Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
H angman…
I figured she was probably sick of watching video games, so even though I wanted to play and just zone the fuck out for a minute, I refrained and instead flipped through some of the streaming services I had until she made a noise of interest.
Of course, it was some period piece and by the looks of it, some kind of romance – but fuck it. She’d been through a lot and all it would cost me was right about two hours of my life. Granted it was two hours of my life that I would never get back, but I had my phone and could surf the internet or whatever.
I had to get her some of her own clothes. She couldn’t wear mine forever, even if she looked damn cozy in them.
“Are you sure?” she asked when I clicked on the movie that she’d voiced some interest in.
“Yeah, why not? Figure you’ve had enough of video games and shit blowing up.”
She shrugged her shoulders and said, “Wasn’t all bad. There was a good story in there. Kind of wanted to see what happened next.”
I laughed a little at that and shook my head, turning up the television as the show started in some idyllic looking, probably English countryside.
I pretty quickly tuned it out. I couldn’t follow all the flowery fucking language they were using to say the simplest shit. Like everything they said was somehow, some kind of way, coded and this thinly veiled or outright barb or demeaning putdown, but everyone acted as though everything going down was perfectly normal.
I didn’t have the patience for that shit. I’d punch somebody. Flip the damn table. Do anything just to get them to shut up and sit there aghast just for the pure entertainment of it.
I smiled faintly at the imagined looks on their faces while I opened up Google.
“You wouldn’t happen to remember your sizes for clothes and shit, would you?” I asked her, and she turned her rapt attention from the television screen as I paused it for her and, looking thoughtful, shook her head.
“That’s so weird, isn’t it?” she asked. “I can’t remember my own clothing or shoe sizes, but I can remember her parents didn’t want her to marry him years ago because he wasn’t good enough, and now that he’s here as a captain and they’re in financial distress, now things might be different.”
I smiled faintly and said, “Might be you just care more about the story than you do clothes. I can appreciate that.”
She blushed, and I laughed and said, “Guess the first thing we’re gonna need is measurements. I know somebody that might be able to tell me what to do there.”
I un-paused the movie and went back to my phone, opening up one of the messenger apps that was popular these days, and hit up Mini-Syn.
Madisyn: What’s up?
Me: You got that friend of yours handy that does all the fashion shit?
Madisyn: Valory? She’s right here, passing the phone to her now. What do you need?
Me: I need to know how to measure somebody to get their right clothes sizes.
Madisyn: Well, got a measuring tape? And no, I’m not talking one of those metal ones you guys use for construction, either.
Me: That’s all I have.
Madisyn: Okay, well do you have any twine, or string, or anything flexible then?
Me: Yeah, I got something.
Madisyn: Guy or a girl?
Me: Woman
There was a long, long pause before anything appeared on the screen again and I figured Madisyn was filling her bestie in without giving away too much. Or maybe she was. Fuck if any of us knew how the girls found out about what we were doing or had going on, but sometimes they figured it out or just knew. I know it wasn’t Synister spilling the tea because anytime Madisyn piped up about something when we were doing our own talking in code he looked downright pissed and it almost always started some kind of argument between them.
Madisyn: So, you’re going to need everything. Right? Shirt, pants, shoe, bra, the works.
Me: Yeah.
Madisyn: How many color of pens you got lying around?
Me: I don’t fucking know!
Madisyn: Well figure it out! It can and will be a lot easier on you than doing it the hard way.
Me: What’s the fucking hard way?
Madisyn: Writing ever measurement down…
Me: The fuck?
I guess she wanted me to take a piece of long cord if I had it and make each measurement a different color and just pass the cord off to her. It wasn’t a bad idea and took a lot of the work off me – I wouldn’t have to find a measuring tape and send each one. Just tell her a color as I took one and hand over the cord.
I could appreciate that.
I scared up some pens around the apartment and came up with black, blue, and red, easily enough. I also found a couple of permanent markers. One in green and one in brown. Last-ditch effort, I found some silver duct tape and black electrical tape. I could make it work. If I had to, I would wrap tape and do a colored pen line on the silver to make another color. I didn’t know exactly how many measurements I would be taking, but I figured it was going to be a lot. More than I’d ever had to go through for a suit or dress uniform.
