He finally fixed his glare on Ghost. “You ruined me.”
“No,” Ghost said, evenly. “You ruined yourself.”
~*~
At five, Leah shut down her computer, gathered her things, tossed a distracted goodbye to her coworkers – she hadn’t been able to focus since hearing about the mayor on the radio – and headed for the elevators.
Only to pull up short when she saw Carter standing leaned up against the control panel.
“You’re here!” she blurted, too loudly, pulse going wild immediately.
He grinned – and she thought he was trying to be coy, but landed on delighted, instead. Boyish and happy. He reached up and flicked the plastic visitor badge he’d clipped to his cut pocket. “I checked in with security and everything.”
She hesitated, and wasn’t even sure why. She had the sense that if she went right to him, unchecked, she would kiss him, and have trouble stopping, and she wanted to know, first, how bad things were.
Not very, if his smile was anything to go by.
“Sounds like you had a busy day,” she said, fingers clenching on the strap of her bag. He looked like a dream – like her dream – and she felt like the sort of swoony high school girl she’d never been.
“You listened to Mad Mike?”
“All of us did. Gabe had it going on his phone.” She took a breath. “How worried should I be? About…everything?”
“Well, considering Mayor Cunningham is currently cooling his heels in a holding cell right now…”
She gasped. “They arrested him?”
His smile slipped. “Fielding says the charges might not stick because there wasn’t a warrant for the audio, and the police weren’t the ones who recorded it, anyway. But he’ll definitely have to resign, now, and he knows not to mess with us.”
She had the sense there were things he hadn’t told her yet, and knew he couldn’t do it here, with Isobel and Rochelle packing up at their desks, still.
But life with the club meant taking the wins when you could, and celebrating them heartily. She closed the distance between them, and stood up on her toes, ready for the kiss he pressed to her mouth, shivering gladly in response to the fingers he trailed down her throat.
“Ready to get out of here?” he asked.
“Beyond ready.”
Thirty-Eight
Tuesday morning, Reese dressed for his usual run, tied his hair back, laced up his Nikes, and stepped out into the hallway, expecting to find it deserted, just as he had every morning for the past couple weeks; ever since things had fallen out so suddenly and strangely with Tenny.
But Tenny was there, in the pre-dawn dark of the hall. In compression leggings under shorts, a white tank top with the arm holes cut down deep along his ribs. A water bottle in one hand.
Reese felt a fluttering in his chest; a burst of pleasant warmth.
Tenny didn’t speak, only lifted his brows.
Reese nodded, and they walked out together. Left their bottles on a picnic table, and started off at a slow jog across the parking lot.
This was as usual: turning out onto the street, lengthening their strides, settling into a fast, sustainable rhythm, the only sounds the light slap of their shoes on pavement, and the regular rushing of their breath. They didn’t speak, but they never did. Wasted effort; a lack of efficiency. For all that Tenny liked to run his mouth and give the impression of disregarding authority, he knew the value of silence, same as Reese.
They ran.
They stood after, as the sun was coming up, bright fire on the brown-blue of the river, drinking water, and Tenny’s uplifted profile glowed against the dazzling backdrop of the water. Reese didn’t know he was staring until he accidently poured water down his front, and then he turned away, face strangely warm in a way that running hadn’t made it.
They went inside, still not speaking, to their dorms. Showered. Returned to the common room, where Deacon and Boomer were shuffling in half asleep, and Chanel was making breakfast. They ate hash and eggs on the sofa, like normal, if sitting farther apart.
Once, Tenny snorted and said, “That’s stupid,” of something on the TV. A movie trailer, one of those action films full of stunts achieved with harnesses and wires. “Why don’t they get actors who can actually do those things?”
“Aidan says because they can’t find anyone good-looking enough who can.”
Tenny snorted again, and when Reese looked toward him, found himself the subject of a smirking half-smile, and a low-lidded look. Before he could ask what it meant, Tenny ducked his head over his plate again, and the moment was gone.
