contain my aggravation. “We don’t.”
“You think this little college girl?—”
“Stop,” I ordered. “You don’t get to swing at her to make yourself feel better. I did you wrong years ago. I did you wrong trying to keep this half alive when I should’ve buried it. That’s on me. But you don’t get to climb in my windows and choke me in my sleep because I finally figured out how to breathe.”
Silence crackled. Then: “You chose them over me. You always did.”
“I chose the club over everyone,” I admitted. “I chose my son. Tonight I’m choosing someone who chose me back without asking me to become a man I can’t be. Take the part that’s me acknowledging my wrong and leave the rest.”
She exhaled like smoke. “You sound different.”
“I am,” I conceded, and ended the call before she could swing the conversation back to something that never fit.
I walked out to the porch where Iva was reading something that looked like it hurt. She looked up. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I explained. “Ghost hunting.”
“You want me to get the salt?” she shot back, so dry I almost choked.
“I want you to stay,” I admitted.
“I thought that was the plan all along,” she stated, like she was telling me the weather.
I liked the comfort between us.
It wasn’t long before we found a rhythm together. The club was running smoothly and staying under the radar while the feds picked apart every person in a county position. Judge Bishop who left us high and dry when Hampton Stanley decided to pull in Judge Walsh didn’t get far enough away. He was facing some serious jail time for bank fraud. That was how Stanley got him to walk away from our deal and get the hell out of dodge. Too bad for him, Stanley going down meant he took everyone he could with him.
GJ watched me like a man watches a horse that used to buck and now wants to pull. “Feels weird,” he said one night on the stoop, smoke curling around words. “Seeing you not look at the door while sitting still. Seeing you not itch for the next fight.”
“Feels better,” I shared.
He nodded. “Good. I liked you angry because it meant you weren’t dead. But this is better.”