I kept catching Lorelai looking at me, her rapt attention drawn away from her movie as I moved around the apartment looking for all this shit.
The last thing I needed was in the bedroom. I went back there and stared at my suspension setup and felt my mouth go dry. I wanted to play. I hadn’t in a while, and damn it was so tempting to just…
No, I wouldn’t ask. It wouldn’t be right.
I opened the top drawer of the nearby chest of drawers and gritted my teeth. There were all kinds of bundles of rope inside. I needed something on its last legs that I wouldn’t mind sacrificing to the cause. Preferably something white or neutral colored enough to show the ink markings.
I dug around in the back of the drawer and managed to come up with a length of white bamboo rope. High quality and expensive shit, but the fibers on this bundle were starting to wear and show their age. I hated doing it, but it would have to do. I just – even just to take measurements, I couldn’t justify putting something rougher like hemp or jute against her pale skin. Granted, I would probably be making the majority of these measurements over her clothes, but still.
I went back out and tossed the bundle onto the kitchen island and picked up my phone, sending a snap of the acquired supplies to Madisyn.
Madisyn: Yeah, all that will do, but try not to freak her out too much. With the knife block in the background this is a little serial killer-esque.
Me: Ha, fuck, you’re right. I think she trusts me a little… we kind of have an accord. I’m really just trying to help here.
Madisyn: Well, go easy on her.
Me: I have been! Now what do I do?
I waited a good long while and sure enough a wall of fucking text slammed down minutes later that left me dizzy and fucking confused.
Me: I’m not reading all of that. Maybe let’s go one at a time.
Madisyn: LOL k, fair. First measurement…
I got a diagram and everything, which was pretty handy, along with a detailed explanation.
Once satisfied I could do it, I called Lorelai over.
“Hey Sweetpea, c’mere a minute, would you?”
She unfolded herself elegantly from the corner of the couch she liked to occupy and practically floated across the area rug on the living room floor.
“What’s all this?” she asked, looking apprehensive.
“I got one of my friend’s girl’s and her friend on the line and they’re trying to help me take your measurements so we can get your sizes and find you some clothes of your own.
“Oh.” She looked relieved.
“Can I touch you?” I asked.
She looked surprised that I would ask and then stepped a little nearer and gave me a nod of consent.
I took her gently by the shoulders and moved her so she was squared up with me and dropping my hands quickly told her what I was going to do before I did it. No surprises and no quick movements.
She seemed to relax a little more knowing what was about to happen and that was good.
There was a lot of awkwardness and giggling throughout the process, but overall, I’d say it was good.
I measured for everything, one measurement at a time, carefully marking everything down on the rope with pens and tape and sending the code to the girls on the other end of the chat for each one.
Bust: blue, under bust: red, waist: green, hips: black, and so on. I had to get into the tape to make the rest of them happen. We even measured her foot which was a little trickier but not too bad. I’d never really known there was a way to measure a foot without one of those metal things – but Valory knew her stuff.
Madisyn: Bring it by the manse tomorrow. Valory is staying here, and we’ll go out shopping tomorrow and bring it by your place by tomorrow afternoon. She have any particular tastes?
Me: Whatever is probably fine and I don’t think even she knows. She’s back into her weird Jane Austen flick and I don’t want to pester her. She’s supposed to be resting and getting it back together.
Madisyn: Copy that.
I snorted a laugh; she’d been hanging around us dudes too long.
Me: Thanks, Mads. And Valory.
Madisyn: It’s shopping. For fashion. It’s a real hardship, let us tell you.
I suppressed a laugh and bid the girls a good night, my hands still tingling with the feel of the rope sliding through my fingers and against my palm.
I heaved a silent sigh and went and sat back down.
“Have some stuff for you to wear by tomorrow afternoon,” I said and she stared at me for a long moment, her mouth opening and closing as though there were so many questions, she had tumbling around in her shaken-up brain.
“Thank you,” she said finally and I gave a nod.
I got surprisingly caught up in the rest of her movie and by the time the credits rolled and I looked back over to her, she was curled up and fast asleep on the couch, her hands tucked under her cheek like an angel. Her expression in sleep was a sad one, the toll of her experiences over the last day or two, coupled with the trauma her body and mind held despite her inability to readily remember was apparent.
I kicked back in my recliner and watched her, at some point, drifting off myself.
