Chapter 41
Morgan
Princess is pogoing again.
Boing.
I park my truck in the driveway right up by the garage.
Boing.
I get out and wave at Mrs. Patterson on the back porch. She gets to her feet while I walk around to the passenger side.
Boing.
I bend down. “All right, my queen, ready to come home?”
Rory tosses her head back against the headrest. “Yesssssss.”
It’s a hell of a lot easier for me to scoop Rory out of the truck than it is for her to get out on her own accord, so I dig my arms underneath her legs, careful of the cast, and pull her out of the car.
My live-in girlfriend (yesssssss!!!!) wraps her arms around my neck. Mrs. Patterson waits at the gate.
Boing.
“Good heavens,” Rory’s grandmother tells my dog. “Get ahold of yourself, young lady.”
I stop at the fence and Rory reaches a hand down to Princess. The pogoing stops and the energy is converted to a full-body wiggle instead. Then, just like I expected, Princess darts off to find a toy to bring to Rory.
My dog isn’t the only one excited to have her home. Things have been a hectic mess around here, but a beautiful hectic mess.
The day after Rory talked to the police, I was at work—Rory’s grandma was with her—when my phone blew up.
My mom. Over and over. I couldn’t ignore it, so I answered and I’ll probably regret that for the rest of my life.
I don’t like to think about the awful things my mom said to me, blaming me for my brother’s arrest.
While the dashcam from Rory’s motorcycle couldn’t get a plate number in the dark at the time that she was hit, it did get a good look at my brother’s face when he sabotaged her bike.
And while he did a pretty good job of hiding the evidence of the hit-and-run on his truck, he didn’t count on the cops showing up with a search warrant and finding a few pounds of meth in his garage.
I still can’t believe my brother was so angry—and greedy—over something as stupid as selling us a car that had the potential to be worth so much more. I have always been more forgiving of people than Graham ever was, but for him to hold on so violently still surprised me.
I finally did the thing I should have done years ago—I blocked my mom. I blocked my brother too, even though it probably doesn’t matter. He’s going to prison for a long time for possession with intent to distribute and attempted manslaughter.
Princess can’t decide which toy to bring to Rory—she grabs one, makes it a few steps, then changes her mind and drops it for another, then repeats the whole thing again and again—giving us time to get Rory into the house and settled on the couch.
Barty meows indignantly when we gently shove him off to make room and he runs off to hide.
Yes, he’s back living with me, too. I missed my little loaf.
Mrs. Patterson sits in the chair while I shift some pillows around and just generally fuss over my live-in girlfriend (again: yessssss!!!!) and Rory lounges like royalty.
She grins up at me. “I could get used to you fluffing my pillows.”
Mrs. Patterson snorts.
Rory’s grin is back, even though the tooth is still missing. She scheduled an implant and wants her new tooth to look just like her old one.
Rory’s hungry, so I make us all sandwiches. I perch on the coffee table in front of Rory while I eat mine, and we chitchat until Mrs. Patterson interrupts us.
“Morgan. In the hospital you said that you sold the ring?”
“You mean when you were eavesdropping?” I grin at her.
She ignores me. “Rory said the lodge was more important. What did that mean?”
I tell Mrs. Patterson about how the lodge is up for sale and my friends and I are all chipping in to try to buy it.
Mrs. Patterson looks at Rory. “Perhaps you should cash that check. It’s no strings attached, remember? You could chip in.”
Rory opens her mouth, stops, and then closes it.
“You’re committing to this one.” Mrs. Patterson jerks her thumb at me. “I think you should commit to Here, too.”
Rory looks at me. “Would that be weird for you? To have your girlfriend be a business partner?”
I shrug. “Bailey and Silas are doing it. I would love for you to be involved.”
“I don’t even ski,” she says, as if that would stop her from being part owner in a ski lodge.
“You don’t ski yet. And you probably won’t this season.” I gesture at her leg. “But next year I’ll teach you. Or you can always stick to après-ski and come hang out with me in the bar.”
Mrs. Patterson finishes her sandwich and sets the plate on the table before picking her cane up and resting both hands on it. “Would your friends be interested in a silent investor?”
My eyebrows rise. “You?”
She snorts. “No, Barty. Of course, me. I would be interested in contributing, but I don’t want all that messiness that comes with it. I’d match Rory’s buy-in.”
I pull out my phone. “Let me see if Hunter’s free to come by sometime and chat with you. He knows way more than I do.” I send a message to him and then take Rory’s empty plate and set it on the table.
Last weekend, in preparation for Rory coming back home, my friends and I hosted Sunday Funday at Rory’s apartment, without her.
We loaded up on breakfast burritos from a place Rory recommended and when we’d finished eating we played a round of Whose Turn Is It Anyway?
Rory’s prize for the winner was a promise of being the first person (aside from Rory or me) to get a ride in the Bronco when it was done being rebuilt.
Jared and Tuan fought hard for it, but Bailey won.
After that was done, we packed up Rory’s apartment—furniture and all—and moved her out. We caravanned back to Here and unpacked in my house, which is why the guest bedroom is stuffed full of boxes and furniture. Now that Rory’s home, we can decide what stuff to sell and what to keep.
Mrs. Patterson has opinions on some of the furniture pieces, and we wander into the guest bedroom to discuss where to put an old wood card table, which apparently belonged to Rory’s mother.
It needs refinishing, but Rory wants to keep it, so Mrs. Patterson and I discuss which of my less-sentimental pieces to get rid of.
When I glance at the couch next, Rory’s asleep. Princess is carefully wedged in her usual spot between Rory and the back of the couch.
“I should take you home,” I whisper to Mrs. Patterson.
She pats my arm. “Here is home. Welcome to the family, Morgan.”