Ghost was giving him some hours at the shop today, and though Reese didn’t ever forget that Tenny was supposed to go exercise horses for Emmie Walsh today, he wondered if Tenny still planned to go. His answer came in the form of Tenny himself, appearing right at five, sunglasses in place and helmet tucked under his arm. He was frowning.
“Are you still going to come?”
“Yes.”
They rode over together, the light dappled on the long, snaking driveway of Briar Hall, the soft reverse of the light on the river this morning. They parked in front of the barn, and took off their helmets. Reese wanted to say something, though he hadn’t decided what – but didn’t get the chance, because Emmie came out to greet them.
There was something Reese had always found reassuring about Emmie. She didn’t ever balk at the things he said the way some of the other old ladies did, nor did she ply him with sweetness and maternal concern the way Maggie and even Ava did. There was a brisk efficiency about the way she moved and spoke that he approved of; she was completely without artifice, and that was a trait he could see that the horses appreciated, too, the way they nosed at her and crowded her space automatically, until she gently corrected them. They felt safe with her, and animals were honest things; Reese appreciated that about them.
“Do you ride, too?” Emmie asked him, and he shook his head. He stood in front of Emmie’s personal show horse, Apollo, and the large gelding snuffled at his shirt, lipped at his cut.
“No,” she told him, patting his velvet nose. “Shame. They seemed to like you. If you ever want to learn, I’ve got some nice schoolmasters you could take lessons on.”
The idea held a certain appeal. He liked acquiring skills, and it was a quiet activity; an activity that rewarded technique, and sensitivity. It would also give him something else in common with Tenny – who, he saw, turning, was saddling a horse with obvious knowledge and familiarity. He didn’t own true riding pants – breeches, Reese reminded himself – but he’d put a pair of black leather chaps on over his jeans, and Emmie approved his harness boots as adequately safe.
“Your whole foot will go through the stirrup if your shoes aren’t heeled,” she explained to Reese, “and that’s just asking to get dragged.”
Emmie was riding, too. She saddled a chestnut. Tenny’s horse was gleaming black with four white feet, and a white diamond on his forehead. He danced and fidgeted while Tenny tacked him up, but settled when Tenny stroked his neck and murmured to him, too quiet for Reese to hear.
When they led the horses out, Reese followed. There was a bench in the shade down beside the arena, and he took up a post there. Tenny and Emmie mounted, and they only walked at first, the reins long, the horses stretching and blowing. Emmie was talking: “…likes to stretch first, I usually put him through some big circles and figure eights and let him have his head for a few minutes, then collect him more slowly.” Birds twittered in the branches overhead, and a breeze touched his face, and for one rare moment, Reese felt his hypervigilance melting away. Physical sensation receded, but not in the focused, detached way that it did on an op. He felt light, weightless, suffused with quiet.
Peaceful, he thought, absently. A bird landed beside him, and then fled in a quiet flutter of wings. It left a feather behind, small and striped.
Tenny did know how to ride. He was boastful, yes, but he never lied about a skill, and he hadn�
��t lied about this one. The long, slender lines of him seemed molded to the horse as he put it through its paces. The young gelding was full of energy; he tossed his head, and even bucked, once, but Tenny never looked close to unseated. There was a quietness to his movements; it was impossible to see him giving the horse cues, but the horse’s slow transformation from loose-reined colt to steadily-working, collected chess piece confirmed that Tenny was using his hands, and seat, and legs effectively.
“Good,” Emmie would call, from time to time. “A little more outside rein – yes, there, good.”
Reese heard cars come and go at the barn, voices calling back and forth, but it was impossible to look at anything else. He sat, transfixed, hands playing with the splintered edge of the bench, trying and failing to think of ways to properly describe what it was like to watch Tenny slowly blossom, a faint smile touching his lips as the horse responded to his cues.
