Minka
I wake the next morning crushed against the wall of our sleep cubby, my right arm tingling in that interim stage, between pins and needles and complete amputated death. My bladder aches and my back is stiff, because even in expensive luxury buses, the mattresses are thin and the space, minimal.
Still, I glance down and hum my pleasure, because Archer uses me as a pillow, his cheek on my chest, his arm draped across my torso, and his heavy leg trapping mine in place.
So big and strong, so sure in all the things he does and unflinching in the choices he makes. He was born and raised to survive. To exist within hell and get out anyway, which means he learned from a young age to trust his instincts and follow them out of the fire.
I envy that certainty he carries.
But I cherish his vulnerability when it’s just the two of us, even with his back exposed to the exit and our only privacy screen being a curtain.
If the Bishops wanted to hurt us, they could’ve done it easily while we slept.
I draw a long breath, dragging fresh air into my lungs and expanding my chest, since it feels entirely too compacted in our tight confines, then I turn just my head and peer out the bus’s tinted windows to the summer scenery that surrounds a small town called Plainview.
They have mountains and streams. But they have a desert, too. Scarce trees, and not nearly enough drive-thru coffee places.
And by not nearly enough, I mean none. Absolutely zero.
It’s criminal, really.
Carefully, so I don’t wake Archer, I inch my arm out from between me and the wall and flex my hand, bringing blood flow back into my limb.
I finger the tiny window latch and peel it open until air filters in and the fresh, clean scent you can’t find anywhere in any city replaces the stale, overused oxygen we’ve recycled time and time again over the last… however many hours.
Too many.
So many that my bladder is full and my skin is tacky with sweat.
“Morning, Minnnka.”
“Shit!” Hissing, I startle and swing my gaze down, locking on to Archer’s beautiful green stare. But he looks up at me with a smile, a boyish charm shining within sleepy eyes and puffy cheeks.
Best of all, he braces his hand against the wall and pushes up to kiss me on the lips.
He pulls away again, grunting and turning on the thin mattress, then he drops onto his back and uses his arms as a pillow, rotating the balls of his shoulders until— pop —the bones click in the sockets. “Sleep well?”
“All night,” I whisper, brutally aware that a curtain is useless in shielding us from listening ears. And dammit, I’m kind of tired of not having privacy. “Ready to go home today?”
“I’ll go wherever you go.” He lazily grins. “You hungry?”
“Not yet.” A long, noisy yawn takes over me, forcing my eyes to shut and tears to squeeze from the corners.
It holds me captive, my lungs broadening and my chest expanding, and because I have more room than Archer does, I stretch my arms and legs until, just like with him— pop —bones crackle and a happy groan rolls from the base of my throat.
Finally, I open my eyes again and blink the moisture from my vision. “Guess we’re the first ones awake.”
“Nope.” He tips his chin toward the window, so I follow his gaze and search outside of the bus—the lake a little way off, and massive shading willows surrounding it.
Morning sunlight sparkles off the lake’s surface, and a soft breeze gives the weeping trees a reason to dance.
I cast my gaze all the way to the right, then I hover close to the glass and scan left until, finally, I catch movement.
Running feet and sweaty bodies. Bare chests and, though it’s quick, the fast pass of something orange and round.
A basketball.
“They’re playing?” I shove up to my elbows and smack my head on the window, smooshing my face to the glass so I can look further. And sure enough, I get a fuller view of a game being played in the dirt as the morning sun rises and dust plumes with every shuffled foot. “Why? It’s still early.”
Unfazed, Archer sits up and searches our bed, moving the sheets and tossing things aside. My bag. The useless case file. He pauses and reaches for something I can’t see, then, snagging his phone, he settles back again and places the thing on my thigh.
“What?” I shuffle along the mattress and stop with my back pressed to the cubby wall, then, picking up the Snickers bar still in its wrapper, the chocolate melting inside, according to the squishy slush moving beneath my fingers, I turn the package over. Then over again. “Is this yours?”
“Nuh-uh.” He unlocks his phone and moves to his text screen—empty, considering the lack of reception out here—then he moves to his emails like maybe they’re an exception to the no data rule.
They’re not.
“It’s a little past seven.” He locks the screen again and tosses the phone to the foot of our bed. “Not that early.”
“Technically, it’s only six back home.”
At that, he nods. “True.” Then he looks out the window again. “Where’d he get a ball?”
