Lucky stared in the direction of the bedroom ceiling. Occasionally a car passed on the road outside, and the open blinds let in enough of the backyard security light to watch the ceiling fan spin for a turn or two. Working his ass off and spending an hour at the gym hadn’t helped him relax. Nor had the spaghetti dinner Bo fixed for him.
Beside him Bo let out a snuffle, rolled onto his back, and snored. Let him sleep. Lord knew he’d lost enough shuteye in the past few years.
Moving as little as possible to avoid waking him, Lucky rose and felt his way out of the bedroom and into the living room, where he collapsed onto the couch. The fake leather cushion stuck to his naked butt.
Moose padded in behind him and dropped down on the rug by his feet. After a few more moments, Cat Lucky wriggled his way into Human Lucky’s lap. Lucky pushed the feline to one side. The varmint wasn’t going to knead and sink a claw into Lucky’s tender bits.
That the animals came with him meant they knew, of him and Bo, he most needed a close watch these days. Or they hoped he’d wander into the kitchen for a late-night snack and share the wealth.
If he didn’t give his dad a hunk of liver, the old man might die. If he did give a hunk of liver, he could die. The doctor said severe complications didn’t happen often, but karma owed Lucky a few dozen bitch slaps.
Not too long ago, death would have been a relief. No one gave a rat’s ass about him back then. Okay, Charlotte had. And maybe Walter. No one else but possibly Victor, and at the time Lucky believed the man dead and himself to blame.
Nope, not going there. No amount of logic could make sense of Lucky’s old life. Now? Now he had a life worth living. Someone he loved. And someone who loved him back. Thank God for the man’s bad judgement if he found Lucky interesting enough to keep around.
Dying didn’t scare Lucky. Much. What might happen to Bo? Well, more than a heavy dinner kept him awake tonight. When he’d bought the house without Bo’s knowledge, Charlotte shook enough sense into Lucky to put Bo’s name on the paperwork to protect him from greedy vultures like Bristol.
Bristol never cared for Lucky. Without Lucky, he’d have been the oldest of the Lucklighter boys, and for some unknown reason, the guy never could stand having two older siblings. Who was Lucky fooling? Bristol never gave a happy damn about anyone but Bristol. He sure didn’t seem to care enough about their father to try to save the man’s life.
And while Bristol probably crowed with glee when the folks gave up on the family black sheep, not a chance in Hell he’d pass on a chance to get at any assets Lucky might leave behind.
Adding Bo’s name to the mortgage ought to help some. But what about insurance? And did Bo even know he’d been added as beneficiary?
Was there any way for Bristol to make life rough for Bo? Waste money in court fighting? What if something happened and Lucky wasn’t dead, but not in any shape to make decisions for himself? Bristol would tell the docs to pull the life support if Lucky slept too hard.
No. Way. In. Hell.
Bo dreamed of the house with the white picket fence and kids. Lucky wanted to stay out of prison and free to be his own man.
Bo didn’t stop him from being his own man. He made Lucky a better one. Lucky scrubbed a hand down his face, stubble scraping against his palm.
Time to do the right thing. What he should have done the moment Bo got out of rehab. Or the second they got back from Mexico. Or when Bo rescued him when he’d hobbled around the woods with a busted ankle.
The moment he’d met the guy he should have shocked Walter, got down on one knee, and begged Bo to be a part of his life forever.
Well, better late than never.
Instead of slipping into the bedroom and risking disturbing Bo, Lucky showered and shaved in the guest bath and padded through the kitchen to the laundry room. Those jeans weren’t too dirty. Nope, not reusing underwear. Commando, then.
His faded black Pink Floyd T-shirt passed the sniff test, and he shoved his feet into the amazingly unchewed boots he’d left by the back door. Moose must be slipping to miss accidental leather chew toys.
The better stores weren’t open, but one shining beacon of whatever he wanted whenever he wanted stayed open twenty-four seven. Maybe he’d luck out and find something decent and act fast before nerves or self-doubt talked him out of his chosen course of action.
Only having to drive four miles helped him keep his resolve.
Except for the occasional earrings or necklace for his sister, he’d never approached the jewelry counter in this store, and he damned well couldn’t afford the place he’d shopped back when he’d used someone else’s credit card.
Something not too tacky. Somewhat tasteful. Should he buy two alike or contrasting ones? Did Bo like white gold or yellow? What if he preferred silver?
Lucky circled the jewelry counter a few times. Maybe if he prowled around enough times, other choices might miraculously appear. It never worked when he stalked the fridge but, hey, who knew? After a few minutes, a clerk strolled down the aisle and behind the counter, in time to catch Lucky on his knees with his nose pressed to the glass display case. A man on a mission didn’t have time for embarrassment.
The clerk bent over the counter. “Oh, sorry! I was on my break. Can I help you?”
Lucky owned socks older than this girl. In fact, most of his socks were older than this girl. “I’m looking for wedding bands.”
The kid grinned, showing a full set of braces. “Aww… isn’t that sweet?” She unlocked the case from the inside and pulled out a tray of diamond engagement rings.
“Um… Nothing like that. I need bands.”
