Page 75 of Warrior's Walk

Sighing with defeat, I explain, “BALLS is opening a gift shop in the front lobby. Margret Anne would like you to submit ideas for merchandise you’d like to see featured.” The laughter starts up before I’m even done talking. “Can I finish, please?” I huff. “She wants to include things you want, which is sweet of her.Personally, I don’t know why she even bothers,” I finish, talking over their chatter.

“I want a shirt with the BALLS logo because I like to display my balls proudly,” says McCormick, who’s wearing a shirt that reads, ‘HOW TO KNIT. 1. Stab it 2. Strangle it 3. Scoop out the guts 4. Toss it off a cliff.’

I know enough about knitting to understand it’s a crude set of instructions for the basic technique. The shirt fits his personality to a T.

Stiles swallows his laughter and says with a mostly straight face, “Maybe some mittens with the BALLS logo because I like to hold them in my hand.”

I glare, begging him not to continue with his bright ideas. But then Jax adds, “A hat with the BALLS logo.” He holds up the skull cap he’s working on, and I think,finally, a real idea. “Nothing feels better than balls on your head, like being tea bagged.”

I should have known.

“You like getting tea-bagged, Jax?” West snarks.

Jax chuffs. “Not as much as you do.”

“I wonder if they’ll sell tea bags,” Pharo asks, smirking at Jax.

Mandy sets down his knitting. “Maybe a stress ball. There’s nothing like squeezing your balls.”

“I expected better from you,” I say disappointedly, pointing at him. He just laughs. “Are you all finished? You know, you used to be a respectable bunch of guys, but lately, it’s like KinderCare around here.” Explosive laughter erupts.

“Can you imagine the kid’s merch?” Nash asks, picking up my daycare joke and running with it.

“A shirt that reads, ‘My Daddy is so proud of his BALLS’,” Rhett muses, snickering so hard he can barely spit the words out.

Shaking my head, I check my watch. Thirty more minutes to go, unfortunately. “I’ll let Margaret Anne know you bunch aretoo infantile to be creative. I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise to her. Maybe Brewer’s addiction support group can come up with something useful.”

Then the fun really begins. The Bitches unleash a torrent of terrible ideas.

Jax snorts. “Oh yeah, ask the recovering addicts. They have great ideas. Maybe a tote bag that reads, ‘My BALLS say you can’t come unless you’re clean.’”

“Hit your knees and pray to BALLS for the answers,” Pharo adds.

West doubles over with laughter. “Your Higher Power is in my BALLS.”

Rolling my eyes, I get up and walk out as the chorus of snickers grows louder.Fucking idiots.

When I comein the front door, my mama is sitting on the couch in her robe, wrapped up in a pile of blankets like a burrito. She’s sipping a cup of hot tea.

“Hey Mama.” I plant a big smooch on her cheek, noticing her skin feels slightly warm.

“Baby, where’re your crutches?”

“I graduated, don’t need ’em no more.”

“That’s wonderful,” she smiles, looking brighter than I’ve seen her all week.

“What are we watching?” I snuggle beside her, grabbing one of the blankets for myself.

“Would you believe A&E is showingGone With The Wind?”

“Jesus Christ.”

Mama smacks me upside the head faster than I can see it coming. She’s an old pro. “You watch your mouth, son. That dog won’t hunt round here, and don’t you dare blasphemy my Scarlett!”

“Sorry, ma’am,” I mumble, rubbing my head and trying my damnedest not to laugh. If she heard me around my friends, she’d blow a gasket.

I guess we’re watchingGone With The Wind.Again. Now I see why the Bitches complain aboutTop Gun. After you watch anything fifty-something times, burning your TV and canceling your cable subscription seems like a great idea.

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