“Don’t know.” But I grit my teeth when Kane comes into view, his broad body steamrolling straight toward the boy half his width.
I hiss in pre-empathy, knowing Kane is likely to flatten him.
But Cato is fast, zipping out of the way with a sneaky spin and a jump into the air, then he tosses the ball, totally and impressively in control as the basketball sails through the air and lands— splat —onto one of the camp chairs from last night.
“Yeah!” Felix sprints into view, black pants on, the same from yesterday, but his shirt and vest are gone, while his bare chest glistens under the morning sun.
He grabs his brother and slaps his back.
Then he tosses him aside and taunts the Bishops.
“You teach him how to shoot? He’ll teach you how to shoot! NBA bound, baby.”
Beaming under Felix’s praise, Cato bends at the hips and rests his hands on his knees. But he laughs, too, frantically filling his lungs with air.
Jen skips to the chair and clutches the ball, then she meanders his way and offers her hand for a low-five, satisfied when he rewards her with a noisy slap of his palm, before he straightens and snatches the ball again.
“Two on two?” I count just the bodies I see. Felix and Cato, Jay and Kane. Jen slips fingers between her lips and whistles to restart the game, then she dashes out of the way, because Cato swings back in and viciously runs for Jay. “He’s kinda aggressive, huh?”
“Kinda feel bad. He’s lived in Copeland for a while now, and we haven’t watched a single game.” He leans in to my space to get a better view out the window. “He’s smaller than the other three, but he’s the best one out there.”
I lay my hand on my fluttering heart and marvel at the giddy butterflies battering inside.
“I never had a brother. Or sister,” I amend, since that, too, is true.
“Only child syndrome, means I’ve never witnessed a sibling do something exciting and extraordinary.
But I’m watching this and kind of bursting with pride. ”
He drags his eyes away from the game and stops on mine instead. Then he grins and drops a kiss on my lips. “Feels good, huh? It’s always been a little different for me, considering I split a long time ago, and the good things my brothers do are typically on the other side of the law.”
“Like, good job, Micah. You killed that guy real good .”
He snorts. “Sadly accurate. But then we get Cato, and I kinda like knowing he’s going a different way. He’ll forever be Timothy Malone’s son, which means he’ll forever be… ya know…” He gestures toward the window. “Morally corrupt. But basketball gives him something the rest of us never had.”
“Feels good, huh?” I parrot his words and bring my eyes back to the Snickers, holding it between both of my hands. “Was it Easter overnight and I forgot?”
“I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume it’s a peace offering.” He plops one last kiss against my cheek before rolling away, tugging the curtain open, and climbing out of our cubby and into the aisle. “Fuck me, how can a regular sized bed feel so small?”
“It’s the walls.” Now that I have more space, I toss the candy bar and slither along the mattress, stretching my arms and legs until I feel that glorious pop-pop-pop-pop I didn’t achieve before.
My knees. Shoulders. Spine. Hip. I open my chest and wait for the crack of my sternum, then I flop onto the mattress and just…
wait. Breathe. Turn my head and watch Archer shrug a shirt on and re-button his jeans.
We couldn’t even strip all the way down like we usually do. Sleep in our skin and each other’s arms only. No, because we had a curtain for privacy and the very real possibility that someone would bother us while we rested.
“I need a shower.” Finally ready, I push up to sit and twist to dangle my legs over the side of the cubby.
And though I can get down on my own, I thrill in Archer’s charming smile and the hands he places on my sides.
He picks me up and lowers me to my feet, and since it’s apparent we’re alone in here, he crowds me against the frame of the cubby and buries his lips against the side of my neck.
“I need to get laid.” He nips at my skin, sliding his tongue over the ache and his hands onto my ass. “Sleeping with you, but not sleeping with you, is a special kind of torture, Minnnka.”
“You got laid yesterday.” I fist his hair and pull him back until I’m treated to a view of his hungry, hungry eyes. “Twice. I’m not having sex on a bus, and I’m especially not having sex when I know every single other person on the dumb trip will hear us.”
“Kane and Jess didn’t seem to mind.” He reaches into the cubby to get my shirt. I’m wearing a sports bra, so it’s not the end of the world if anyone sees. But still, he plops the shirt over my head and draws my hair out just as soon as the fabric clears my face. “They fucked last night.”
“You heard them?”