But I knew I had to break away. I was good at doing that.
“There,” I panted triumphantly, as if I’d just solved some equation on a whiteboard. Oaklyn looked at me wide-eyed with wonder, her lower lip shining as though stung by a bee. She clearly didn’t know what to say or maybe even how to feel, so I helped her out. “How’s that for emotional turmoil?”
I was going to stalk off jubilantly, but Oaklyn beat me to it.
She leaped from the railing, shoving me out of the way. She stormed off for a few steps, but then thought better of it, and twirled back to face me. “You! Levon Rockwell. You’re the most infuriating, contrary man on the face of the planet!”
Then she stormed off. I saw her go into the kitchen and grab the bottle of Jim Beam off the counter without missing a beat, then continue to her room.
Infuriating. I liked that. It meant I was getting to her.
Then I wondered why I wanted to get to her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LEVON
A few days later
“Hey!” I shouted at the painter. “I want the ceiling white. That’s why it’s taped off. Just go with that beige color up to the top of the wall.”
The painter looked cluelessly at my studio’s ceiling. His arm holding the roller dangled as he poised at the top of the ladder.
“Do you get it?” I yelled. All of the painters—all of the workers, really—were Cornucopia men. The Church of Good Fortune ran a lot of outside companies around there and you never knew when you’d literally run into a guy you used to go to school with. I’d perfected a frozen stare, as though I looked utterly through them, when this happened. Because if they were still there, and I remembered them from school, that meant they’d been elevated when I’d been expelled. Not one of them had said to me, “Hey, Levon! How’s it shaking?”
Another painter told the clueless guy what to do. I went to the back office, followed by my brown Newfoundland dog, Lazarus. Deloy had taken my Sporty up to Bountiful so he could attach the sidecar and bring Lazarus back, complete with doggie goggles and scarf. I know. It was sappy, but his eyes needed protection when he rode. Lazarus loved riding in the sidecar, his long tongue flapping in the breeze. He was my mascot, my best friend—my life. I’d admitted a long time ago that I loved him with a passion. That surge through my chest when I wrapped my arms around the giant stuffed bear? That was love, pure and simple. And Lazarus didn’t judge me. He loved me unconditionally for who I was.
I fed him in the office, thinking about Nana. She was in Dixie Regional in St. George waiting for a coronary bypass procedure. There was no doubt she needed more care than we were able to give her. When she recovered, there was a room at the assisted living place ready for her. It was an enormous change, going from a house full of dozens of women, to her own room. But in some ways, it was similar. She had only to walk down the hall to find a bunch of other women who weren’t all that unlike her. These end of life changes were new to me. But Oaklyn had convinced me it was best for her. Even a nurse like her couldn’t give Nana what she needed.
“It looks fantastic!” raved Deloy, standing in the doorway. “I can’t wait to pick back up on my training.” Deloy was actually a competent Krav Maga practitioner. He was thin and weedy, but his years of training with me in our home gym had honed his efficient defense and offense skills. “The tan color is soothing yet sort of energizing. I saw the mirror delivery guy out in the alley.”
“Yeah, he’s bringing the mirrors into the back. Listen, Deloy.” The kid had taken my only other chair and was happily scratching Lazarus’ butt as the dog inhaled his kibble. “Are you seriously joining the Assassins of Youth? I just don’t really see you as the MC type.”
“I’m not. I was forced to admit defeat. Dingo and Sledgehammer took me to the outdoor gun range, and I just got bugsmashed. I totally went sideways.”
I liked Deloy’s new “hip” language. He was desperately trying to fit in with the motorcycle club. “You failed to crush it. Did you just miss the target a lot? That’s understandable when you’re new to it.”
“I managed to hit it a few times. It was just too overwhelming for me, Levon. The loud reports scared the bejesus out of me, and that’s something I’ll never get used to. You know we used to hear gunshots around the compound. The next day some guy would always go missing. These were older guys. Guys who Chiles felt were in competition with him in some way, a threat to his power. So yeah, the short answer is no. I won’t be prospecting for the Assassins. I’m doomed to be a hang-around forever.”