Could I have gone to bed and let her sleep on the couch? Probably. Seemed like a dick thing to do, though – despite how my shoulders ached and my back protested whenever I fell asleep in my chair.
The quiet enveloped us as the night grew deeper, and it was split asunder by her sharp scream as she came awake, thrashing, and practically climbing the wall in the corner, skittering up the back of the couch as though trying to escape some horror.
She got with it pretty quickly, and her silvery eyes locked on mine holding my gaze as they welled up with crystalline tears and she clapped both shaking hands over her mouth as she burst into sobs.
Fuck.
The more the drug worked its way out of her system, the more the memories came flooding in, I’ll bet. Just like her fitful sleep the night before, even if she couldn’t consciously remember all the things that’d likely gone down – her mind knew, and her body knew, and her subconscious was trying to work shit out while she slept.
How did I know?
It was the explanation given to me by the VA regarding my night terrors. That my mind was trying to protect itself and work shit out without me or some shit. That sometimes, some horrible shit went down and you forgot… but you didn’t really forget. Your mind just kind of shutting down the memories in order for you to keep pushin’, keep on surviving – sort of a subconscious failsafe whatever had created us, or evolution, had put in our fucking brains to keep our meat suits drivable by our consciousness when by all rights our consciousness should want to give up.
“Easy,” I murmured, moving slowly to get up.
I pushed in the footrest on my chair with its customary noisy clack and she jumped as though I’d fired a gun.
“Easy, Sweetpea,” I consoled, moving even slower to get up.
I went over and sat on the middle cushion of the couch and turned my head to look at her. She was staring wide-eyed, her hands both firmly pressed over her mouth as she trembled and shook with fear.
“Just a bad dream,” I soothed. “You’re alright, you’re safe. I promise nothing and no one is going to hurt you here. It was just a bad dream.”
I put my hand over the top of her foot and she jumped.
“Shh, it’s all good,” I soothed as I stroked the top of her foot, back and forth, back and forth. Her skin was chilled to the touch, but she looked as though she’d been sweating pretty good.
“I got ‘cha. It’s all good.” I repeated the phrase like a mantra and waited her out.
Her breathing was slowing, but her tears were coming much faster.
“Easy, darlin’, you’re alright. Ain’t none of ‘em get to you now. It’s all in your head. You got this. Just breathe with me.” I took an exaggerated breath and got her to mimic me. She did good, following my guided breathing, her hands lowering, shaking so bad, until she gripped them together in her lap to try and stop the tremors.
“You’re okay,” I tried on her again when she seemed calmer, and she nodded as though I’d asked her and not told her – or maybe she was just agreeing with me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked and she shook her head quickly. “Okay.” I nodded in agreement. “You just take your time and let me know what it is you need and I’ll do it or get it. Okay?”
She nodded, again, a little too quickly, but it was getting better already. Like she was coming back to herself in increments. Her breathing evening out, her shoulders unlocking and easing back down off where she had them wrapped around her ears.
“There you go,” I encouraged as her muscles unlocked, unclenching a group at a time, in tiny and careful increments.
“You want some water?” I asked and she nodded rapidly.
“Okay, baby. I got you,” I swiped my hand up and down her foot a couple of times in a bid to make a little friction to warm it before taking my hand completely away.
I got up and she stared wide-eyed at me as I went to the kitchen, took down a glass, and filled it with cold water from the tap.
I tore off a paper towel and took both to her, sitting down by her feet and handing her the glass first. She drank from it greedily, as though she was parched for days and I could attest, a hard crying jag could do that shit to you. I hadn’t been immune to them in the past. I just did mine alone. On a time or two with one of the other brothers nearby to make sure I wasn’t going to suck-start my forty-five.
I traded the glass for the paper towel and she wiped her tears and blew her nose.
“Better?” I asked, and she nodded, face red and blotchy, the silver of her eyes more startling for that same red rimming her eyes.
“Want to talk about it?” I asked, and she shook her head fast and then did something unexpected. Her hand shot out and covered mine, her grip firm and growing tighter. I stared down at our hands on the warm brown leather of the couch, her knuckles mottling pink and white from the grip she had on my calloused, rough-looking hand with the dirt trapped under its nails and the engine grease embedded in the skin around my fingertips that never really seemed to come out no matter how much or how hard I scrubbed.
