“Hey Ginger, lookin’ beautiful this morning.”
She gives him a soft “Thank you,” before cautiously focusing back on me, her expression letting me know I haven’t managed to mask shit. I’ve made her feel unwanted. Needing to say something to ease her discomfort, I fucking fail to produce the words before she speaks up. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
I lift my chin to Sean, who takes his cue and painstakingly walks backward, eyes darting between us. Ignoring my scowl, he addresses Ginger.
“Just got a new place, don’t know if Dom told you, but you’re welcome anytime.”
“Thanks, Sean.” Sean joins Tyler as he glances our way, lifting his chin to let me know the news he has is time sensitive before he greets Ginger with a friendly wave. I nod to let him know I’m coming.
“I won’t take much of your time,” Ginger assures, pulling my attention her way.
“It’s good . . . you good?” I’m so fucking bad at this. I’ve never been able to do small talk, not even when I’ve wanted to. At one point, years ago, specifically with Ginger, I wanted to. I don’t bother to attempt it anymore. Where I continually fail, Sean would’ve already talked a prior hookup into a more intimate setting and gotten balls deep, making her forget the reason she showed up. A talent he possesses that I’m at times envious of—if only for this fucking reason.
It’s also why I’ve shared with Sean in the past when an opportunity presented itself. He takes pleasure in the whole fucking charade while I refuse to. When it’s run its course, he’s always been the one to let them down gently before I fuck it all up with the blunt truth or my inability to use words when it matters most.
That is why Tyler used it against me in the yard that day. It’s fucking humiliating, and that point is driven home as Ginger patiently waits on me. She’s always been a rare exception, and never held my weakness against me, not once since we were just kids.
Looking over at her now, I can tell there’s more behind why she’s here before she voices it. “I’m fine, Dom. This isn’t about us,” she assures before biting her lower lip.
It’s then I notice she’s sweating, and it’s too early in the day for it. To ease her mind, I grip her shaky hand and see her take her first full breath since she approached me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Dom, I hate asking, but I need your help.”
I tighten my fingers around her hand, knowing it’s not me she’s scared of. Anger starts to simmer for whatever motherfucker put this type of visible fear into her. “Ask me anyway.”
Closing Ginger’s driver’s side door, I add another task to my never-ending fucking to-do list as she smiles at me through the glass before starting her car. As she pulls away, my phone rumbles in my pocket, and I curse, knowing it’s the hospital, without bothering to look at the screen. Only thirty minutes or so into the hour I asked for, Delphine’s already terrorized the hospital staff to the point that they’re calling. Glancing through the lobby glass, Tyler spots my summons as I start making my way toward my car. He steps out, making his way toward his truck. “Raincheck, it’s important. I’ll get back with you in a few. Don’t stray too far.”
“Where you off to, man?”
“A drunk and disorderly French menace walks into a hospital days early for her chemo appointment . . . I’ll get back to you with the fucking punch line.”
“Shit. Need help?”
“I’m handling it.”
“Let me know if that changes.” When I don’t reply, he curses as he secures his burner phone in his glove box before circling his truck and firing up behind the wheel.
He’s debating following me. I’d bet my fucking hot wheels on it. Delphine is his other Achilles heel, and he’s horrible at hiding it, at least from me.
Tyler fires up his truck as Sean flies out of the lobby. “Hey, assholes, where the fuck are you going? In case you forgot, I don’t work here anymore!”
“You do today,” I say before taking my wheel, knowing Russell will pull up within half an hour. Firing up my car, I sip my coffee for much-needed fuel before speeding off, my shoulders already tight.
It’s going to be one of those fucking days.
Staring into the dark lobby of the garage from my seat, I run my knuckles down my wheel, tightening my hold on the burner phone. “I’m asking you to give me an inch, a fucking inch. I can’t just sit back while—”
“You can and you will,” Tobias snaps. “One at a time, Dom, and we need to concentrate on who’s first.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking me. Every day you deny me to act is a day wasted.” Another life stolen, innocence lost, and a monster’s victory. But I can’t let on too much about how it’s affecting me. He’s rested the club’s fate in my hands, and if he catches wind of how much my side project is fucking with the job, he may very well snatch it out of my grasp. I need some semblance of control. If Tobias takes the day-to-day away from me, it will be a fate worse than the one I’m living. His silence on the other end of the line tells me he’s contemplating that decision.
“Stop. Don’t even think about it,” I warn.
“If you know what I’m thinking, then why are we having this conversation?”
His accent is getting thicker, and for some reason, it irritates me. Maybe it’s because I don’t want him claiming home to be on that side of the ocean. Though at this point, he’s lived more of his life in France than he has here.
“We can’t risk it, Dom.”
“What they’re doing . . . what they’re fucking getting away with—”
“Has been happening for endless years and isn’t stopping anytime soon.”
“I get your logic,” I admit begrudgingly.
“Do you?” His tone is full of condescension.
If he’s speaking to Tyler as often as he is to me—and Tyler gives him more reason to worry—I might have already lost my place.
“Don’t fucking do it,” I snap. “I’ll do your bidding. I haven’t moved in on shit. That’s why we’re fucking arguing.”
“Prove it is the right decision. Your time will come, brother.”
“And how many times have I heard that?” I snap, running my knuckles down my wheel in a way that burns. I hear the clink of ice to glass and know then that he’s also not putting a real voice to what’s got him so worked up.
“Any progress on finding him?” I ask in an attempt to get something from him. Our conversations are rare as is, and I know it’s so he can stay focused. For whatever reason, he’s chosen our club’s tipping point to search for his birth father, and I’m trying not to begrudge him for it.
“No,” he replies. “A whisper of something, then silence for fucking days, sometimes weeks.”
“Elusive, huh? An inherited trait, no doubt.”
“I’m trying, Dom.”
“Try harder.”
“You’ve been no help to me recently,” he snaps.
“A little busy here,” I say through clenched teeth.