Page 9 of Felonies are Forever

No time like the present.

Just as her chest rises on an inhale, I put my mouth on hers, sweeping my tongue across her bottom lip, tasting the first of what will be a lifetime of kisses. A desperate breath spills from her mouth and I suck it in deep, making her part of me in that moment.

My forehead bumps the top of the helmet as I slip a hand behind her neck, supporting the weight of her head and angling her into the heat of the kiss that is lighting up my darkest corners.

Our tongues meet and for a moment my heart stops. Her sigh fills my ears and directly connects to the tightening in my balls.

I withdraw. Not because I want to, oh no. I’d take her sweet, ripe ass right here on the street if I had my way.

It’s because for the first time in my life, I see the future. I’m a fucking felon, tattooed son-of-a-bitch that never once saw what I have just now seen the second our lips met.

What did I see? Goddamn picket fence, diaper changes, and college funds.

“Wow.” It’s like her glowing green eyes are lit from behind. There’s a fire in there that needs to be fanned and I’m just the guy to do it. “You know how to deliver donuts.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Like I said in there, you’re a VIP. And I’m at your service, so hop on. Where do you live? I’m taking you home to change clothes, then I’m taking you out.”

I give her a second to absorb that that’s without a doubt a statement, not a question, and she raises one eyebrow before tipping her head to the right and giving me the first of what will be a million of her smiles. The ones she’s saved her whole life just for me. Those smiles.

“Ferguson and Twenty-Second. But you have to tell me one thing first…”

The street names bring back memories. Something else we have in common. I used to live over in that same area It’s low rent, but decent.

“Anything,” I reply and the truth is I would tell her anything. Even the shit I don’t think she wants to know. I brace myself for whatever her question may be. And the consequences of my answer.

She gives me a dubious stare as she asks, “Are you expecting a tip?”

Havingher arms around my waist feels like coming home. As though she needs me and I can’t even explain how that makes me feel.

A swell of protectiveness overtakes me. Keeping her safe means more to me than any business success or other lofty goal. I want to know what she ate for breakfast, if she slept well. I want to know when she’s sad or angry and be the confidant she chooses. Her arms around my waist mean more than just her holding on for this short ride.It means she needs me. Nothing more powerful has ever swept through me like that thought.

The late summer wind is cooling my face, and my little bird is hanging onto me as we make our way through the city streets. I’m so damn proud to have her on the back of my bike. I want to show her off to the world. Show them what I already know is mine.

I feel her press her head into my back and squeeze a bit tighter as I round a turn onto her street. Damn, it feels good. Then I see what’s up ahead.

In front of us, flashing yellow, blue and red lights in a blinding mass take me straight back to that day my world changed. I grit my teeth against the memory and shake it off. Slowing my bike toward the barricades at the corner, I think about my breathing for a moment. Center myself.

Cops and utility workers, fire trucks and people are swarming everywhere. I’ve made my peace with the cops in this town, but it’s a tenuous truce. Too much history there on both sides. I don’t expect special treatment but I’m no longer on their radar either.

As I get off the bike, CeeCee’s wide eyes take in the chaos. This is where she lives, but I have no idea if she’s going to be allowed into her place. Something big is going on. I help her off the bike, unhook her helmet. She needs someone to take care of her, now and for the next hundred or so years.

The look of fear and confusion in her eyes makes my heart ache. I want to scoop her up and hold her against me and make sure she never fears anything ever again. But I can’t, not yet.Instead, I lean down and give her a soft kiss. She lets me do it, and I stroke her hair for a moment until her lips soften under mine.

“Stay here,” I whisper, “and don’t worry. I’ll go ask what’s going on, okay?”

She nods, and I turn to see a tiny woman scurrying our way. It’s been years, but I immediately recognize Mrs. Takashima. I know this neighborhood well, and she’s an old friend, one of my many pseudo mothers from when I ran the streets as a young punk.

She used to feed me and lecture me like I was her own. Everyone knew my mother, or lack thereof, and some took pity on me as I tried to grow up out here. One of the few good things I had in my life. We keep in touch even now. I try to pry her away from her grocery at least once a month for lunch, but she loves her work almost as much as I love mine.

“Thorne? CeeCee? What?” Mrs. Takashima’s excitement shows in the increase in pitch with each word. CeeCee steps up as I look from one to the other. “CeeCee, you can’t go inside. There a gas leak, the whole block closed. The building closed.”

“What happened?” I ask, leaning over to set a hand on CeeCee’s shoulder as she crosses her arms and bites her lip.

Mrs. Takashima shrugs. “Don’t know. Gas line broken. They say two days. Maybe more. No one can go in.”

“You two know each other?” I look at both women and they nod at each other, then look back at me.

“Mrs. Takashima rents me a room above her grocery. She’s become my second mother.”

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