It came from working on the earth movers, keeping their diesel engines maintained. I was sort of a jack-of-all-trades around here, and a master of none except how to make a body disappear.
That I was good at.
I raised my eyes from our conjoined hands to hers and there was a desperation and pleading in them. A fear that telegraphed in the space between us as though she’d shouted it in my face without making a sound.
“I got you,” I said gripping her hand back. “You’re safe here. I promise.”
Her bottom lip trembled and her shoulders shook and she lowered her forehead to her bunched-up knees and had another cathartic cry. Only this time, I think it was with relief.
I got that.
I did.
Sometimes you just needed someone to tell you that you were safe, even if it was a lie.
Except in that moment, it wasn’t a platitude. It wasn’t an empty promise designed to just make her feel better.
No, I meant it. She was safe. Come Hell or high water. Come rich boys or my own boys – which yeah, I know that was saying a lot, but I meant it. She was safe here, with me, in my house. I wouldn’t hesitate to throw down. Sometimes, honestly, I was just looking for an excuse – which is generally why I kept to myself nowadays.
“It gets better, Sweetpea,” I promised; and I meant that too. No empty platitudes here. It did. I didn’t know if time necessarily healed all wounds, but it damn sure generally didn’t make them worse. Maybe it wasn’t so much healed ‘em as got you used to ‘em. I don’t know. All I knew was that tonight it didn’t really matter.
Words weren’t going to make the nightmares go away. Usually, only time did that. Maybe not even time chased them off but put them to sleep themselves. The terror wearing itself out to fall sleeping itself until this trigger or that thing poked them with a sharp stick waking them up, roaring and angry to wake you up all over again.
I sat with her in the quiet of the night until she’d stopped shuddering and shaking with her silent racking sobs.
“Okay, Sweetpea,” I said after she’d gone almost completely still. She raised her chin, and turned her head, to lay it atop her knee and look at me.
“Let’s get you tucked into bed properly,” I said. “You up for trying sleep again?”
She nodded and I got up, towing her up behind me by our hotly pressed together hands. I led her back into the bedroom and over to the side of the bed, pulling back the blankets for her to get in.
“What is that?” she asked, pointing to the suspension stand in the corner. I quirked a sardonic smile and told her; “Never you mind all that,” and I jiggled her hand toward the bed. She relinquished her hold and got in.
“There you go,” I tucked her in and it felt nice to do it. To care for someone.
I went to straighten up and she spoke quickly as though afraid to ask.
“Stay with me?”
I frowned.
“You sure?” I asked.
She nodded quickly.
I hesitated. In the front of my brain, I knew it was probably the wrong thing to do… but this funny feeling in the center of my chest had me sighing out and nodding my head in agreement.
“Move over,” I ordered gently and she did, scooting way over onto the other side of the bed.
I got onto it and eased myself down beside her, careful to stay atop the covers and keep that barrier at least.
I grunted when she quickly scooted back into me and laid her head on my chest, my arms held out at first as though she was something venomous or like contact with her skin would scorch mine… which the latter? Accurate, just not in the hellfire and brimstone sense of the word.
Desire rippled out through my body where her skin came in contact with mine, this tingling rush that raised all the fine hairs and sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my fucking dick, which I hoped like hell she didn’t notice in the dark.
If you think that was it, that she just cuddled into me a little bit and laid stiff in my arms, you’d be wrong.
She went all in, getting herself snug right up against me, her head half on my shoulder and half on my chest, and put one of her long, slender legs atop both of mine. It was a bit bulky and awkward, her being in my oversized tee and sweatpants – but that was certainly a boon in this situation. Enough of a deterrent to keep me in check. Not that I couldn’t do that – I could do it just fine. I had self-control. It’d just been a long time since I’d had to exercise it.
We settled and I laid my head back into the pillow and breathed out a sigh that I hoped she registered as contented rather than the mix of frustration and exasperation that it was. No, I wasn’t upset with her in the slightest. Just at myself for not realizing she swung the opposite way, so-to-speak.
I was up on the whole trauma responses and PTSD, but mine was for a very different reason than hers. Still, in group therapy at the VA, the therapist we’d worked with was firmly convinced that trauma was trauma no matter where its origin point; and as such, we’d had some tough group therapy sessions. Sessions where, not only were we in a ring of fellow soldiers with combat-related PTSD, but we also had the odd female soldier that sexual assault related trauma came up.
