“Hear that? You get the full princeling treatment, man.”
He huffs out a small laugh, then a larger huff of air as the actual prince in the vehicle, his silver fur nearly black in the dim space, lands on his chest, strutting around the mattress before curling next to Walker, his purr rumbling like he just found the best seat in the house. Walker strokes his fur, the hint of a smile removing the last of the crease between his brows. “Damn, cat. You’re half panther, you know that?”
“We’ll leave you two lovebirds to cuddle. But he is a face sitter, so if you wake up suffocating, expect to have a mouth full of fur.”
Walker shoots me a look that’s hard to parse in the dim space, but I decide to ignore it and head back to the body of the RV, Trips trailing me out.
“Need me to drive?” he asks after he mostly shuts the accordion door, leaving space for Fluffington to come out and visit the cat box he made from a Tupperware bin meant for bungee cords and jumper cables.
“How’s your hand?”
He doesn’t answer.
“We need to find a black-market surgeon or something.”
“Right. I’m sure there are a ton of qualified hand specialists working under the table,” he spits, his face grim.
“Who knows? Maybe we’ll head to Canada, and they’ll take pity on your broken self. But no driving until you can grip the wheel with two hands.”
He gestures at my Michelin man fingers. “Same goes for you, then.”
“I’ll drive.” RJ slips away from Clara, apparently awake, flinching as he gets upright, then digging into a storage drawer and pulling out a hideous hand crocheted purple and orange blanket, tucking it around Clara. Her head slumps to one side, and I scoop her up and carry her back to the bedroom, sliding her in next to Walker, his sleepy smile as he pulls her close telling me he likes his delivery.
She hardly stirs, only scoots closer to him, stopping once she’s touching him.
What happened to her?
I back out, still wound up from the night we had, while RJ gets himself used to the rig. Trips sprawls out on the bench seat by the kitchen table, so I take the spinny chair closest to RJ, flopping onto it as he pulls away from the gas station. I motion him back onto the highway, heading west.
“Any plan on where we’re heading?” he asks.
“None. West seemed good.”
He nods, his silence still heavy with things left unsaid.
Trips passes out as the miles go by, the sun drifting higher in the sky, glinting off flat expanses of white around us. At some point, I realize I’m still wearing the trucker hat, so I hang it back where I found it.
“What should I expect when Clara wakes up?” I ask, not sure how to get RJ to talk before he’s ready.
“I honestly don’t know,” he says.
“What happened?” I’ve never been subtle. Why I’m trying now is anyone’s guess.
“We were tailed, but the guy was happy to sit back and let us hang out in the dojo. I don’t know what changed, but he broke in. He and I fought. He was winning until your mom’s cat pounced on his back. It distracted him enough for Clara to slide up behind him with a practice sword.” He swallows, blinking a few times, and my stomach bottoms out, knowing whatever comes next is bad.
“She hit a home run to the back of his head. I don’t know if he’s still alive. I didn’t want to check.”
Chapter 35
Clara
The sway of the bed wakes me slowly, Walker’s breath warm against the back of my head, competing rumbles hard to parse when not fully awake. Faded light bleeds under the edge of an unfamiliar set of blinds.
Blinking myself fully awake, last night comes rushing back to me, and I’m scrambling upright, Walker mumbling as I draw away from him, my back flat against the window. RV. Cat. Blood.
My stomach turns, but I force the bile down. I can’t think about it. I won’t.
But then Walker’s there, his gaze slightly unfocused as he takes my hands in his. “You’re okay, princess.”
