He slows at the last second, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Wanna throw?”
“Do I look like I wanna throw?” I ask.
He tilts his head, serious as hell. “Kinda.”
I snort. I might be integrated into society now, but I am not, repeat not, a running around on a day hotter than hell type of guy.
“C’mon. Justice is too busy with hisgirlfriend.” He says girlfriend like you’d say swamp creature.
I glance towards the picnic tables. Justice is leaning against one, taller than he should be at sixteen, his expression bored in that teenage way that’s mostly performance because I see the way he lights up when Nora giggles. He catches my look and smirks like the little bastard set me up.
Rita appears behind Stone with a paper plate stacked high. She knows that food is the automatic way to distract him.
Preacher’s a few feet away, manning the grill like it’s a pulpit. He’s got tongs in one hand and a beer in the other, stained apron tied over his vest that reads ‘Kiss the Cook’ in faded letters. He glances over at me, his eyes crinkling at thecorners. He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, but I can read it loud and clear.
Proud of you, son.
A few months ago, I’d have snarked something back. Acted like an ass. I knew I was pushing away the people who wanted to help. It doesn’t matter if, deep inside, you know how fucked up your behavior is. You’re that far in denial. I shoot my not-exactly-father-in-law-but-as-close-as-dammit a grin and give him the thumbs up. I’d been worried how he’d react to finding out that me and Fawnie were together. He was cool when we told him, but in the three months since the announcement, he’s shown that it wasn’t just words.
I guess that’s also helped reprogram my brain. Instead of my inner voice telling me I’m a useless piece of shit and a monster who doesn’t deserve love, now it saysOkay, you’re a work in progress. Keep it up, sunshine.
Yeah, it’s still a snarky motherfucker.
I turn back towards the tables, and that’s when I see Fawnie.
She’s sitting on the edge of a picnic bench in the shade, one leg tucked under her, a paper cup in her hand. She’s wearing a white sundress with lemons on. She’d paired it with a pair of purple Chucks, but she’s taken them off and is wiggling her bare foot in the light breeze. Her hair’s up in a messy knot with loose pieces framing her face, and she’s smiling at something Lark’s saying.
The smile hits me like it always does—like I take a breath and realize I wasn’t breathing right before.
She looks up and catches me watching and her expression shifts instantly, turning private. For me.
Then she tilts her head and gives me that look. The one that says,You’re doing it. You’re here. I see you.My throat tightens, sharp and quick. I don’t deserve her.
No.
I stop that thought in its tracks. I’m allowed to be happy. I’m allowed to want more. And I’m allowed to love and be loved.
I walk over, no doubt with a soppy smile on my face, weaving between brothers and kids. Raiden’s posted near the side door with Ella, both of them laughing about something low. His hand is on her ass, so I can guess where the conversation is going and I avert my eyes wanting to give them privacy. Tyrant’s by the far grill looking like a president even when he’s flipping burgers. His daughter Penny is watching from a safe distance, but it looks like she’s the one directing the cooking process.
Family.
The word used to make me flinch.
Now it makes my chest ache in a different way.
Fawnie slides off the bench when I reach her. She steps close and hugs me. Her hand brushes my side as she moves in, subtle but deliberate. A claim.
“Hey,” she says softly.
I angle my body so I block her from the worst of the sun. “Hey, yourself.”
She smiles wider.
I lean down and kiss her. Not enough to start anything I can’t finish in public. Especially given her father is within my sightline. But enough so she knows exactly what we’ll be doing later.
Her fingers catch the edge of my t-shirt. I’m not wearing my cut, it’s too damn hot for that. When I fried my back, I lost some sweating ability and warm days are a nightmare. At least Hart isn’t Florida, so we don’t get many days like this. My arms are bare though, I’ve stopped hiding the scars there—they’re a part of me. I’m still thinking about getting them tattooed. Not to hide them, just because I like the look. But we’ll see. Crow is up for the job if I decide to do it, and it’s been over five years since the fire so there’s no medical reason why I couldn’t get tattooed.
Instead of feeling like I should apologize for the state of my skin I enjoy the sensation of her soft touch.
