“Must be why her ass is so tight.” I chuckle to myself.
Inside the little apartment,the tension is thick between Koa and Nalani, and yes, even though I don’t want to watch their story unfold like a movie or TV show, I’m kind of vested… and buzzed, and possibly concussed. This means I kind of do.
Nalani looks around, “The girls are in the big room. A couple of you can take the other; it has a decent bed. Then there’s the cot, a gift from Paul?—”
“I’m taking the cot. I may even dry hump it.” Dash laughs.
“I’ll take the couch, and you and Deacon can?—”
Dash cuts Koa off. “Deacon’s got the couch.”
Koa looks at him, just stares, and I do too, because Dash was not for this reunion back at the bar, and now he seems to be.
So… where is Claudia?
I look toward a door opening and see Sofie coming out with an armful of blankets and turns to Nalani and Koa. “You two gosort your shit, because I need to know if I have my wing woman back or not. I’ll manage the guys.”
SEVEN
Decon Moretti…
Claudia
“You’re still shaking,”Noelle says softly. She’s by the window, swaying gently with Savannah on her shoulder. “Trauma response?”
I glance up from the pump, “I hate that term.”
Noelle raises a brow.
“It sounds like there’s something wrong with reacting to somethingwrong.” I exhale and check the bottle’s fill line. “That wasn’t trauma, it was instinct. Being in a car while your baby’s—” I stop myself before sayingfather— “while the man who donated half her DNA pounds on the roof screaming, that’s not trauma.” Noelle shifts Savannah to her other shoulder, quiet but listening. “I didn’t freeze. I didn’t cry. I kept her safe. That’s all that matters.” The pump’s suction slows, and I unclip the flanges, setting them aside. “He doesn’t get to call himself a dad just because he finally grew a conscience—or a bigger ego.”
“You’re right,” Noelle says softly. “He doesn’t.”
I smile faintly. “You’d make a good therapist.”
“No thanks. I prefer giving unsolicited advice over wine. Less pressure.”
That almost earns a laugh. Almost.
“Half of the job is listening and letting people sort their thoughts and feelings, offering advice or direction.” I switch breasts. “It’s being a decent human being, a friend, and not just commenting or hearting a post.”
Noelle smiles softly. “No thoughts and prayers?”
“I think people should use their socials for S’s and G’s only,” I smirk.
“Yes,” she whispers, yells, and smiles widely. “When my dad passed away, I posted a tribute in a way that he would have loved. Simple,” she smiles softly, “We’ll go on forever, Pa, cause we’re the people.”
“The Grapes of Wrath.”
She brushes her lips across Savannah's sifted little waves. “You’re so lucky to have a smart mom. Lauren, posted below it, are you drunk or having a seizure?”
“What a bitch.” I scoff.
“I was, in fact, drunk,” she giggles at my response. “All human wisdom is contained in these two words—wait and hope.”
“First,The Count of Monte Cristo, and second, genius response, drunk or otherwise.”
She sighs, “It spiraled a little from there, her response about me needing attention, and mine was I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.”
