Blondie dropped the ball in Tanner’s hand. When he got it, with a sharp sidearm throw, he quickly sent the ball sailing thirty feet.
Blondie took off after it.
CeeCee let out another peal of laughter.
“It get better?” he asked the window.
“It gets better, Merry.”
At his sister’s answer, he turned his head to see her sitting at the dining room table, her eyes on him.
“It go away?” he asked.
She held his gaze a moment before she nodded.
“Yeah, honey. It goes away,” she said softly.
“Totally?” he asked.
Her gaze was soft. There was pain.
There was also hope.
“Not totally,” she whispered. “But it’s just a sting, Merry. You get it. You feel it. The big thing is, you understand it. Just what it is. And since you do, you can move on.”
“I’m fallin’ in love with her, Rocky,” he whispered back.
Slowly, his sister’s lips curled up in a smile as her eyes got bright.
“I can’t turn this to shit,” he told her.
“You won’t,” she replied.
“It’s her. She deserves to be happy. She hasn’t had that and she deserves it. I’m givin’ that to her and it feels great. But it’s also her kid. Ethan’s fuckin’ amazing, Raquel. He wants good for his mom, but he deserves good in his life too. For both of them…I cannot turn this to shit.”
“You won’t,” his sister repeated.
He looked back out the window.
CeeCee had the ball again. And again, she threw it right at her father’s feet.
Blondie retrieved it.
Tanner took it and let it fly.
Blondie chased after it.
“How?” he asked.
“How what?” his sister asked back.
“How’s it go away?”
She didn’t answer, and he was about to look at her again when he felt her fingers sliding into his as she got close to his side.
She held his hand and they watched what was happening on the porch. Blondie in the yard, retrieving the ball. Tanner looking down at his baby girl. CeeCee’s blue eyes tipped up to her daddy, her mouth moving. She had only a few words in her arsenal, so that meant she was mostly babbling at him. But it was clear Tanner didn’t mind by the way he was smiling down at his little girl.
“I’m pregnant again, Merry.”
Garrett’s head snapped around as he looked to his sister.
“That…” She tipped her head to the window. “And this…” She put her hand to her belly. “That’s how it works.”
“Cher wants kids,” he told her.
“You both get to that place, give them to her,” she returned.
He shook his head as he looked back out the window and pulled his hand out of her hold. He lifted his arm, catching his sister around the neck and tugging her to his side.
He kept his eyes aimed out the window as he turned his head and kissed the top of her hair.
For Rocky’s part, she’d wrapped both arms around his middle.
“Pleased as fuck for you, babe,” he muttered.
“Me too,” she replied.
They held on and watched the antidote to Raquel’s poison hold his daughter and play with their dog.
“Falling in love should be good,” she said gently. “It should make you happy. It should make you hopeful. It should make you look forward to the future and savor what’s happening in the now. I want that for you, Garrett, but it’s not only that. It’s the way it should be.”
“I hear that. But bein’ fucked up, destroying havin’ that with Mia, on edge that I’ll do that shit again, that’s just not where I can be with Cher.”
She gave him a squeeze. “Nothing’s going to happen to Layne. Nothing’s going to happen to you. Nothing’s going to happen to me.” He looked down at her. “But even if it does, Merry, I have this. This moment with you. What’s happening outside. The baby girl I gave my husband. The baby he gave me that’s growing inside of me. We can’t live crippled by what we’re scared might happen. We have to live in the moment, happy with what we have.”
“I hear that too,” he told her. “I just got no clue how to get there.”
“Your problem, honey,” she started softly, “is that you aren’t recognizing you’re already there. You just won’t let yourself be there.”
Garrett stared down at his sister, his throat starting to burn.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
Rocky smiled. “Be in the now, Merry. The now would make you happy if you just let it be.”
He tightened his arm around her neck. “Sucks, but you were always smarter than me.”
“Yes, but you were never afraid of spiders.”
A sharp chuckle bolted out of him.
Fuck, his sister was crazy.
“I see I got the upper hand here—you’re smart as a whip, but I can kill spiders without freakin’ out,” he remarked.
“You live a life in Indiana terrified of daddy longlegs, then we’ll discuss it.”
He had to admit, she had a point there.
He grinned at her.
She gave him a squeeze.
They both looked back out the window.
Blondie was running.
CeeCee was babbling.
Tanner was smiling.
His sister was pregnant.
He felt it.
He held on to it.
Because, in the now, all was just as it should be.
It was happy.
Chapter Seventeen
Tough Chick
Cher
Monday Evening
Mom was in my house, kicked back and watching TV with Ethan.
I was in the Equinox, backing it out in order to head to work but wishing I was going to Merry’s.
We’d had our awesome Saturday night and Sunday morning, and Merry had hung with me and Ethan before he’d taken off to spend some time with his sister.
And as we’d rushed toasting some bagels before getting my kid, we’d agreed that we’d find time to meet for lunch that week and I’d arrange it so one of my nights off, it was just him and me; the other one, it was family time.
Family time.
Merry hadn’t used those words. I hadn’t either.
