Page 39 of The Grief We Hold

But I call the diner as soon as I’m in the truck, praying she’s there.

“Hello, Rainbow Diner,” Raven says when she answers. There’s laughter in her voice, like she’d been joking around before she picked up the phone. Just her voice eases the churning in my gut.

I swerve around some slowpoke of a car and pull back into my lane. “I need you to tell Ma I said you have to leave. You need to run across the street and go pack a bag for you and Fen and be ready for me to pick you up in seven minutes.”

“What?” she asks. “I can’t just leave an hour before my shift finishes. And Fen is sleeping over at a friend’s house. He took his bags with him this morning.”

Shit. Should I tell her to grab him?

No. They’re coming for us. Not her. Not Fen.

Fuck. Why am I even mixing her up in this?

“Blue. Trouble’s coming. Not for you. For me. But people in town…they talk. They’ve seen me at your place. I don’t want it on my conscience if they get pointed your way. What I’m offering is to come get you, take you to my clubhouse, where I can protect you. If you don’t want to come, then I’m not going to force you. But I promise you, Ma will understand if you tell her trouble’s coming and I want you out of it.”

I hear the little gasp of breath. Can imagine those lips of hers open a little, her face pale with fear. And I want to pull her into my arms and tell her it’s all going to be okay.

But I stop shy of pleading with her. Because pleading says something altogether different. It says she may be more important than she has any right to be just yet.

“Hate to rush you, Raven, but I’m five minutes away. Are you coming or am I turning back to the clubhouse? I don’t want to leave you unprotected, but it’s your call.”

Everything in me wants to demand she come. I want to walk into that diner, fucking carry her across the street to that shitty apartment of hers and throw shit into a bag for her.

Don’t say anything more.

Don’t say anything more.

Don’t say anything more.

“Please, Raven. I need to know you’re safe.”

“Okay. Let me talk to Margie.”

It feels like a firework is going off in my chest. “I’ll be outside in five minutes.”

I dial Grudge, and my VP is out of breath when he answers. “What?”

“I’m in town. Anyone else still out of the clubhouse you need me to pick up? Any supplies we need?”

“Everyone’s accounted for. But Nola and Karlie were just saying we’re low on milk and creamer and shit. If you’ve got two minutes to pick some of that up, it would be helpful.”

“On it.”

I call Ma and ask her to put a few gallons outside the diner for me to grab. But when I get there, she’s outside with them at her feet. Her arms are folded, her lips thin narrow lines.

“You told me you weren’t interested in Raven,” she says as soon as I step out.

“I don’t owe you any explanation, Ma. Just need this stuff.”

I start to throw the gallon jugs of milk and cartons of half and half into the back of the truck.

“Doesn’t Hallie mean anything to you anymore?”

I stop what I’m doing and turn to face her. “I loved your daughter with every bit of my being. But I don’t owe you the rest of my life as a fucking walking memorial.”

Tears glisten in her eyes, and I feel like shit. First Butcher challenging me. Now her. All on top of me challenging myself.

“How can you say that? She was our everything.”

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