“Nah, he ain’t waking up unless there’s drama.”
I could believe that. Saint was a deep sleeper these days, by his standards, at least. And he needed more of it. “I’ll hide one for him.”
Cam snorted. “Unless you’re hiding it on the moon, there ain’t gonna be none of those left by morning. Only soul I know makes better cobs than your ma isyou, my friend.”
It was probably the nicest thing any brother who wasn’t Embry had ever said to me. And I couldn’t deny I made a cracking sandwich, but only for people I gave a shit about, and my list was short. That Cam was on it was a sign of my affection I hope he saw.
He went back to his work. Another night, I might’ve stayed a while longer and caught up with club business, but I didn’t give a shit about timber runs and protection rackets right now. I wanted Embry in any way he’d have me, and the craving for him only grew every second I spent with Cam.
I backed up. He let me go with a wry grin.
Ten feet away from him, he called my name and I turned with rising agitation.
His grin expanded and he pointed at the inky summer sky. “He’s on the roof.”
Twat.
I jogged away from my smirking president and slipped into the empty chapel. The kitchen at the back was reserved for council officers only. I dug in my magic bag for the best bocadillo and stowed the rest away, bar one I hid behind the vegetables for Saint.
With Embry’s late-night snack tucked safely in my jacket pocket, I sent a message to the council group chat.
Mateo:bocadillos in chapel. don’t chock on them
Mateo:*choke
My work was done. I’d adulted in every capacity I was capable of, and I was fucking done.
Nearly.
Keeping a sharp eye on the door, I pulled my second phone from my pocket and fired out one last text.
Mateo:home
A reply came a second later.
Unknown number:Stay safe x
There was no answer I could give to that without lying. So I didn’t bother. I turned the phone off and slid back across the yard to my bike under the pretence of checking it over. Making sure no one had fucked with it in my absence.
It was a biker thing to do, but the fact that I didn’t give a fuck about my scrappy Dyna was another secret I kept buried in my dark fucking soul.
I stashed the phone, then stretched my back again. Damn, it hurt. Two solid days on the borrowed Fat Boy had done me in. My legs were heavy. But the weight on my chest had eased. I could breathe.
For now.
But it was enough. It had to be, or I’d fucking drown.
I held onto the anticipation heating my blood as I crossed the yard again, slipped around the back, and hauled myself up the drainpipe without glancing at the spot where Embry had nearly bled out. After so many months, I’d grown better at that. Shut the urge away. Locked it up with every other need and want I couldn’t acknowledge. Shit that was easier to ignore when Embry was up here on the roof somewhere, doing whatever he was doing in a rare moment he chose to spend alone.
At first, I didn’t see him, then I spotted his boots abandoned by the vent pipe and found him stretched out on the flat bitumen, face to the stars, smoking a joint that smelt like heaven.
Beside him was a book. I crouched by his feet and picked it up. “Catch-22. That’s irony, right?”
Embry turned his head, smoke seeping from his mouth, stormy blues all hazy from the blunt. “The cruellest kind. You’ve never read it?”
“What do you think?”
“That you’d like it.”