Eventually, he became aware that someone was sitting next to him – ordinarily, he would have been horrified by his lapse – and a quick glance proved that it was Becca, Emmie’s working student and undermanager. Belatedly, he remembered that Becca was dating Shane, who was another of Tenny’s half-brothers. Sometimes it seemed like Tenny was related to everyone, in that respect.
But it was Reese he’d asked to come along with him today. Reese who he ran with each morning, and with whom he entrusted the raw glimpses of passion and fury in the bedroom – though there’d been none of that lately.
“Wow, he’s pretty good,” Becca said. “Walsh helps out sometimes, but he mostly just likes to take the young ones out for a gallop in the upper pasture. He’s got some dressage skills, though. I’m jealous of how long his legs are.”
Reese didn’t respond, because he’d learned enough about Becca to know that she liked to talk, whether or not anyone talked back.
But then she said, “Hey.”
He turned his head a fraction, still trying to keep one eye on the arena. Tenny had his horse cantering, and the animal lengthened and then shortened his stride in turns; Tenny’s doing, Reese knew.
“You’re the boyfriend, right?”
That got his attention. He faced her fully. “I’m – what?”
She winced, and lowered her voice. “Sorry, is that like a biker no-no?”
“I…”
“Becca,” Emmie called. “Don’t torture poor Reese.”
“I’m not!” Becca called back. Then she stood and went to stand at the rail.
Reese touched his own cheek, and felt the heat in it. Frowned to himself, because he didn’t get flustered. And he didn’t let people sneak up on him, especially not loud civilians – she was even chewing gum, and he’d totally missed her.
He sighed…but he sat there on the bench and kept watching, because no amount of self-recrimination could dampen the pleasure of watching Tenny achieve something like happiness, even if only for a brief span of time.
Thirty-Nine
The club spent a week in a strange sort of limbo.
Mayor Cunningham’s unethical strategy for taking down the Dogs made the national news – but the stories, while sordid and frothy with journalistic rabidity over a good scandal – left out all mention of the consulting firm Abacus. The company’s commercials continued to air, and no one in any sort of position of authority spoke about Cunningham’s affiliation with organized crime. His motives were offered as personal, and local, and Ghost spent a lot of time glaring at Ratchet’s laptop over his shoulder, grinding his teeth and muttering about idiots.
Eden continued to search for Allie Henderson and Nicole Myer without cease. Carter passed her one afternoon in the clubhouse and noted, with shock, the sleepless dark smudges beneath her eyes, and the tense set of her jaw. She’s fine, Fox said, but Carter hoped he was a little more sympathetic when he was alone with her, because she was anything but fine.
They combed the city, east to west, north to south, for Luis. For even a sign of him. They talked to their dealers, and their contacts; shook hands and made inquiries with local business owners. A real estate agent recognized his description – he’d approached her about looking at property – but she’d turned him away. He was cute, she said, and charming…but, I dunno, he kinda gave me the creeps.
Smart girl, Ghost said of her, after.
But Luis himself was nowhere to be found.
Everybody’s just worried about finals, now, Elijah told Carter one evening, while they drank Gatorade and cooled off from a training session that was no longer necessary, but which felt – mutually, he thought – like hanging out and talking shop with a friend. That and the mayor. Dude. What the fuck?
We have bad luck with mayors.
Several church meetings were devoted to plans for the future: of the club’s businesses, and the club’s strategy on dealing with Luis when he inevitably reappeared. They all knew they would see him again, and everyone was dreading it; Mercy proposed they go on the offense: track him down, kill him, and be done with him.
But finding him was the problem.
They talked about Abacus, but had no real idea how to go about dealing with it.
Let’s concentrate on what we can control for now, Ghost finally said.
Things settled, in the way that they always did, and after a week of paranoia and fruitless searching, Ghost finally allowed that they deserved to celebrate the successful toppling of yet another mayor.
It was party time.
Friday afternoon, the clubhouse bustled with preparations.
