Page 140 of Smooth Sailing

I placed mine in it.

Once he’d curled his fingers around and rested it on his (very hard, though I’d discovered that already with all our snuggling) thigh, he asked gently, “You used to have this what?”

“Monthly movie night,” I croaked out, then cleared the sudden emotion that clogged my throat. “It was sacrosanct. Even if he had a big case happening, he carved out two hours to watch a movie with me. One month was his choice, and I had to watch whatever it was. One month it was mine, and same. We did that for as long as I can remember. Even before he and Mom divorced. And that was the last thing we did together, the night before we moved me to school. It was our thing.”

“He pick good movies?”

“It’s how I know about Monty Python. So, yeah.”

His fingers closed tighter around mine. “Baby, people fall out. We’re headed to dinner with him. All isn’t lost.”

I hadn’t told him about my mom’s texts, or my conversation with Big Petey, and I hadn’t had the time to dive into some of the weirdness I was feeling around that.

I didn’t have the time now, because Hugger was turning right on Tatum, so we were maybe five minutes from Dad’s place.

But I had to focus on the present because he was right.

All wasn’t lost.

Man, I really hoped my dad wasn’t a dick to Hugger.

Though, since we had this getting-to-know-time, I wanted to go over one more thing.

“So, I saw it in the documentary, that insignia tattooed on your back. That’s Chaos, right?” I asked.

“Yup. Chaos’s mark. All the guys got ’em.”

Ah.

“And the one under your shoulder at the front?” I continued.

“Chaos history. A lesson. All the brothers have it too. You saw the story in that doc, though Rebel kept some stuff that’s personal to us, like that tat, just for us. What it means is, we lost Black, Dutch and Jag’s dad, we almost lost Cherry, or Tyra, but Tack calls her Red, and this happened when the men were messed up in seriously stupid shit. But it isn’t play stupid games, win stupid prizes. It’s, be stupid and do stupid shit, lose what matters.”

That tat was a scale, with one side saying Black with a grim reaper type figure floating above it, and the other side saying Red with blood dripping off it.

It was way cool, but a little scary.

Now I understood why.

“No other tats for you?” I asked.

Since I’d seen most of his body, but not all of it, I was just checking.

“I’m not a tat guy. Wouldn’t have these if it wasn’t for the brotherhood. I don’t mind it, but I don’t have a hankering to get more.” He glanced at me. “You got any?”

“Nope.”

“Not a tat gal?” he queried.

“Tattoos are art, like yours are, so I like them. I just guess I never had a hankering for one either. Though, if I do, I won’t hesitate.”

“Yeah,” he murmured and flipped on the signal to indicate our turn into Dad’s community.

His community was gated, but he left our names at the gate, thus the attendant let us through with no issue.

The reminder of the gate, however, made me wonder how Hugger’s brothers were looking after my father when he was home.

“Might not have grown up with much,” Hugger began, “but he found his way to it.”

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