“Gonna be gone for six days,” I squat down and just look at her for a few quiet moments. “See you soon, little one.”
I stay like that until I hear a door shut upstairs. When I stand, my eyes connect with Claudia’s. “Don’t like leaving.”
She looks at me like she wants to say something, but then looks toward the stairs.
“You ready?” Koa asks as he walks over and smiles down at Savannah, “We’re leaving you in charge.”
“We should get going before they end up rolling in here and waking her up.” I walk toward the door, without looking back, because this shit, this leaving, it sucks for the first time ever.”
We climb in,and Dash’s smirk is locked and loaded. Killer has his hoodie up, looking weird, and Faulkner is chill, as per his norm.
Dash chuckles as he looks at Koa, “How’s domestic life?”
“Perfect.”
Killer cackles. “Man did not even try to hide it. Whipped. Leashed. Microchipped.”
Faulkner shakes his head as he looks down at the book he’s reading.
“Glad to see you upright again.” He pats my shoulder dramatically. “How is your head? Still tender?”
Killer grumbles, “Let’s hope not. The new kids doing great. Johnson,” he shakes his head. “He needs to go.”
The whole vehicle, including Joel, Dash’s driver, agrees.
Killer grins. “You think if we do one of those interventions with Coach D, we’ll get her to see the light?”
“If he didn’t get sent down after Montreal when Deacon set his ass straight, and he popped him, he’s not going any time soon,” Faulkner states.
“Deacon was asking for it,” Dash laughs.
“Baited him with a body check,” Killer chuckles.
“Had to happen,” I shrug.
TWENTY-ONE
Claudia
Savannah is downfor her first nap. I am sitting at Koa and Nalani’s island, surrounded by photo albums, with a notebook sketching out how I envision the first floor of Paul’s place coming back together so that it feels more like his and Patsy’s place used to, while still allowing for the second and third floors to remain apartments.But that is for later, I remind myself as I sketch, paying particular attention to which walls have moved, having some knowledge from one of my foster fathers.
My phone lights up.
A message from an unknown number. An unknown number usually means Kyle. Or something waiting to drag me back into the version of my life I have busted my ass to get out of.
But then I read the text.
Unknown:
Good morning. Hope you two slept well.
I blink at the screen. Then blink again.
Out of all possible scenarios, this was not even in the top 100.
I type back before I can stop myself.
Me:
