“I like when you laugh,” she says, mirroring my words. I fake a laugh, and she laughs again. “A real laugh.”
“That was real,” I lie, and she laughs again. Hell, maybe I should lie more too.
“I want to go riding tomorrow and have a picnic,” she tells me, sitting up and straddling my waist so I can look at her. I smile at her. It’s real and easy and it feels good. I move an unruly curl of hair that hangs over her eye, before telling her words that I will be saying a lot for the next six months.
“Whatever you want.”
—
Thanksgiving morning I wake up to the realization that time is flying by. It’s been two weeks since Roach’s passing, yet it seems like it was only yesterday. Saylor is already in the kitchen, preparing a feast for the club. I told her we could just invite a few people, but she insisted that we invite our whole family. I like that she sees my club as her family too.
Saylor has managed to make connections with a few of the ones I am closest to, who visit most often. Jimbo comes every Sunday, and he and Saylor play cards before he and I sit down to discuss club business, which there isn’t a whole lot of. Or maybe he doesn’t want me informed, considering, right now, I’m inactive.
Shady comes over almost every day and eats at least one of Saylor’s meals. Sometimes he stays for two. The club has him here working, so he can keep Nationals more informed of the Death Mob situation. I know the real reason is because I’m here and they think I need him right now. Hell, maybe I do.
The club has kept me in the dark about everything where Death Mob is concerned. But Shady gave me his word that if they made a move, he would be two steps ahead of them. He seemed confident that whatever they offered them to keep me around a little longer was working. I just hoped it wasn’t something that could come back and hurt the club after my time was up.
Rookie’s been transferred up here temporarily. I know that’s because of me too. When I asked him what Carrie thought about it, he said she flies up to spend her days off with him. Saylor overheard the conversation and got her feelings hurt that she hadn’t met her. This, in turn, had me pissed at Rookie. I didn’t like Saylor getting upset.
He promised to make it up to her and has. Now, one of the days Carrie is here, she makes sure to spend with Saylor. I know it’s not out of pity. I can’t think of anyone who doesn’t want to spend time with Saylor, and considering Carrie blew off Rookie for a “girls’ day” two days in a row, I know she is one of those people. Rookie and Shady thought we should make a guys’ night, but to me, it sounded kinda lame.
Donnawayne and Jeffery have spent every weekend here since we left. This weekend, they would be with Donnawayne’s family and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved. It would be awkward having everyone in the same place at the same time. Jimbo had yet to run into them, but Shady and Rookie were unaffected by their homosexuality. Maybe the club wouldn’t be bothered, but it wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.
Saylor’s health is better than ever. She hasn’t had a cold, a migraine, or even a bad day since she had the fever. Looking at her, you couldn’t tell anything was wrong. But there wasn’t a night I didn’t go to sleep or a morning I didn’t wake up when I wondered if it would be my last with her. Some days we ride, some nights we go to the bar, and sometimes we don’t do anything. But everything we do makes her happy, and every time she smiles, I find myself smiling too.
—
Saylor yells for me and I drag myself out of bed and throw on some sweats before meeting her in the kitchen. I know she has plenty of shit she wants me to do. She went over the list about ten times last night, until I dove between her legs and made her forget everything that wasn’t me. After she came in my mouth, I made love to her until we both fell asleep from exhaustion. It was the only way to shut her up, and I hoped that she went to bed tonight as chatty as she did last night so I could do it all over again.
Saylor asked me where everyone would sit and when I told her “wherever,” she frowned at the thought. Her frown led me to asking what she wanted. Which was for everyone to sit down at a table and eat together. Now my living room furniture is under the carport, and in its place sits a table that can seat twelve—which sits next to another table that can seat twelve. We pushed them together, made room for twenty, and now Saylor is happy. And so am I.
I bring in the turkeys that have been on the smoker since yesterday, load, unload, and reload the oven racks at Saylor’s demand and help her set the table with real, matching dishes I was sent to buy last week, before I’m instructed to go get a shower.