Now that the handoff with Covington is behind us, everything is shifting again. Gun running is off the table for now, a heavy hit for us, but I can feel the change in the air. We have to diverge our focus. Going legit seems more likely now than ever before. It’s not a path I think the club will travel forever, but after the bust on the warehouse, they’d be fools to ignore the option at their feet.
The truck rumbles down our dark drive, each bump jostling Josie closer to me. A soft groan escapes her lips, a sound that wraps around my heart. She’s always hated being woken once she’s asleep. Unless it’s our daughter calling, then she springs to life, ready to tackle whatever the problem is, no matter the time.
“Baby, you ready to go inside?” I whisper, shifting the truck into park and silencing the engine.
She mumbles something, a sleepy complaint that hangs in the air, but she doesn’t move. Gripping my house key between my fingers, I slide out of the truck and scoop her up into my arms. Her weight against my chest calms the unsteady ground I’ve been clambering across without her by my side.
Getting the key in the lock feels like an acrobatic feat, and I can’t help but chuckle to myself, imagining the look on her face when she sees the footage on the doorbell camera in the morning. The house is dark, shadows clinging to the corners where the moonlight doesn’t touch its path through the open curtains.
I had promised her more tonight, but her unconscious state is a treasure I’m not about to disturb. Instead, I’ll be content with her naked body curled against mine, finally allowing us both a chance for rest.
Carefully, I lay her on our half-made bed, the sheets rumpled and inviting. I’m exhausted after a night on a cement bench behind bars. I slip off her boots, tossing them into the corner to avoid any tripping hazards if she wakes later. As I peel her skirt over her hips, I catch a glimpse of her, still flushed from our reunion. My mouth waters at the sight, desperate for a taste, but I rein in my desire.
Next comes the Harley T-shirt, followed by her delicate, sheer red bra, matching the scrap of fabric still tucked in myback pocket. It takes some careful maneuvering, but soon enough, she’s naked and blissfully unaware. A vision, in the dim glow of the moonlight, that both calms my unease and stirs my body to life.
Quietly, I slip into the bathroom, chucking my clothes into the hamper before snagging a washcloth from the pile in the cabinet. The warm water sputters from the faucet, steam rising in gentle curls as I wet the material and carry it back to the bedroom. But when I approach, I’m taken aback. Josie’s hooded eyes are open, glimmering with a mix of curiosity and need.
“There you are,” she rasps, her voice rough with sleep and the remnants of our earlier intimacy.
The warmth of the cloth glides smoothly against her skin, capturing her full attention.
“What are you doing?” she murmurs, her sleepy smile inviting.
“Just cleaning you up a bit,” I reply softly, my heart racing as I take in the way her hair spills across the pillow. “You looked like you needed it.”
She chuckles, the sound music to my ears, but there’s a hint of something deeper lurking beneath her playful demeanor. “You know, you could have just let me sleep.”
I pause, the washcloth hovering above her center. “Maybe, but there’s a lot we need to talk about, Josie.”
Her expression shifts, the curve of her smile faltering. “It’s late. I think we should sleep on it.”
“You’ve been sleeping on it for weeks, baby. I know you. I see the way you look at him. He might be my son by blood, but your heart’s telling you, he’s yours too.”
I wonder if she’s drifting back off to sleep when her eyes close, letting the night of revelry finally pull her under. Insteadof pushing like I want to, I slide in beside her. Pulling her close, I wrap my arm around her waist as she melds against me, like she’s siphoning my strength.
The world around me fades away as I sink into the rhythm of our staggered breaths. The weight of whatever’s still strained between us sits heavier against my chest than her deadweight. My eyes grow tired as I trace the curve of her spine.
Maybe hashing it out can wait until tomorrow, after all.
“Did I ever tell you about my dad?”
Her clear tone startles my eyes back open, and I pull her into me further to hide the jolt of alarm coursing through my system, before murmuring a quick, “No,” when the anxiety wanes.
She hums, her breast shoving against my chest as if she’s drawing in a steadying breath to get the next part out from somewhere deep. “My mother… she was a difficult woman from as early as I can remember. I walked on eggshells my entire life, never knowing when her temper would flare because she didn’t really have a single trigger I could count on.”
She snuggles in closer, her chin tipping up to shift her gaze to the ceiling. I stay quiet, giving her the space she needs to open up about a topic we’ve never breached.
“I never knew my dad. Not his name or what he looked like. Though I was so drastically different in looks from my mother that, from a young age, I got the sense I looked a lot like him. I think that made things worse.”
Her touch drifts across my skin thoughtlessly, tracking the scars across my ribs from a bad accident in my younger years, as we trace across her mental ones.
“Every kid gets curious eventually. Wonders why theirfamily doesn’t look like others. Why they live in a rusted-out trailer when the other kids in their class live in the nice houses across the street from school. I should have known better than to ask…”
I reach for her hand, twining our fingers until they’re interlocked and resting on my chest.
“I was six years old when my mother first told me I ruined her life.” Josie spits the truth like the toxic bullshit it is. “Try grasping that at the same time you’re leaning to count to one hundred and spell four-letter words.” She scoffs, shaking her head.
“My parents weren’ttogethertogether. They worked at the same hotel in Dallas, not far from where I grew up. The problem was that my mom was a young, inexperienced nineteen-year-old who’d been disowned when she didn’t follow in her father’s footsteps and go to college. And my dad, well, he was about twenty years her senior, her boss, and married with a family. I don’t know if it was a secret relationship or if he… I never asked that. But she didn’t know he was married, or so she said. So, when she found herself knocked up and told him, thinking that a man of his stature at his age would take care of his responsibilities, take care of her, she was so damn wrong.”
