Page 80 of Dizzy

“No?”

“Nope. I almost died alone in a hot metal box. I know what matters.”

“What is that?”

“That someone will come looking for you if you’re missing.”

He growls. Literally growls. “You deserve more than just that.”

That’s such a huge idea that I don’t have room for it in my head. I wrestle free from his gorilla arms and hop up. “Anything more than that is gravy.”

I smile as big as I can ‘cause I can’t stand the sadness in his brown eyes. And then I sprint off toward Carson. I’m gonna show that boy how to climb a rock wall. He’s goin’ about it all wrong.

The sun is way high overhead. It’s the very last minutes of a fall afternoon when every squeak and shout echoes in the brisk air. Breathing is easy.

Dizzy’s right. Who cares about the ladies clucking their tongues and scrolling through their phones, pretending not to watch everything we do?

It’s a beautiful day. I’m alive, fed, and warm.

I clamber up beside Carson, and I chase him across a swinging bridge. We shriek and laugh, and Parker can’t help but join in the fun.

Dizzy sits on the bench, dark eyes hooded, keeping watch on the three of us, the scary, wild-haired biker who thinks I deserve more.

My man.

* * *

After the playground,we came home. I was gonna make myself useful, but Dizzy told me get on the sofa. He ordered subs, and all four of us watched an old western from the 60s until the boys fell asleep.

I don’t know how the guys told the actors apart, and the plot meandered worse thanIn the Arms of Love, but I like horses, and Parker poked fun at the hokey dialogue under his breath the whole time, cracking me up.

When we went to bed, Dizzy fucked me real slow and thorough. No kinky stuff. It was still good.

The next day was even better. We spent the morning in the garage. Parker showed me how to replace brake pads, and we dropped off one he finished to some folks who live down on the flat. Then we visited Boots, an old-timer from the club, and went fishing off his pier.

And now it’s Monday, and it’s a bit of a downer.

After Dizzy took the boys to school, he disappeared into the garage. I cleaned up breakfast, started a load of laundry, and took the opportunity to add a few cans of soup to my food stash in the back of Dizzy’s closet. I know I don’t need it, but I like having it. Just in case.

Anyway, all that took less than an hour, and then I was bored. I watched game shows for a while, but I was restless.

I’m used to constant noise, constant demands. I hated it, but I’m accustomed to a hustle and bustle, and I can’t get used to the quiet. My nerves get jangly as hell.

I was all excited to make Dizzy lunch, but he beat me to it. He’d scarfed down some leftover Chinese and was wiping the crumbs from his beard by the time I made my way upstairs from folding a load of sheets.

“I was gonna make you lunch.” I pause in the doorway, lean on the frame, and pout.

“Don’t have time. I got to get this done before I pick the kids up from school.”

“I thought they were at their mother’s this week?”

“She called. Her boss asked her to do some prep work for that big job she’s got coming up. She asked me to take ‘em for the rest of this week.”

Good. The house could use their background noise. It’s too creepy without it. And I’m getting really bored.

“Can I watch you work?”

Dizzy finally gives me his full attention. He was gulping down a glass of tap water.

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