Page 77 of I Stop Somewhere Waiting For You

My eyes go wide at his blatant insolence, my head slowly turning to fix my gaze upon him. “Seriously? How’s Daph, Nick?”

“Fuck you, Bishop.” He takes a couple more pulls then hands it back to me, the beginning effects of the THC taking hold as he settles into the chair.

I snort, shaking my head as I hit the blunt once more. We sit for a moment in the silence, trying to process the events of the night. For two guys who are supposed to be rivals, we’re finding ourselves in the trenches together more and more. After another puff, I pass it back.

“I did kick your ass, by the way,” Nicky speaks, flicking the ash from the end.

“You’re fucking trippin’.” I wave him off.

“I got first punch.”

“Because you sucker-punched me!” I scoff, my brows raised high.

“Semantics.” He makes a face, his tone mocking in nature as the blunt continues to pass between us. After several minutes, his demeanor shifts, growing solemn. “Mav.”

“Hmmm?” I glance over at him, fully riding my high at this point.

“Those pictures. They were the same ones the Feds gave me.”

“I know,” I sigh. That detail did not escape me. It means one of two things. Either Yuri supplied those pictures to the Feds, or the Feds supplied them to Yuri. Neither scenario is promising.

“If something happens to me—”

“I got her, Nick,” my words cut him off, knowing where this is heading. “Always.”

CHAPTER 36

JONSIE

“Joanna!” Caleb calls from the bedroom. “I need you!”

I’m in the kitchen unpacking the pots and pans when I’m summoned for what feels like the thirtieth time today. While it’s sweet that he wants to make more decisions together as a couple, there’s no reason I need to give input on a preferred method of towel-folding.

Pushing up from the floor on a sigh, I make my way toward the bedroom to see what he could possibly need this time.

These past three weeks flew by and before I knew it, move-in day was here. It’s gone relatively well, all things considered. All the furniture showed up this morning and now it’s really just sorting through boxes and putting stuff away.

I enter the room, scanning for him, but my gaze comes up empty.

“Caleb?”

“In here, babe,” his voice trickles out of the closet. My feet pad across the brand-new hardwood floors, pulling back the partially-open door of our walk-in.

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, taking in the sight before me.

Caleb’s hunched over a box in the middle of the small-but-spacious room, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve stepped into a department store rather than my bedroom closet. The hanger-adorned racks display clothes which all appear to be organized by style, material, and color. Jesus, he’s even hung up my crop tops. Looking to the right, I notice my sneakers are all positioned on the shelves in what appears to be a color-coordinated system. Toward the back, I notice his clothes are stored in a similar manner, though my wardrobe takes up significantly more space.

“Okay, so,” he stands, clutching my Nirvana tee, “I need to know if you want your band tees hung up or folded in the dresser.”

“Caleb, back away from the T-shirt.”

His eyes snap to my attention, a perplexed look overtaking his features. I fail miserably to suppress the chuckle rolling up my throat at the expense of his good intentions. “This is insanity. You color-coded my sneakers!” I double over, my chuckle morphing into a hearty laugh.

Caleb’s head swivels to his left, a smile gracing his face as he turns back to face me. “What?!” he laughs. “I thought you’d like it! You always watch that Netflix show where they organize stuff this way.” He gestures toward the folded pile of shirts at his feet. “I even alphabetized them by band.”

I snort, forcing my hand to cover my mouth as I continue to laugh so hard tears pull at my eyes.

“Okay, it’s official. You’ve been at this too long.” I approach him, pulling the tee from his hand and dragging him from the closet. “Break time.”

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