27. Avon calling
Chapter 27
Avon calling
TOMER
I ring the doorbell and rock on my heels, weaving my hands behind my back. The small package remains firmly grasped between my fingers.
Taking a fourth look over my shoulder, I wait patiently for them to open the door. I know they’re home. I can track all their movements, for fuck’s sake. What’s taking so long?
I knock on the door, my toes tapping inside my shoe. A fifth look over my shoulder, both sides this time.
Blond hair catches my attention as the door opens. Although it isn’t my sugar bear, my heart squeezes all the same.
“Hey, Chuck. What’s popping?” Sammy grins wide, sweeping her open palm in front of her enormously pregnant belly to beckon me inside.
I don’t even respond to her use of the dreaded nickname. I’m practically invincible at this point. No feelings left to hurt. I’m the tin man.
Exactly the way I prefer it.
After another quick glance over my shoulder, I remove my ballcap and enter. I’m not staying long, but it’s safer to talk inside. Less risk to Sammy.
“Sawyer, your funny little friend is here,” she yells over her shoulder as she locks the door behind me.
Good girl. She’s been taught well.
“Actually, I’m here to see you,” I tell her, then hold out the padded envelope. “Here. Use these.”
With a raised brow and curled upper lip, she snatches the envelope from me. “Although you missed the baby shower, which I’ve forgiven you for, I know you chipped in on the fancy stroller. Thanks for that, by the way. You didn’t have to get me anything else.” She struggles to open the package for several frustrating seconds, then stamps her foot. “Son of a bitch. Why do they make these things so hard to open? Let me get some scissors.”
When she turns to walk into the house, I stop her. “Hold up. I got it.” I remove the switchblade from my back pocket, swipe the envelope from her, and slice it open in a smooth motion.
“Thanks. You must have been a boy scout, unlike Sawyer.” She pats her belly wistfully. “Then again, if he’d been prepared, these little darlings wouldn’t be jumping around on my bladder right now.”
I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.
She peeks into the envelope instead of grabbing it.
“Just take it already,” I grit out, irritation pouring off me.
I guess I’m not entirely back in robot mode. Still have plenty of negative fucking emotions clambering for attention. They’ll pass. Or they won’t.
Sammy bares her teeth at me and hisses, curling her fingers on one hand like a cat. Funny. Still don’t care.
Sawyer comes bounding into the room. “Hey, Tomer. To what do we owe the pleasure? You selling Avon now?
“He brought me a gift.” Sammy rattles the still-fucking-filled package at her boyfriend. “But he’s being a bit of a dick about it. My rage monster respects him more now, though.”
My gaze catches on her ring finger. A big shiny fucking diamond rests on it. Huh. That’s new.
Still don’t fucking care.
“Where’s my gift?” Sawyer jokes, shifting into a Brando impression. Fingertips on one hand touching, curved hand pointing upward like a mafioso. “You don’t even think to call me Godfather . Instead, you come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married, and you?—”
No time for this, so I interrupt, “Listen, I need to run. I have a few more stops to make.” And people to fucking hunt down and kill. I face Sammy. “Just ensure you use those straws whenever you get a drink outside the house. Restaurants. Bars. Gas stations. Wherever you go. There’s a card in the package with the website so you can order more when you run out. After you test your drink with the straw, don’t ever take your eyes off your glass.” I gesture an open palm at her midsection. “Especially with the pregnancy and all, it’s important to be safe.”
Sammy’s face scrunches up, reminding me of the expression Lettie makes when she’s pretending to be a brat.
My throat gets thick, making it hard to swallow.
Undaunted, I press on.
No time for fucking feelings. What good have they ever done for me?
“That’s all I came for. See you guys later.” I toss my ballcap back on and attempt to leave.
Sawyer’s hand presses flat against the door as I try to open it, blocking my exit. Son of a bitch.
“Thank you, Tomer,” Sammy calls to my back, her voice free of sarcasm or snark. Very un-Sammy-like.
I level Sawyer with a side-long glare. “What, man? I said I need to go.”
“Hold up for a sec.” He glances over his shoulder. “Princess, can you give us a minute?”
She rolls her eyes. “I need to pee anyhow. It’s been all of four minutes since I’ve gone.” I hear her retreating footsteps. “Thanks again, Tomer. Sorry I called you Chuck.”
My chest loosens a bit, and I’m unsure why. Because she was nice to me? I’ve never cared about that before.
Nah . It’s probably knowing she’s safer that has me breathing incrementally better.
Sawyer clears his throat, drawing my attention away from the door. I look at him, lifting my chin and letting my face go slack.
“What?” I ask when the silence stretches too long.
“You okay, bud? I’ve been worried about you. In fact, I was gonna give you a call after dinner.”
There’s no jest in his tone. No accents or impressions. No punchline waiting in the wings. His face is replete with what appears to be genuine concern. Like someone who cares about me.
Like a friend.
But I don’t have any of those.
“Yep. I’m good.”
If being completely dead inside is good .
“We were getting ready to eat. Can you change your plans for tonight and stick around for a bit?”
“No. I have shit to handle.”
He narrows his eyes, blatantly scrutinizing me. “How’s your girl?”
Not my girl anymore. Not that she ever was.
“Fine.”
As of five minutes ago, when I last checked the cameras at her apartment, she was sitting on the couch looking catatonic. So, you know. She’s peachy fucking keen.
His face pinches, and he sweeps his gaze over his shoulder to where Sammy was standing. “If she needs someone to talk to, Sammy would be happy to spend some time with her. Woman to woman. Survivor to survivor.”
“I’ll let her know,” I answer flatly.
Just as soon as she decides to speak to me again, which will be never.
“And if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
My neck tightens, pitching my head back. “About what?”
Not trying to be a shit. I honestly have no fucking idea what he thinks I’d need to discuss with him.
He shrugs, bringing one hand up to squeeze the back of his neck. “I’ve been there. Not quite the same, but close.”
Moving on their own accord, my eyes dart around the room as if they’re trying to find a fuck to give for this conversation or the sense he thinks he’s making.
Nada. No fucks. No sense.
“Sawyer, I don’t need to?—”
He cuts me off, popping my chest with the back of his hand. “Easy, man. It’s okay to ask for help. To have questions. Or just need someone to talk to. Someone who’s sort of been in your shoes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know you’re not this fucking dense, man.” He scoffs, wobbling his head with annoyance. Lowering his voice, he explains, “I’m the only man Sammy’s been with since her abuse.”
My mind continues searching for the meaning, replaying his sentence.
He pins me with a firm stare. “Her first sex after being assaulted. It’s not going to be easy for your girl. I just want you to be prepared. It’s a delicate thing. Healing from the trauma. Not only in the bedroom. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
Ah. There was a point, after all.
“Oh, I see.”
He squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Thanks for making this super awkward.”
“Yeah. Well that’s what you get for trying to have a conversation with me.”
He barks out an unexpected laugh, the sound echoing around the foyer. “I knew you had a personality in there somewhere.” Making a fist, he playfully jabs my upper arm. “Nice. It only took... What? Seven years of working with me?”
“Eight,” I correct. “Plus our time in the Rangers.”
He grins warmly for a long moment, then swings his head in a dramatic, drawn-out shake. “Well, enough of the heavy shit. We’re here for you both. And thanks for the test straws. That was...” His voice gets thick, and he clears his throat. “Very considerate. Thank you, brother.” He clasps my shoulder and squeezes affectionately.
The gesture and sentiment attempt to pierce my armor. No good comes from thinking someone cares about me, so I quash the thought immediately and leave.
Before he closes the front door behind me, he sticks his head out and tosses, “You need to go see Lionheart tonight. You’ll be happy that you did.”
Despite my spine stiffening, I keep walking toward my car at a steady pace. Throwing a wave of acknowledgment over my shoulder, I continuously survey the surrounding area for danger.
Go see Lionheart? Why?
Naturally, I also have test straws for his wife, but I figured I’d give them to her at work. Once I get a few of those trafficking fuckers off the streets, there’s nothing stopping me from returning to Redleg. Sue’s office is only a few doors down from mine. It’s not like she’ll be out on the town between now and then. She hates people more than I do.
When I press the ignition start button, Sawyer’s words swirl around me like a cyclone.
All of them. Not just the suggestion to go see Leo.
I’m not a huge fan of the feelings Sawyer’s stirred up. Or feelings in general. As I drive away, I store those unwanted emotions, along with the others, deep in the recesses of my mind. Locking them up tightly where they can’t cause trouble.
Try as I may, I can’t stop wondering why the hell Sawyer wants me to go see Lionheart. And he said I’d be happy I did.
Why?
A few miles down the road, curiosity wins out, and I change course, heading to get some answers.
After that, the hunt for Skidmark and Yev can resume.