Hold On (Page 113)

“Watchin’ the Bulldogs play ball is hardly ‘duty,’ brown eyes,” he informed her. “Go home. Put your feet up.”

“Merry—”

He rolled back from his desk, leaned down, elbows to his knees, eyes to the floor, focus now entirely on his girl so he could reassure that girl.

“Guys’ night out,” Garrett said softly. “I got Ethan. We’ll talk man shit and I’ll feed him and make sure he and his bud are good. I’ll get them home. You finish your shift, go home, relax, unwind, prepare, ’cause I want my girl rested and ready for our Saturday.”

Cher said nothing.

When this went on too long, he called, “Baby?”

He heard her clear her throat before she told him, “I have a spare set of keys in my junk drawer in the kitchen. Ethan can show you. Could you drop them by J&J’s sometime before the game so I can get in while you guys are out?”

“Absolutely.”

She again didn’t reply.

So he asked, “You okay?”

“No.”

It was a whisper and his focus sharpened.

“No?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Ethan’s gonna love this. Guy time. Man talk. Showin’ you off to Teddy. And I love it, knowin’ I don’t gotta say he can’t have somethin’ he wants because I gotta work and I can’t find anyone to give it to him. So no, Merry, I’m not okay. This is not an okay feeling. This feelin’ is me bein’ fucking happy.”

His throat closed, his chest tightened, and his first reaction was to disconnect the call. But at the same time, his gut had warmed because it felt so damned good just giving Cher that emotion and also doing it knowing she hadn’t had a lot of it in her life.

He powered past his first reaction and told her, “I’ll walk down to the bar in a few to get the keys, babe. Yeah?”

“Yeah, gorgeous. See you then.”

“Later, Cher.”

“Later, Merry…and thanks, honey.”

“No problem.”

He disconnected, straightened in his chair, and rolled back to his desk. He felt Mike’s gaze, so he lifted his to his friend’s.

“Take it we got a ten-year-old for ride-along this afternoon,” he remarked.

“If that’s gonna be a problem for you—” Garrett started.

Mike shook his head. “Ethan’s a good kid. We’re in doin’ paperwork, so he’s not stopping us from doin’ shit we need to do. And not like he hasn’t hung with the guys before.”

That was true. It hadn’t happened often, but on occasion over the years when Cher needed him because there was no one else to help, Colt had brought Ethan in.

Garrett looked across the room.

Colt was sitting at his desk, grinning at something Sully was saying, Sully sitting across from him.

She hadn’t asked Colt.

She’d asked Garrett.

That felt great.

And it made him uneasy.

“Kid’s a good kid,” Mike said, and the change in his tone caught Garrett’s attention. “Woman’s a good woman. I believe in you, brother. Sittin’ across from me is a man who hasn’t had it all. A man who thought he did and lost it but learned different. Who’s watched his friends make poor decisions and bounce back. Who now has a shot at gettin’ it all and is old enough not to be stupid.”

That meant a lot, coming from Mike.

But Garrett wasn’t going to share that.

Instead, he grinned and gave him shit.

“You should be a therapist, Mike. Open your own clinic. Call it ‘Don’t Be a Dumb Fuck Treatment Center.’”

Mike grinned back, returning, “You bein’ my first client, thinkin’ of adding, ‘How Not to Be a Smartass.’”

“That might be a tougher addiction to kick,” Garrett told him.

“You might be right. Though, this line of work, run into a lot more dumb fucks than smartasses.”

“Truth,” Garrett muttered.

Mike’s phone on his desk rang.

He turned his attention to it, so Garrett quickly called, “Yo.”

Still going for the phone, Mike’s gaze swung back to him.

“Thanks, brother,” Garrett said low.

Mike lifted his chin.

Then he answered his phone.

* * * * *

Late that night, standing at her door, Cher in his arms, Garrett broke the kiss that had started five minutes ago as a good-night kiss and became a make out session.

He caught her eyes through her half-mast lids and whispered, “Late, baby. Gotta get home. Let you get to bed.”

Her hands slid down from his hair to rest on his chest as her lips went slightly pouty.

It was cute.

But it was more sweet, her pout saying she didn’t want him to leave.

“Okay,” she muttered but didn’t move out of his arms.

“You dropping Ethan at his friend’s at five thirty tomorrow?” Garrett asked.

She stayed in his arms and nodded.

“Be here at six to take you to dinner. Be prepared to spend the night at my place,” he ordered.

She grinned in a way that was not cute or sweet but something a fuckuva lot different.

Before that grin made him hard, he gave her a squeeze and said, “It was a good night, baby.”

She continued to look into his eyes as she pressed closer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, because it was.

Ethan was a good kid. Ethan liked him. And Cher had not been wrong. He’d soaked in guy time, man talk, and he didn’t hide the pride he felt having Garrett around and showing him off to his bud.