But I liked thinking of it that way just as much as it freaked me out.
It was all going good.
No, it was going great.
I hadn’t fucked anything up yet, not a thing.
I was happy. Merry was happy. Ethan was happy.
It was a miracle.
That freaked me out too.
Even so, there were bummer parts to it.
Specifically not seeing Merry more often. A lunch here, a night there, lots of sex when we could squeeze it in.
As great as it was, it wasn’t working for me.
I wanted more.
There was no denying it.
I wanted more. And I didn’t know how that had happened. How I went from being a woman who’d lived a life never having what she wanted, now having what I wanted, and still wanting more.
I should be happy with what I had.
Now I had the feeling that being happy just made you jones for more happy and that was where you fucked up. A new kind of fuckup. Not being content with what you had.
I needed just to let myself be happy without freaking out about it and not fuck shit up.
(I still wanted more.)
I hit the street and shifted to drive. I started motoring when I caught something in the light of my headlights off to the left.
I kept driving but did it staring.
Then I did it glaring, anger flaring fast and rocketing straight to fury.
He gave me big eyes. Then he gave me hand gestures.
I ignored both, kept driving, stopped at the stop sign at the end of the road, made my turn when it was clear, and drove two blocks before I pulled over and yanked my phone out of
my purse.
I jabbed at the screen and put it to my ear.
My friend Ryan, who right then was sitting in a car across the street from my dickhead neighbor’s house, answered on one ring.
“Cher—”
“Do not speak,” I hissed. “Meet me at the bar…now.”
“I kinda can’t leave my—”
“Ryan, what’d I say about speaking? Get your ass to the bar.”
“But the guy who hired me for this job is kinda scary.”
Oh yeah.
I was ticked.
“Trust me, right now, Ryan, I’m scarier.”
Ryan said nothing.
“You gonna meet me at the bar, like, in two seconds?”
“I’ll meet you at the bar, Cher,” he muttered.
I disconnected.
Then I jabbed at my screen again.
After I did that, I put my phone to my ear.
It rang a long time, then I got Ryker’s voicemail.
“Your surveillance guy just quit. And you’re off my Christmas card list. And if you come into J&J’s and I’m the only bartender on, you aren’t gonna get a drink. And if I didn’t totally dig your missus, I’d never fucking speak to you again.”
After I said all that, I hung up and drove to J&J’s.
I stormed in, and being me, I didn’t bother hiding how pissed I was.
This made Feb, who was standing at Colt’s side of the bar seeing as her husband had his ass planted on a stool there, widen her eyes at me.
Colt saw his wife’s face and twisted on his stool.
He got one look at me and let out an audible sigh before begging, “Please, fuck, tell me Merry isn’t the asshole who’s makin’ you look like that.”
“No, Merry isn’t the asshole who’s making me look like this,” I returned, stomping toward the office.
“Who’s the asshole makin’ you look like that?” Feb called as I opened the door to the office.
I turned to them. “Ryker,” I spat.
Neither of them looked surprised.
This was likely because Ryker didn’t have a habit of making people look pissed off.
He’d made it an art.
I went into the office and stowed my purse, slamming drawers as I did it, this not making me feel any better.
Me slamming the office door when I left also didn’t help.
Further not cooling me down, I felt something coming off Colt as I tramped his way.
I looked at him and stopped when I caught the expression on his face.
“You wanna tell me why Ryan just slunk in here, lookin’ like a whipped dog, and made his way right to the back where I can’t see him or whatever the fuck that moron’s got goin’ down?” he asked.
Colt knew Ryan. Back during the manhunt for Denny Lowe, Ryan had led them to me, and both Ryan and I had given them lots of information to figure out just how many screws Lowe had loose (in other words, all of them). That information might have even helped them (a little bit) to track him down.
Unfortunately, Denny had managed to wound three men, one woman, and murder three more victims before they stopped him.
But we’d helped (maybe…and not altogether willingly, but the last part only because Ryan was tweaked and I was pissed off I was fucking an ax murderer).
I knew Ryan because he was a regular at the strip club.
He was a nice kid, geeky, not real good at being social, and unbelievably smart. But smart in that bad way that made him geeky and not real good at being social.
He’d had a crush on me. He’d made it clear. It was sad and cute at the same time.
He also gave me money. It wasn’t a lot, but back then, when Ethan was much younger and every time I turned around he needed something—new clothes because he was growing, medicine because he got an ear infection, food because he was human and had to eat—I needed all the money I could get.
It didn’t feel good taking Ryan’s money, but I consoled myself (poorly) by being his friend.
One of the only ones he had.
Sadly, this led to Denny meeting him, learning Ryan might work at Radio Shack but had many other skills, and Denny put him to work, spying on Colt and Feb. This meant he’d gotten Ryan to plant cameras everywhere—in Feb’s house, on Colt’s street—and Ryan had taught Denny how to do it, so Denny planted cameras in J&J’s.
Ryan then kept an eye on the feeds because Denny was paying him.
And because of me.
