And I can’t drag my focus off him.
Staring at each other in such a stressful situation doesn’t feel like that at all. With anyone else, it’d either be out of pride or anger that I would face off the way I am now with Ozzy, but that’s not what this is.
It’s just being in each other’s company without the complications of syllables and memories. The extension of pain or loss.
It’s just Ozzy.
And that’s all I need right now.
ELEVEN
ozzy
A little girlwith red hair sings on the TV about building a snowman while Mae beams along, knowing every word and standing in front of it like she’s a part of the movie.
Bay is sitting on the couch, staring down at the newly acquired ink on her forearm, void of any expression, and has been silent for over an hour.
Not once has she shown any sign of herself. She made sure the girls ate, but she didn’t. Torin’s words rang loudly in my ear that she needed to, but I didn’t see a need to push her.
Eventually, she’ll pick at something. But right now, she’s as calm as she has been since the news of Wallace’s death. I don’t want to trigger her temper when she’s obviously not starving, and I’ll cross that bridge if I need to.
Right now, I’m content that she’s sitting where I can see her. She hasn’t tried to leave. It’s kept my own anxiety down because she doesn’t seem to mind my company, but I make sure to stay out of her sight so it doesn’t provoke anything.
She has another appointment with the tattoo artist today. He penciled her in for after hours when I threw him a handful of hundred-dollar bills and told him to ask her if she wanted to come in.
Bay jumped at the chance.
However, I don’t know how she’s getting there and it’s been gnawing at me since.
Walking out of the house means she might do something. She might change her mind. That could put her in danger.
I’ve played around with the idea of inviting myself, but that didn’t go well with Cairo yesterday, and it’s not my style. Regardless, she’s not going alone. Whether it’s me, Cairo, or The Nameless, someone will be there, but I don’t trust anyone else besides my brothers to watch for any reckless moves she might make.
The front door opens, and my palm immediately goes to my Glock resting in the waistband of my jeans. Hot Rod strides in quietly, attracting Bay’s immediate attention, but she doesn’t move from her position.
His gaze flicks to me, then back to her, then jerks his head toward the kitchen before walking in there.
Bay sighs, then ambles to her feet to follow. Her shoulders slack, her movements are slow, and this is a perfect time to apply some aftercare product to her arm while listening in on what Hot Rod came in here to say.
He stands on the other side of the island. Bay plops down on a stool, and they stare at each other for a moment.
“I figured you wouldn’t want to pick out the casket, so I did it for you,” Rod says simply. “It’s black. And I’d like it to be a closed?—”
“No,” she immediately cuts in, then doesn’t say any more.
“Bay…I don’t want to make this harder for you. He’s riddled in bullet holes. Maybe, if…” I can see in his expression he’s also having a hard time with this. That it’s hard for him to find his own words because he lost a brother, a leader, and a friend.
“Can we do something small?” she mutters, reaching up to run the pads of her fingers along her temple. “I don’t want the whole town gathered and…I just don’t want to deal with it.”
“Sure. I don’t think he’d want to be remembered like that anyway.”
She nods.
“You still wanna do the memorial cruise tomorrow?”
She bows her head again.
“Okay.” Hot Rod moves around the island and reaches out to pull her in his arms. She doesn’t move, allowing him to do whatever because she appears void of energy to fight or do anything. “What do you need?”