Carter eyed the streamers and looped strings of pennants with a smile and a headshake. No one attending this party would care about decorations, but that was beside the point, he figured.
He passed the prospects wheeling in handcarts full of beer cases, dodged Chanel, her arms full of clean, folded towels, and stepped into the kitchen to find Jazz doing a fridge inventory. She had a notepad, and a pen, crossing things off, and scribbling things down. She wore a t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops, hair tied up efficiently. He still wasn’t used to seeing her so casual, but he liked it. Felt a pang of regret, even, that she’d still been putting on a bit of a show for him; it gave proof to the fact that they weren’t meant-to-be, though. And he was glad that she was happier, now.
He waited, hands resting on the island, until she finished, and turned to find him, her smile quick, but no less warm than usual. “Hi, hon. It’s crazy around here today.”
“Looks pretty organized to me,” he said.
“Well, yeah, that’s ‘cause I’m in charge.”
He grinned. “No doubt.”
Her smile turned mischievous, even as she pulled out drawers and started counting hand towels. “You gonna bring your girlfriend?”
He felt his face heat – but he didn’t try to hedge or dodge, not this time. Leah was his girlfriend. When she was ready for and comfortable enough, he would call her his old lady. “Yeah. I think she’s nervous; she hasn’t been to a club party in a long time.”
She chuckled. “Well, I know at least one pair of boobs she won’t have to see flashing around.”
“You’re not coming?” It was impossible to imagine; Jazz had never not been at a big club bash.
“Nah.” She gave a headshake, and her smile turned soft. “I’ll make sure the place is stocked and ready, but I’m not sticking around.”
“Jazz…” Was it about him? Did she not want to see him with someone else?
But – no. She said, “I’m going out with Todd. He’s taking me for steaks and lobster.”
“On a contractor’s salary?” he blurted before he could think better of it.
She laughed. “Contractors make good money, kiddo.” Kiddo, not baby boy. They had both moved on, and his momentary flare of worry died down.
She said, “I’m happy. I don’t want you to worry.”
He nodded.
“Are you happy?” she asked.
His answer was immediate, and truthful. “Yes.”
They smiled at one ano
ther. He hadn’t thought they’d get here – hadn’t dared to hope. It was all the more wonderful for its unexpectedness.
~*~
“I have no idea what to wear,” Leah said into her phone, pinched between cheek and shoulder as she held up two dresses by their hangers, debating.
“You always dress really well,” Ava assured from the other end of the line. Leah could hear the kids’ small voices in the background. “Way better than me.”
“I dress for work,” she stressed. “Not wild club parties.”
Ava laughed. “Just wear what’s comfortable for you! You know everyone there. You already bagged the cute guy. It doesn’t matter what you have on.”
She made a face at herself in the full-length mirror, holding up first one dress, and then another over her current outfit of sweats and oversized t-shirt. The first dress was classic, basic black, with a cinched waist. She could dress it up or down. But it had a high, modest neckline, and wasn’t short enough to be considered flirty. The second dress had a V-neck and a swishy, scalloped hemline, but it was a summery floral print, and nothing about it screamed biker party.
She tossed both onto the bed with the other rejects and took her phone back in her hand. “I haven’t been to one of these things in forever,” she said, toying with a strand of her hair in the mirror. “I’m nervous.”
“Of what?” Ava asked, gently.
“I don’t really know,” she admitted. “I guess – I guess it’s just that I always came as your friend. And now I’m coming…”
“As an old lady.”
She felt her face heat, and watched it flush in the mirror. “We haven’t exactly used that label yet.”
“Yet,” Ava said. “But that’s what you are.”
Leah took a breath that trembled in her lungs. “I guess…I guess it just feels – daunting.”
“Daunting?”
“To be an old lady. That’s an exclusive, badass group to join.”
Ava chuckled. “Oh, come on.”
Homecoming (Dartmoor Book 8) Page 42