Page 19 of Exile & Lula
I glanced at my parents’ house. Though staying close to my people made sense, I didn’t get up from the lounge chair.
After a while, I heard a motorcycle ride up to my driveway and assumed one of my siblings had returned. However, this person knocked rather than use the code to unlock the door. Immediately paranoid, I grabbed my phone to check for messages from the security detail located at each entrance to the Sleepy Eye Community. I also gripped the Springfield Armory Hellcat my parents bought me a few years ago as a birthday gift.
My house was designed with plenty of windows to take advantage of the beautiful view and natural light. Right now, I wished I had been more guarded with my choices. The person at the front door could see me approaching if I didn’t slink along the walls. I tried to catch sight of them before they did me.
I considered running for my safe room and calling for help. Before I ducked down the hallway toward my bedroom, I spotted Exile glancing through the door’s sidelight. My panic quickly flipped to curiosity.
Shoving my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, I walked to the door and opened it to find a grumpy cowboy biker on the other side.
Exile’s scowl faded, leaving behind a faint smile. “I wasn’t sure you were home.”
His gaze flashed to the gun in my hand. I leaned against the door and wondered about his appearance here. I glanced outside to find no other members of the Black Rainbow.
“Ride up here alone?”
“It’s not a business visit.”
“Come for your beer already?”
Feeling sheepish, Exile rubbed at the back of his neck and shrugged. “I was curious if you got home safe.”
“Well, I did, so I guess you can ride back to Louisiana, then,” I said and opened the door wider. “Or we could get my beer offer out of the way.”
Unsure if my teasing was playful, Exile worked up another scowl. “If you’re busy, I can come back.”
“Won’t be long before my dad shows up to give you grief. I think it’d be best to get a little liquor courage in you before that happens.”
Stepping into my house, Exile ducked as if worried about his hat. I could tell he was considering whether to remove it.
“My brother wears hats inside. No law against it,” I said and shut the door. “I only have Hefeweizen. Can you tolerate wheat beer?”
“Can’t say I’ve ever had any.”
“I started drinking Ayinger Bräuweisse to piss off my dad, but he grew to like the taste. Mostly because he enjoys anything with a banana flavor.”
Exile was clearly unsure about his visit. My house intimidated him. My beer was weird. I hadn’t put down my gun yet. He couldn’t hide how rattled he felt.
Resting my pistol on the counter, I opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles. When I handed him one, I let our gazes hold until his unease defused.
Imagining us skipping the drinks and moving this conversation to the bedroom, I said more to myself than him, “You and I won’t be able to talk long.”
“Is your daughter here?”
“No,” I replied, breaking free from my dirty thoughts and walking to the family room, where I settled onto the couch and rested my feet on the leather cushions. “She’s next door with my parents.”
Exile didn’t know where to sit his fine ass, so I gestured toward the other end of the couch. We’d be close enough to enjoy the view, yet far enough apart to avoid getting frisky.
“Did you really ride hundreds of miles to check on me?” I asked and cracked open the beer. “Seems like you could have texted and saved yourself the effort.”
“I wanted to see you were okay with my own eyes.”
“Fair enough.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, glancing down at my slipper-clad feet.
“I’m a little sore, but nothing serious. That’s the physical side. Mentally, I’ve been spiraling a little since seeing Cher and Stevie at the hospital.”
“How are they doing?”