This meant it was me who got Ryan caught up with a serial killer, hauled in, questioned, and scared out of his mind.
I held guilt about this, obviously. In the end, I’d wanted to give Ryan a bunch of the money Lowe had left me to pay him back for all his kindness and then never see him again.
But Ryan had told me that would hurt worse than any of the other shit that befell him because he’d been unlucky enough to cross paths with me.
So I paid him back the way he wanted me to.
By continuing to be his friend.
This was not a hardship. He wasn’t real good at being social, but he was a good guy, he could be funny, and he’d always been a good friend.
Eventually, I got over what I did to him and the reminder he always was of what Denny did to both of us.
I did this because I cared about him a lot.
However, even with all that had happened, Ryan had not learned not to be stupid regardless of how smart he was.
Which meant Colt had had occasion to brush up with him, and not just when Ryan came to Ethan’s birthday parties or when I had everyone over to watch a game.
To Colt’s question about Ryan being there, I jerked an agitated finger to my face and asked, “Pissed off look?” Then I answered myself, “Ryker and also Ryan.”
Colt sighed audibly again.
“I’m handlin’ it,” I declared.
Colt’s attention on me deepened even as his mouth warned, “This better be shit you can handle without Merry gettin’ a pissed off look, Cher. ’Cause you pissed off gives me a quiver. Merry pissed off might mean I’m in the dark with a shovel and a flashlight, coverin’ a brother’s ass by buryin’ bodies.”
That gave me a quiver.
I ignored the quiver, nodded to Colt, and called to Feb, “Got somethin’ to sort. Be right back.”
“We’re slow. Take your time,” Feb returned.
I didn’t take my time.
I marched quickly to the pool table area where, as Colt said, Ryan was around the wall, sitting at a back corner table that was not even close to being visible from the bar.
I went right to him, stopped, and planted my hands on my hips, glaring down at his pale face, which had luckily lost the pimples he used to have when I’d met him, though some of them had left marks.
“Have you lost your mind?” I hissed.
He leaned toward me but kept his seat, “Cher, it’s a big job and the guy who hired me trusts me to do it right.”
I.
Was.
Gonna.
Kill.
Ryker!
“Is the guy who hired you gonna console your momma when you get dead doin’ this big job for him?” I asked.
His face got even paler, but he didn’t answer.
I read this to mean he knew the danger.
I didn’t know the danger.
But I knew it was significant.
And I knew that if Lissa and Alexis wouldn’t be upset that daddy didn’t come home, I’d go to the nearest gun store, buy a baton, find Ryker, and beat him unconscious.
I threw out my hands, leaned toward him, and repeated, “Ryan, have you lost your mind?”
Suddenly, his head twitched and his brows shot together. “Do you know what the job is?”
“I know I don’t want you doin’ it,” I returned.
He seemed to relax before he replied, “I’m a big boy, Cher.”
“You’re my friend, Ryan. You’ve had my back a lot over a lotta years. It’s not about you bein’ a big boy. It�
�s about me givin’ a shit about you. And part of that givin’ a shit about you is wantin’ you to be safely sellin’ extension cords at Radio Shack and not sittin’ in your car outside a house two doors down from mine where I know a dickhead lives and is likely into dickhead shit that makes you unsafe. And part of this unsafe is that you’re surveilling a house two doors down from mine, doin’ it stupid by,” I leaned deeper, “sitting in your car outside that house.”
Ryan sat back hard in his chair when I leaned into him. “It’s my job to keep an eye out.”
“I got that,” I returned. “And even though that job is over, heads up, you don’t do that sitting right outside a house you’re staking out.”
“I got ears in that house, and when I put them in, I didn’t have time to use the good stuff. The feeds don’t range too far. I gotta be close.”
At the news Ryan had actually broke into my dickhead neighbor’s house and planted bugs, I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, wondering if it was possible to feel your blood pressure spike since I was pretty sure I was experiencing that.
I rolled my eyes back just in time to see Ryan’s gaze shoot over my shoulder. He jolted in his chair before he froze, his eyes wild, his body strung tight.
This would lead me to believe Colt had joined our huddle.
However, I knew the feel of the man who had entered our space while I was too busy reading the riot act to Ryan to notice.
And that feel was not Colt.
Shit.
“Ryan’s surveilling a house two doors down from yours?”
Merry asked that question and he did it in a voice that was low and tense, an indication that he was about to go apeshit crazy.
Slowly, I straightened, and even more slowly, I turned to my man.
I looked into the blue shards of his glittering, pissed off eyes.
Yep.
This close to apeshit crazy.
Needless to say, Ryan doing stupid shit (repeatedly), not to mention being a friend of mine, he was well-known by the entirety of the BPD.
“Merry—” I started.
I didn’t finish because he moved and he did it fast.
Lunging toward Ryan’s table, he slammed a fist down on it so hard the table jumped. Ryan also jumped. But Ryan didn’t otherwise move because Merry was still moving, this time so he had Ryan’s sweater in his fist and his face in Ryan’s.
“You got a job two doors down from Cher?” he growled.
Hold On Page 38