“Clerical error on the paperwork.”
Heat seared my gut, rose into my chest, and became a tight pressure clawing up my throat. “What happened between last week and this week?” I rested my elbow on my bent knee and closed my eyes for a moment.
I couldn’t think of him in that cell, alone every fucking day, waiting for a fifteen-minute phone call to hold us over until we could see each other again.
“I don’t know. It’s county.”
“She’s going to be devastated.”
“I can’t talk to her.” His breath filled the silence that matched the cadence of my heartbeat. Slow. Ragged. We were both feeling the hit. “She’ll cry, dude. I hate what I’m doing to her.”
“It’s temporary.”
“Yeah, I know.” He sighed. “Tell me something good.”
“I had dinner at McKelle’s. While her dad sorted his food into color coded food groups, he asked about you.” I told Ryatt about Cece riding on the back of my bike, volunteering at the track, and how talking with her parents was so far out of my comfort zone I’d need GPS to find my way back.
Ryatt laughed. “I hate what her parents must think about me.”
“They’re more concerned about my track record than yours.” I reached over and grabbed my cigarettes. “They know you being locked up right now wasn’t your fault. They want you home, too.”
But I hadn’t taken the money for the attorney from them. The MC would cover the costs, and I’d pay back the retainer and additional expenses with weekly payments.
“It still feels weird to think of anywhere but the halfway house as home.”
“The MC has always felt like home, but I want a place of our own.”
“The three of us?”
“Are you open to this conversation?”
The line was quiet.
“Listen, whatever you want, I’m all in, but I’m not sure you’re ready to be all in with me.” I tightened my fingers on the phone. “You don’t have to be. It’s enough that we’re both here for her.”
“I’ve never had a home of my own. The three of us getting a place together sounds good.”
I exhaled a stream of smoke toward the open window. “Something with a garage where we can work on our bikes.”
“When I get another one.”
“A yard without a fucking shed,” I said, loving the excitement in his voice.
“And no locks on the doors.”
“Rizz, I’m making good money, but we aren’t living like my boss with private security. We need locks on the doors.” It would take me some time to save enough for the first and last. And it would have to be close to her parents. Something like Bullet had outside of town. A little house with lots of property.
“It sounds so fucking good,” he said. “Like a dream.” He grew quiet again. “Our call is going to end.”
“About visitation, how do we fix the problem? Do I need to come down to the jail? Should I call Willy?”
“No. Just wait a few days.”
“Nah. Fuck that. I need to see you. Once McKelle’s done crying, she’s going to get pissed. I’m all for a good fight and fuck—um—more on that when you get out.”
“I get it. I know you can fuck her happy again.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work this time.” It wasn’t me she missed. It wasn’t me keeping her up at night, her heart was in her throat because he was there and we were here.
