Hold On (Page 98)

“Your media center won’t fit an eighty-inch TV,” she noted.

“Then I’ll also have to buy a new media center.”

She stared.

Then she busted out laughing.

And that was it.

All that he needed.

Cher was laughing.

Garrett was calm.

He reached out and nabbed her hand.

She didn’t pull away.

More for the ’burg to chew on and he felt the eyes. He knew that he and Cher were the latest meal.

He didn’t care. And even if he did, he’d care less when her hand latched on to his and she leaned deep across the bar.

“Silver lining, gorgeous, your to-do list is one lighter,” she said, still laughing.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

She held his hand and hers tightened as the humor slid from her.

“Sucks, baby,” she whispered. “Wish it didn’t go down like that for you.”

He did too.

But at least it was done.

He just had to hope his message finally leaked in so Mia would stop her shit.

Then again, he was going to look for a new place (another reason to hope his TV was there when he got back; he didn’t need that outlay lightening his down payment). Eventually, he’d move and she wouldn’t be able to find him.

Or he’d have her ass arrested for harassment.

One way or another, the message would get across.

He looked into Cher’s warm brown eyes as they looked into his, assessing to see if he was okay.

To show her he was, he asked, “My good girl find time for just her and me?”

Those eyes went soft and her fingers stayed firm around his when she replied, “Batten down the hatches, Merry. Had a chat with Mom. Family dinner is set for Thursday with your ass in a seat at her table.”

“Terrific,” he muttered, and she smiled.

“But I got Saturday off and Ethan has a sleepover at a friend’s, so I’m all yours.”

“I’m on call.”

“Fuck,” she whispered.

“On call doesn’t mean on a desk,” he told her. “Just means I might have to leave, but it also means I can come back.”

Her eyes brightened. “That works, honey.”

It did. It was his life. And if he didn’t jack it up, it could be hers. So it was good she could work with it.

“Now, you gonna let that whisky sit forever, or are you gonna rinse away the shit and get loose with me while I’m workin’?” she asked.

He gave her his answer by letting her go, grabbing his glass, and taking another sip.

She approved by smiling.

“Gotta make sure things are covered,” she told him. “But I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here.”

She liked that. He knew because she didn’t hide it.

And he liked all that.

Yeah, they were working and doing it in a way he knew deep into his gut that wouldn’t quit.

Unless he jacked it up.

“Go easy,” she advised as he let her hand go. “That shit only costs ten bucks a go, but a pissed off ex-wife left at your pad, you might be dealin’ with more than a boosted TV.”

“Way to kill a calm, baby,” he muttered but did it grinning.

“Just bein’ real, makin’ sure you don’t get blindsided,” she returned and leaned back in. “But, just sayin’, the bitch trashes your place, you can catch your shows at mine. The spirit of Jerry Garcia likes company.”

That was when Garrett busted out laughing.

Which was when Cher knew it was safe to leave.

She did, making drinks, filling Dee’s tray.

But she came back. Jack also came over to chat. And Dee stopped by to shoot the shit.

When they were gone and sometimes when they were there, he had Cher.

A night at J&J’s with his woman who worked there.

No other place he’d rather be.

Chapter Fourteen

Fucking Happy

Cher

Mom wants to know if there’s something you don’t eat.

It was Sunday, late morning, and Merry had a day planned at his sister’s house to commune with family and play with his niece.

I had a day planned watching football with my kid before having to go to work, both of us eating ourselves sick, our every-Sunday plans when football was on.

I was at the stove frying sausage.

It was almost done when I got a text back.

Onions.

Gotcha.

And tofu.

I grinned.

Knew that without you telling me. Red-blooded. No way you eat sissy excuse for meat, I told him.

Damn straight, he replied.

I looked back to my sausage.

I ate tofu.

But, then again, I ate anything.

I drained the sausage, mixed it with the other shit, and poured it into the wonton wrappers to put in the oven to bake.

Then I texted my mom so she’d know not to serve onions or tofu for dinner on Thursday.

* * * * *

Ravens lost. You owe me 20.

That came from Merry later that afternoon and I read it with a grin.

As I was reading it, another came in.

Bears are gonna lose. Another 20. I’ll take it in trade.

I felt my grin turn naughty.

Bears aren’t gonna go down, I told him.

They are, then you are, he told me.

That gave me a shiver.

I nearly bobbled my phone when Ethan asked, “You textin’ Merry?”

I looked to him lounged in the bucket seat. “Yeah.”

“Tell him Browns lost. He owes me ten bucks.”

I stared at my son.

Then I looked to my phone and texted Merry.

Ethan says Browns lost. You owe him ten bucks.

I sent that, then immediately typed more.

You betting with my kid?