That’s where I learned that some women went one way, the way you’d all pretty much expect a woman to go after being violated like that – with not wanting to be touched by anyone at all, ever… but that wasn’t the only trauma response there was. Just as the pendulum swung to one extreme, so it usually had the option to swing to the other and some of the women had spoken of the great shame of having an equally strong but opposite reaction – where they just couldn’t get out there and find enough sex.
Some of them were there to work through hyper sexuality issues and not all of them could even explain why that was the way they’d gone.
Whatever the case in Lorelai’s instance, I didn’t want to rock her boat any more than it’d been rocked. She was supposed to be getting it together, taking some time to come to grips and to heal, and I didn’t want to get in the way of that or throw any kind of wrench into the works.
She seemed perfectly content just to cuddle close and nothing else. She didn’t make any more moves beyond just clinging to my side in the dark, and I didn’t want to keep her from sleep by asking a bunch of probative questions that may or may not set her back when she’d barely made a single step on this long road ahead of her.
Instead, I lay in the dark and quiet of the room, staring at the spinning ceiling fan, the little currents of air wafting down from it and cooling the fire riding just under the surface of my overheated skin, as the desire pulsed through me with every throbbing heartbeat, echoed in the throbbing pulse of my dick under the now impossibly tight prison of my jeans.
Her breath was warm where it fanned across my chest, stirring the light cover of hair I had curling on it, not enough to be considered some kind of a bear of a man – thank God for that. I’d seen some real hairy fuckers when I was in, and I didn’t know how they did it – especially in the fucking head of that god-forsaken badland of being in-country. Dry heat, humid heat, at some point it was just heat and whether you were being parboiled or grilled by the weather it didn’t matter. It was uncomfortable as fuck either way.
Still, there’d been times I’d longed for the feel of the sultry South while I’d been out there in the arid desert doing my thing for Uncle Sam. Where I’d have given anything for a breeze or for the heavy wet blanket feel that made you instantly wet just by stepping out your door without even having enough time for actual sweating to kick in.
I don’t know why I focused on all of that so much except that it took my mind off of the soft, sultry woman, curled into my side, her arm tucked against my body, her other arm across my stomach, as her warm soft breathing deepened, blushing warmth across my body in even intervals only to have it swept away by the cooling currents from the ceiling fan just in time for the next breath to make an impact with me.
It was like Chinese water torture, only teasing and tantalizing in a way that made me feel fucking guilty as hell for enjoying it. Especially given what she’d more than likely at this point, had gone through. She whimpered softly in her sleep which she’d fallen into fairly quicky. I waited for her to try and twist away from me and held my arms slightly out from her to allow her to move in whichever direction she chose, but all she did was scoot closer, wriggling a bit in her dream state and holding onto me tighter.
When I replaced my arms, she almost instantly went slack against me, her breathing taking on an even deeper cadence and I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to. I turned my face in the dark of the room and blindly pressed my lips at her hairline, letting them linger on her soft, soft, skin and hair for several moments, pursing them in a light press of a kiss, closing my eyes and breathing her in.
Somewhere I’d heard, read, or talked with somebody and they’d mentioned that space smelled like raspberries. It’d stuck with me. Morphed in my brain, that must be what starlight smelled like; like raspberries with maybe a hint of burned sugar. I don’t know why that’s how it stuck in my brain – but it did and it baffled me that Lorelai smelled very close to what I imagined starlight would smell like… especially given that she’d used my soap and whatnot here in my apartment and I didn’t own raspberry or sugar cookie, or any of that girly fucking shit.
Nor did I really have a lot of women come through here. Certainly, none that stayed more than a night, or that I even maintained any kind of relationship with enough for them to bring or leave anything over here that she could have found and used…
No, whatever this scent was, it was purely Lorelai, and it was faint and alluring. Sweet and yet… unearthly. Like something from the heavens or another plane of existence.
I kissed her forehead one or two more times and she sighed out, relaxing into me totally, and I liked that.
I guess she felt safe with me.
That was good. She was. If only for now. I mean, obviously I couldn’t protect her from everything , let alone her nightmares and what went on on the inside – but I could be here, present and accounted for, and for tonight that seemed to be enough.
