“Gage.” I grin at her. “Gage Newhart.”
I turn to walk toward the entrance, knowing full well I’ve failed in my effort to keep my attraction to this woman under control.
“You’re not going to ask mine?”
Her question stops me in my tracks, and I twist back and wink at her.
“I already know it.”
Before she can say anything else, I stalk out of the club, forcing myself not to look back.
3
GAGE
Dark clouds billow overhead, threatening to release their haul on New Orleans, soak me, and slicken the pavement under the tires of my Harley, making what I had hoped to accomplish today far more difficult.
But it’s irrelevant at the moment.
I sit on my bike in the parking lot, tucked against the side of the building.
Concealed.
Where I can wait.
And watch.
I wouldn’t mind the rain, though. If it does begin to fall, it would almost come as a relief. A gift from the sky that might melt away some of the tension and frustration building inside me. It might bring some clarity, help break through the fog of uncertainty that has settled over me and that I can’t seem to escape from.
There’s something about it that always calms me.
The smell that permeates the air…
The sound of it hitting the glass of a window…
The feeling that God is washing away all the filth in the world…
That He’s giving us a chance to start anew.
To make better choices.
To live better lives.
To be who we’re supposed to be.
But I’m not sure I know who that is anymore.
I haven’t for a while now.
Everything went haywire so damn fast. The only option I had was to come to New Orleans. To start over here and see if it would open doors to me that had previously been closed.
It should have been relatively easy.
If it weren’t for one thing.
One person.
Bishop Clarke.
