Page 32 of Won't Let Go
Not in the mood to take forever, I grab a medium-sized bag of all three and line them up in the cart.
Hunter does that exaggerated teenage eye roll thing again, which communicates all I need to know. He thinks I’m buying too much. Tough shit. Men can grocery shop, and if that means picking up too many ingredients, then so be it. It’s better than not having enough. I can donate the rest to the clubhouse kitchen if Jade doesn’t want them. The sisters bake. They can use it.
When we’re ready to check out, the cart is brimming with so much that there’s no way even half of this is gonna fit on my bike. Standing by the candy display, just in front of the checkout lane, I groan, and Hunter chuckles.
“Let’s put some of this away.” He pulls a box of Jade’s favorite popcorn out, and I slap it out of his hand. It falls back into the cart, and with it comes eye roll number three.
Part of me wants to agree with him and admit defeat, but the other part is man enough to admit when he’s in over his head. So, I pull out my phone and dial the only person I’d call for something like this, and she picks up on the second ring.
“Hey!” she sings.
“Mom, I need you to come down to the store and pick up this mountain of groceries I bought.”
Hunter rips the phone from my hand. “He’s buying too much stuff for Mom.”
“Hey, fucker.” I steal it back and shove the thief. He topples over and catches himself on a display, laughing. I flip him off as I address my mother. “Are you able to come?”
The woman’s laughter echoes when her phone switches to her car speaker. “I’ll be there in five.”
Thank fuck.
Not bothering with goodbye, I hang up and jerk my chin at Hunter to grab Jade some flowers from the small floral section as I load the conveyor.
Ten minutes later, I’ve filled the back of Mom’s car and we’re following her to the house, where they help me unload and put everything away.
Sitting on a stool, munching on a new bag of chips, Hunter rests his forearms on the counter as I rinse plates and load them into the dishwasher. “I’m coming home next week,” he mumbles around a mouthful.
“That’s the plan. If you’re cool with that.”
“Are you moving in then?” he asks.
“No. Why?”
“Because you should.”
Well, ain’t that news to me.
Sliding a handful of silverware into the basket, I shut the dishwasher and face the teen. “Kid, I’m not following.”
Mom and Hunter share a look. Something tells me these two have been talking.
“Oz helped me pack up your room at the clubhouse,” he explains.
Leaning my ass against the sink, I cross my arms over my chest. “And why the hell would you do that?”
“So you can move in here.”
As much as I’d love to do that. I can’t.
“Hunter, the brothers live on the compound. I’m a brother. It ain’t safe for me to move here for good.”
“Then could we talk to Big and all of us move onto the compound?” he asks, sounding far too damn hopeful.
“Why would you do that?”
“To live together. All three of us. You. Me. Mom. You’re into Mom. Mom likes you. We’re already family.”
Well. Fuck.