I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but it had to be sometime in the wee hours, because when I did, it was to the sound of her even cadence of breathing and the blue noise of birds singing in the pre-dawn hours, in that morning blue hour before the sun’s rays started lightening the sky right before her grand appearance on the east horizon.
I jolted awake hard to the sun streaming through the slats of the blinds and Synister standing at the foot of my bed, a tempestuous set to his mouth – eyes unreadable behind his aviators but burning a fucking hole through me none the less.
“Sup, man?” I mumbled groggily and his frown crushed down harder.
“I could ask you the same fuckin’ thing,” he practically growled and he wasn’t even trying to keep it down. Lorelai jolted awake in my arms and gasped, cringing. She pushed off of me and struggled to sit up, her feet sliding against the sheets as she tried to put distance between herself and Syn.
“You’re fine,” he grated at her. “You, I want to talk to. Out here. Now.” He stabbed two fingers at me and jerked about in blocky barely controlled movements, stalking out into the living room his boot falls shuddering the old house’s original wood planks against one another in the worn original flooring.
I let out a breath and scrubbed my face with my free hand. The other perched on Lorelai’s knee, steadying her.
“You’re not in trouble,” I told her with a yawn. “Don’t panic.”
“It seems like you’re in trouble,” she said, voice tinged with worry.
I snorted.
“The fuck I am,” I said for her benefit and I got to my feet, body popping in various places. Neck, shoulder, opposite knee, and as I took the few steps across the bedroom’s area rug my feet crackled like Rice Krispies with fresh cold milk poured over them, the little releases of pressure in my foot joints welcome first thing in the morning.
None of it hurt. Just my body settling into shape for the start of the day. The first signs of starting to get older. Some days there was pressure, or a moment of discomfort when the joints first gave, but not today.
I tried to play it cool for Lorelai’s sake as I slipped out of my bedroom, shutting the door behind me and her safely inside away from whatever drama was brewing out here.
I was silently kicking myself for leaving my phone out here – where I’d missed my alarms and probably a shit ton of incoming calls.
The only reason Syn was probably even here to begin with was I hadn’t shown up to work and Grim and no one else could get ahold of me.
“The gates are unlocked, Grim had your back,” Syn said. He had his butt leaned on the arm of my couch; his arms crossed over his chest. The bundle of marked rope in his hand poking out from under his elbow.
“Not what I expected coming over here,” he said.
I swallowed hard, feeling guilty – like a schoolboy caught playing hooky. Like that one time I hadn’t come in from recess in like the first or second grade because I’d been having too much fun and the school had called my parents on me. I tried to keep my smile off my face at the memory. The existential dread of this moment was nothing in comparison to the one I’d felt back then, waiting for my mother or father to arrive at the school.
I was afraid they’d called my dad, and I couldn’t tell you the flood of relief I’d felt when it’d been my mom to arrive.
She’d shielded me from a lot of my dad’s bullshit. I loved her for that.
“Slept through my alarms,” I said with a grunt, picking up my phone to see just how bad the damage was.
“Fuck, we don’t care about that – we were worried,” Syn declared.
“How’s that?” I asked.
He had a strange look on his face and he took a deep slow breath and let it out slow.
“She’s clean,” he said. “By all accounts she’s a rich girl from Charleston. Her Daddy is some big heap construction guy and she’s a spoiled little rich girl.”
“Ah,” I nodded slowly in understanding.
“Yeah,” he said with a grunt, shoving off the couch.
I smirked, “Don’t think I can defend myself?” I asked.
“Honestly, bro – on this one, I’m not sure.” He scowled.
“Whatever you found out or read up on her, you’re not acting like she’s one of these dangerous and manipulative cunts we run into all too often in our circles,” I mused going into the kitchen to get some fucking jet fuel started.
I was going to need it, just to get through the day; especially with the spectacular start to it I was already having.
“There’s what’s on paper, then there’s what you’re handling in real life,” he said, taking off his glasses, and there it was. I felt something in my chest loosen up at the look in his eyes.
He wasn’t pissed, he was worried. Like genuinely straight up worried.
I cocked my head, “Cut the bullshit, what’s up?” I asked.
He scowled, “I know you’re out of the loop because you haven’t gotten to come sit at the table,” he said and I nodded.
