Page 38 of Hell In A Handbasket
Ugh!
I drop my head back and groan up at the stars.
Archer chuckles. “I’ve been firmly anti-Soph since the start. In fact, I’ve given her shit for a year, warning her not to trust you.”
“That makes you feel good now?” I bring fiery eyes back down. “Because you were right?”
“Nope. Because I wanted to be wrong. Fuck knows, I should ride this pony into the sunset, knowing I got my way and you’ll no longer be a source of stress for me.”
“But?”
“But…” He sighs. “It matters to me that she’s not hurting. So make this better, Solomon. Fix it before we’re back in Copeland.” He turns, too, walks to the grill, and snags a bread roll. He constructs his dinner and tosses his beer bottle into the tub we’ve designated as a trash can. Then he bends and collects a fresh bottle, before following his wife in. “Micah, you keep an eye on Cato. Keep him out of the lake. I’m done for the night.”
MINKA
Iwake the next morning crushed against the wall of our sleep cubby, my right arm tingling in that interim stage, between pins and needles and complete amputated death. My bladder aches and my back is stiff, because even in expensive luxury buses, the mattresses are thin and the space, minimal.
Still, I glance down and hum my pleasure, because Archer uses me as a pillow, his cheek on my chest, his arm draped across my torso, and his heavy leg trapping mine in place.
So big and strong, so sure in all the things he does and unflinching in the choices he makes. He was born and raised to survive. To exist within hell and get out anyway, which means he learned from a young age to trust his instincts and follow them out of the fire.
I envy that certainty he carries.
But I cherish his vulnerability when it’s just the two of us, even with his back exposed to the exit and our only privacy screen being a curtain.
If the Bishops wanted to hurt us, they could’ve done it easily while we slept.
I draw a long breath, dragging fresh air into my lungs and expanding my chest, since it feels entirely too compacted in our tight confines, then I turn just my head and peer out the bus’s tinted windows to the summer scenery that surrounds a small town called Plainview.
They have mountains and streams. But they have a desert, too. Scarce trees, and not nearly enough drive-thru coffee places.
And by not nearly enough, I mean none. Absolutely zero.
It’s criminal, really.
Carefully, so I don’t wake Archer, I inch my arm out from between me and the wall and flex my hand, bringing blood flow back into my limb. I finger the tiny window latch and peel it open until air filters in and the fresh, clean scent you can’t find anywhere in any city replaces the stale, overused oxygen we’ve recycled time and time again over the last… however many hours.
Too many.
So many that my bladder is full and my skin is tacky with sweat.
“Morning, Minnnka.”
“Shit!” Hissing, I startle and swing my gaze down, locking on to Archer’s beautiful green stare. But he looks up at me with a smile, a boyish charm shining within sleepy eyes and puffy cheeks.
Best of all, he braces his hand against the wall and pushes up to kiss me on the lips.
He pulls away again, grunting and turning on the thin mattress, then he drops onto his back and uses his arms as a pillow, rotating the balls of his shoulders until—pop—the bones click in the sockets. “Sleep well?”
“All night,” I whisper, brutally aware that a curtain is useless in shielding us from listening ears. And dammit, I’m kind of tired of not having privacy. “Ready to go home today?”
“I’ll go wherever you go.” He lazily grins. “You hungry?”
“Not yet.” A long, noisy yawn takes over me, forcing my eyes to shut and tears to squeeze from the corners. It holds me captive, my lungs broadening and my chest expanding, and because I have more room than Archer does, I stretch my arms and legs until, just like with him—pop—bones crackle and a happy groan rolls from the base of my throat. Finally, I open my eyes again and blink the moisture from my vision. “Guess we’re the first ones awake.”
“Nope.” He tips his chin toward the window, so I follow his gaze and search outside of the bus—the lake a little way off, and massive shading willows surrounding it. Morning sunlight sparkles off the lake’s surface, and a soft breeze gives the weeping trees a reason to dance. I cast my gaze all the way to the right, then I hover close to the glass and scan left until, finally, I catch movement. Running feet and sweaty bodies. Bare chests and, though it’s quick, the fast pass of something orange and round.
A basketball.
