Hold On (Page 80)

He glanced at me before looking back to the road. “Never?”

“Nope.”

In the dashboard light, I saw his jaw weirdly go tight before he released it.

“Hand, sweetheart,” he ordered, taking his from the wheel and holding it palm up between us.

I put mine in his.

His fingers curled around and he rested our hands on his thigh.

Yeah, I had a hold on it.

I just had to work not to fuck it up and never let go.

“Gotta catch up,” he muttered.

“Catch up?” I asked.

“Givin’ you the things you deserve that you already shoulda had.”

Fuck, but I loved that he thought that about me.

I let that settle deep inside as I looked forward. “Need to take Ethan there. Maybe when he turns thirteen. Show him what life could be like if you’re smart and work for it.”

I was aiming for thirteen because I’d seen the prices on the menu, though it may take until Ethan was fifteen before I could afford it.

And I was still having difficulty processing the fact that Merry had blown that kind of cake on me.

“You’re a good mom.”

I loved that he thought that about me too.

“I’m a cool mom,” I contradicted. “If I was a good mom, Ethan would eat broccoli.”

Merry chuckled.

I smiled.

He flipped on his blinker.

I started paying attention to where we were going and I was surprised as Merry slowed to pull into an apartment complex that I’d driven by hundreds of times since moving to the ’burg but never really noticed simply because it wasn’t the kind of place you noticed.

It wasn’t a disaster, but it wasn’t very nice either. There were far worse places to live, and I knew this because I’d lived in them.

It just didn’t seem like a place Merry would live.

He had a nice truck. He wore nice suits. He had a Harley. I also heard he had a boat. And it wasn’t only when he’d heard his ex-wife was marrying someone else that he ordered a shot of expensive whisky (though, he didn’t normally order several of them).

So he had good stuff and he liked good stuff.

Then again, he was a cop and everyone knew they didn’t get paid millions to put their asses on the line to solve crime.

Maybe to get his suits, his Harley, and his whisky, he needed to sacrifice other things.

This I could absolutely see.

He drove through the complex and I noticed his truck was by far the best vehicle of any.

And as he drove us through the complex, I was thinking that I didn’t like this for Merry. I preferred to think of him in a home with a yard and a deck where he could barbeque, with decent cars in the drives of the houses around him, no one coming close to even thinking they could have a wild party that got loud and stayed loud.

I figured in this place, wild parties happened every weekend, even if a cop lived amongst them.

He parked. He got out. I opened the door and was almost out before he got to me, took my hand, and helped me the rest of the way.

He cleared me from the truck and slammed my door, beeping the locks, then guiding me to some stairs.

He was quiet. He seemed mellow.

I was mellow and that all had to do with good food, champagne, and Merry.

But as we walked, it started to wear off.

I was a sure thing. He knew I was a sure thing.

That didn’t bother me.

But the last time we went at each other, I’d been out of my head drunk.

I’d liked it.

He’d liked it.

But still, we’d both been slaughtered.

I was not a girl who had too many hang-ups about sex. I went for it. I let the spirit move me. Sometimes I got good back. Sometimes who I was with didn’t work for me.

Right then, the only sex I’d had in years was a shitfaced session with Merry and, before that, fucked-up sex with Denny Lowe. But never, not ever had I been with someone who’d meant something (except Merry).

Sure, I thought Lowe did. And I thought Trent did.

But now I knew.

So yes, fuck yes, I was beginning to feel panicky.

All this filled my head on the way up the stairs and it kept filling my head as Merry walked me down the landing. It continued to fill my head as he let my hand go and let us in his place, throwing the door open for me.

I walked into the dark, but it wasn’t dark for long because Merry hit a switch and a not very attractive chandelier came on over a dining room table to my right.

Beyond that was essentially a galley kitchen, the “essentially” part because one side of the galley was not closed off but opened to the rest of the space, which was a living room. But it was still tiny.

The furniture was of decent quality, comfortable but sparse.

And I’d been right in my imaginings—Merry had a huge TV.

But other than a couch, a recliner, some end tables with lamps, a dining room table, some stools at the bar, and a media center, there was nothing.

No seascapes on the walls. No gun racks. No personality. No nothing.

Except some DVDs and CDs stacked in the shelves around the TV with three frames set amongst them.

Merry moved to a lamp in the living room and I moved to the only things that might give me insight into Merry.

On my way, I dropped my wrap and my purse in the seat of the recliner. I stopped at the first frame.

I saw, not surprisingly, that it was a photo of Merry, Rocky, and their dad, Dave Merrick. Dave was sitting. Merry and Rocky were leaning over his shoulders. I could see Merry’s arm around Rocky. All of them were smiling at the camera.

He looked younger, so did Rocky. It was definitely before I’d met him.

And the only thing it gave me that I didn’t already know was that Merry was hot ten, twelve years ago.