80. Maddox
EIGHTY
At the top of the stairs, Chelsea pauses. “Which way?”
I stop behind her. “Not sure.”
“Well, look.” She gestures around. “You can see over everyone, right?”
“Fair point.” I set my hand on the top of her head so I don’t lose her and step us out into the center of the main walkway.
I look one way, then the other. “It might be—” I cut myself off. “Never mind, I see it.”
“Told ya,” Chelsea singsongs.
Keeping her in front of me, we make our way down to the donut stand.
The line is long, snaking along the wall, so we step up and take our place at the end.
“You been keeping yourself busy?” I ask Chelsea. “Learn any new ways to cheat at poker?”
She slowly turns around to look up at me. “You and I both know I didn’t have to cheat.”
“Says you.”
She lifts a brow. “I’m happy for a rematch. But maybe you want to practice more first.”
“Hmm. Maybe I should get some cheats— I mean lessons— from whoever taught you.”
“You couldn’t afford them.”
Chelsea’s comeback makes me snort. “That so? Who was it, a pro?”
“Nah, just some old lady who used to live next door. I didn’t get really good until I started playing online. But after I won five hundred bucks one time, Aunt Hannah flipped out and told me I couldn’t play anymore.”
“Five hundred? Damn.”
“I know, right?”
“When you’re old enough for the Vegas casinos, I’ll get you into one of their poker tourneys.”
Her eyes light up. “Really?”
“Really.” This kid is gonna steal someone’s savings out from under them. And I want to be there to witness it.
We shuffle forward in line.
Someone’s fallen popcorn crunches under my tennis shoes, and when I glance down, I notice the laces on my left shoe are coming undone.
I make sure there’s enough room between me and the family in line behind us, then I crouch down and start retying my laces.
“What are you doing?” Chelsea snaps.
Her tone is surprisingly angry, so I jerk my head up, but she’s not talking to me. Instead, she’s talking to some teenage punk that just stepped in front of her in line.
The boy shrugs. “Cutting.”
Oh, hell no.
“Go to the back of the line, Ken.”
Ken? What fucking parent named their kid Ken?
“No,” the little shit answers with his back to Chelsea.
I rise to my full height.
“I’m telling you for the last time,” Chelsea grits out.
Her tone is full of derision, and it makes me proud as hell.
“Or what?” Ken says in a stupid tone as he starts to turn around. “You gonna make me?”
I move so I’m next to Smidge and cross my arms. Shoulders back. Mad Dog face in place.
“No,” Chelsea snarks. “But he will.”
Ken opens his dumb mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares up at me, with his eyes bugging out of his head.
Beside me, Chelsea shifts her stance, and I’m sure it’s full of attitude.
Ken starts to move his attention back to Chelsea.
“Back of the line, Ken.” I use my deepest voice before he can say something to Smidge that will piss me all the way off.
The teen makes a face like he’s fighting with himself whether to say something shitty or not, and apparently, the smart half wins because he stomps off.
We’re silent for a moment before I look down at Chelsea. “So, he kinda sucks.”
“Oh my god, that was the best thing ever!” She cackles. “I need to bring you to school with me.”
I scowl. “Are you getting bullied?”
She waves that off as we move ahead in the line. “What? No. But some boys are just annoying.”
I mentally double down on Ruth’s no dating until thirty-five rule. “Boys are the worst. Don’t trust any of them.”
“Duh.”
I accept that was an obvious statement.
“Well, if anyone is extra annoying, tell me.”
“Yeah, sure.” It’s a blow-off statement if I’ve ever heard one. “What should we get?”
We’re close enough to read the menu now, and while I read the options, I wonder if there’s a career day or something I could go to at Chelsea’s school for the sole purpose of putting the fear of Mad Dog into the hearts of any boy who might dream of even talking to her.
When it’s our turn, we decide on the bucket.
I make Chelsea carry it so I’m not tempted to eat them by the handful, then guide her back the way we came.
As we walk away, Ken shouts, “The Biters suck!”
Chelsea spins around, looking ready to throw down, and before I can stop her, she shouts back, “Your science project sucked!”
A laugh barks out of me, but I try to cover it with a cough.
“Smidge, that wasn’t nice.” It’s hard to chastise her when I’m still trying not to laugh, and now I appreciate all the times I’ve witnessed Hannah in this same position even more.
“He deserved it.”
“I trust your judgment.” I hold my hand out. “Give me a donut, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you insulting that kid’s schoolwork.”
Chelsea holds up the bucket.
I take two and shove them both in my mouth.
When I look down, Chelsea is making a face at me.
“What?” I ask, mouth still full.
“Are you gonna marry Aunt Hannah?”
I swallow the rest of my donut.
I wasn’t expecting her to ask that. But a direct question deserves a direct answer. “I’d like to. You okay with that?”
She purses her lips, then shrugs. “Yeah. You’re alright.”
Her easy acceptance warms my whole damn soul.
“Stop it.” I hunch my shoulders. “You’re gonna make me blush.”
Smidge shakes her head. “I take it back. You’re a dork.”
I mock gasp. “You wound me.”
Instead of apologizing, she holds up the donuts, and I take two more.
This kid gets me.
Then I spot the perfect thing.
“Hold up.” I grip her sleeve, pulling her off to the side. “One more stop before the slushies.”