“I’m not one hundred on you bringing my girl and her bestie in on this one,” he said raising the length of rope and shaking it at me with a pointed finger.
“All I asked was how to take proper measurements, they already knew what was up,” I said with an unimpressed look. Synister looked down at the floor and heaved a sigh.
“Mads has the nickname Mini-Syn for a reason, brother. She’s turned into the female version of you when it comes to this club. She’d die before she turned on you or any of us.”
“I know,” he snapped.
“So, what’s got you so fuckin’ irritated?”
“We haven’t made fuck all progress on figuring out who tried to dump her on us to take care of, and I don’t know how much I trust her to not spill about all this.”
“You could just ask me.” Her voice was soft and timid from the mouth of the hallway and I straightened up, my eyes immediately going to Syn to see his reaction being that she was tucked behind the wall and I couldn’t see her.
He turned his head and looked at her, his gaze bouncing up and down as he looked her over, settling on her face. A frown settled on his, but it was his thinking frown. The guy had the biggest case of whatever the fuck the male equivalent of resting bitch face, was. He wasn’t as much of an asshole as people tended to think, that was just his face, and his voice. He generally was just thinking really fucking hard at all times, using that big brain of his to get ahead or to keep us all out of trouble.
“You’re okay, come on out here, Sweetpea,” I told her and Syn’s expression morphed into something different as he dragged his gaze from Lorelai back to me.
His eyebrow went up and I gave a barely imperceptible shake of my head at him.
“What about it?” he asked Lorelai as she came to slip up onto one of the stools across the kitchen island from me.
She sniffed, and looked from me to Syn, slowly, her own wheels turning in her head, but I just hadn’t known her long enough to know what she could possibly be thinking…
“I don’t know what all of you guys do, nor do I want to know,” she said haltingly. “What I do know, is that you all could have done any number of things to me by now, to make me,” she cleared her throat, “not your problem anymore… but you haven’t. Which means something. I don’t know what, but I’m grateful, in a sense, I guess. Stressed, and still scared, sure… but I’m still alive, and I want to stay that way, so I’ll do whatever you ask or whatever you say to stay that way.”
Syn looked her up and down and then looked to me, and then back to her again. I could see his wheels turning, but I didn’t know fuck all about what he was thinking.
“I’m going to get this over to my girl and her bestie,” he said. “I’ll be back by with some clothes this afternoon. You need to be at the table tonight,” he said to me, stabbing a finger in my direction. I nodded. “I’ll figure out who to send, in the meantime, you’re covered for today. I had Fear send one of his workers out to dig the plots you were supposed to get to today. You’re off the hook. I think you need to take a day and think about some shit.”
I shook my head slowly, “I’m good,” I said and a thread of anger had crept into my voice. I felt my jaw set into a contemptuous look that he would even remotely question my loyalty to this club. He stared me down and finally nodded.
“Glad we had this talk,” he said dryly, his tone acerbic. He pushed off the arm of the couch and went for the door, letting himself out onto the porch and putting his sunglasses on. He shut the door firmly behind him and walked out of sight, to the stairs on the other corner.
“I just missed a whole lot, and I’m glad for it,” Lorelai whispered when his heavy bootsteps clattered down the porch steps.
“Yeah, you did, and it’s okay – it wasn’t about you,” I said.
She nodded slowly.
“How did you sleep?” I asked.
“Better,” she said, and sounded surprised.
I nodded.
“Something’s changed?” she asked.
I shrugged my shoulders.
“I’ll see tonight. Tell you what I can, when I get back.”
She nodded and swallowed hard.
“So, what are you going to do today if you don’t have to work?” she asked.
I smiled at her and I knew it was tired. I probably hadn’t gotten more than a couple of hour nap.
“Just because I’m off the hook for digging graves at other cemeteries, doesn’t mean I still don’t have a lot of shit to do around this one,” I said.
She nodded a bit quickly and I smiled again. “I’m not doing shit without a proper fucking breakfast and at least three cups of coffee at this point.”
She smiled back at me and tried to suppress her laugh. It came across as adorably shy.
“Pancakes or waffles?” I asked and she looked surprised.
“Um, waffles,” she said after a moment and I gave a nod.
“Coming right up,” I told her, and I got to work.