Hold On (Page 164)

Garrett decided to keep an eye.

And as he did that and the days slid by, he found both mother and son did what they did.

They just kept rolling.

* * * * *

Three Weeks Later

Garrett was sitting at his desk when he got a phone call from Devin.

“Woman packed up. Moved out. On her way to Missouri. Good call, seein’ as her man has spent about thirty hours of the last three days not high, and that’s only ’cause during those hours, he’s been passed out,” Devin declared. “FYI.”

With that, he hung up.

Merry grinned and tossed his phone on his desk, not surprised that Devin had been looking into things. He was a lot like Ryker, but his gig was disguising the fact he gave a shit behind being a crotchety old man, not a huge-ass, scary biker.

Schott using again did not make him grin.

Ethan would be okay.

Cher wouldn’t care, but she would be focused on making sure Ethan was okay.

But, crazy church lady or not, Garrett didn’t like the idea of Peggy Schott having to find a way to raise two kids who were suddenly without their dad.

Missouri was a good call.

He waited until he was face-to-face with his woman to share that news.

She looked relieved.

And regardless of how fucked up the situation was, Cher relieved made Garrett happy.

With Peggy Schott gone, Mia quiet, and no threat on Cher’s street, all this meant Garrett was seriously looking forward to testing out normal with his brown-eyed girl.

* * * * *

They weren’t going to get that.

It just wasn’t what life had in store.

Not for people like them.

Chapter Twenty-Four

On Board with That

Cher

Early Saturday Morning, Late November

The alarm went.

Merry stirred.

I stirred.

Merry turned it off.

I cuddled into him.

He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a squeeze that felt half-affectionate, half-like he was using the movement to wake himself up.

“I got ’im,” I mumbled.

“I got ’im,” he mumbled back.

I pressed closer. “You caught that case last night and got home late. You sleep. I got ’im.”

“Babe.”

I turned my head, touched my lips to his throat, and whispered, “Merry. You gotta let me take care of my kid once in a while. And just sayin’, let me do the same with you too.”

A beat passed before he gave me another squeeze that was all-affectionate.

Then he let me go.

I slid out of his bed, lurched out of his room, closed the door behind me, and walked the short distance down the hall to the other bedroom.

I knocked and opened the door.

In the early morning dark, I saw my kid’s form under the covers in a new double bed. There were nightstands. There were lamps. There were posters of Colts players on the wall.

Although most of it had been thrown away or carted to Goodwill, there was still junk, but Merry had shoved it in the closet.

We were on a sleepover.

They happened these days. It wasn’t frequent, but it happened.

What was frequent was Merry sleeping over at our place. In fact, these days, that was nearly every night.

Unless we were at his.

“Yo, kid. Wake up,” I called. “Time to get ready. Gotta get you to Brendon’s and we can’t be late.”

“Umma, gumma, mumma,” Ethan mumbled.

I should have known it wouldn’t be as easy as calling out to him. It was just six o’clock on a Saturday. He was eleven. Hell, I was thirty-four and I wasn’t real hip on being up at that hour.

I moved to his bed and put a light hand on his shoulder.

“Not my idea to have a full-scale birthday blowout at my dad’s cabin in the middle of nowhere that you gotta drive two hours and then hike through a forest to get to,” I said. “Wasn’t my idea to say yes to that crazy invite either. Since you said yes, you gotta get your butt outta bed and get ready or you’re gonna be late. You don’t want to miss the crazy-train to fishing in the middle of nowhere in November.”

Ethan rolled to his back.

“I’m stupid,” he muttered.

“Hmm…” I replied noncommittally.

“Brendon’s stupid,” he went on.

“Assessing stupidity at this moment, kid, is not gettin’ your butt outta bed.”

He made an unintelligible noise as he threw back the covers.

I moved to the door and, with practice, waited at it as he slumped my way.

I got out of his way and watched him go to the bathroom in the hall, turn the light on, and close the door.

That was when I knew he wouldn’t relapse and face-plant back in bed.

So I returned to Merry’s room.

When I’d closed the door behind me and tiptoed to my bag through the dark, he muttered, “He up?”

“Yeah, gorgeous. Go back to sleep.”

“Sure you don’t want me to take him?” Merry asked, kinda slurred, definitely sleepy, also hot, and last, cute.

“I got him,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”

“Give me gooey before you go,” he ordered, still kinda slurred, sleepy, but definitely cute and hot.

I changed from my pajama bottoms and cami into a bra, jeans, sweater, socks, and boots.

Then I made my way to my man in the bed.

He didn’t move as I put my hand on his hip and leaned in to brush my lips against the stubble of his jaw.

But he did mumble, “Naked when you get back in bed with me.”

Oh yeah.

I could do that.

“Right,” I whispered. “Be back.”

“Later, baby,” he told the pillow, rubbed his face in it and turned his head the other way.