Page 61 of Patching Over

“Come on, babies, let’s get you some fresh water and food.”

At the mention of food, they jump down, which always gives me a bit of a heart attack since they’re still rather on the small side, but they sprint over to their placemat and wait for me to open up two cans of wet food. As they start eating, I place my dirty clothes in the hamper, rehang my damp towel so it’ll dry, then head into the closet to find something to wear.

Today is all about comfort.

Fresh underclothes now in place, I sort through my sweatpants until I find my favorite color then slip them on, along with a matching T-shirt and some fuzzy socks and my slippers. Glancing around the room, I pick up a few odds and ends to straighten it back to its normal, pristine appearance then head out to find some sustenance to feed my growling belly.

As I rummage in the kitchen’s massive refrigerator, I hear the whirring of RiffRaff’s wheelchair. Spinning around, I can’t help the smile that crosses my face when I see him motoring toward me.

“There’s my girl,” he says, stopping once he’s next to me. He pulls me down onto his lap and gives me a huge, fatherly hug. “Now, let’s talk, little missy. You will never again put yourself in danger for me or any other man in this club. That’s our job, you understand?”

“RiffRaff, you shot them with a gun that had no bullets!” I exclaim.

“And who’s fault was that, missy? Not mine, as far as I knew I had slugs in my pistol,” Riffraff vehemently spits. “I should tan Brick’s ass for that stunt.” He harrumphs which has me placing the palm of my hand over my mouth to keep in the chuckle.

“Your son was concerned about you and didn’t want you acting without thinking about the ramifications,” I placate.

“My mind may have been a bit skewed, but I know who needs to be put down and who doesn’t,” he rants, crossing his armsacross his chest and shooting lasers from his eyes, acting as if he could melt the floor with his angry stare. “And maybe if I’d have had bullets, I could’ve handled those pussies without you getting taken and hurt.”

“Who says I got hurt?” I question, since I know I look whole and hearty.

“Before I passed completely out, I saw them hit you, Rayleigh,” he informs me, his voice quiet yet firm. “They’re the kind of man who will hurt those of the weaker sex, as well as animals, without a fucking care in the world.”

“You’re right, they did,” I admit. “But guess what, RiffRaff? I got in a few of my own hits too!” I wiggle in excitement causing him to burst into laughter.

“Used some combat moves on them, huh?”

“Well, I made sure I had some of their DNA under my nails just in case things didn’t end up well for me,” I tease. “But I also ensured one would likely never reproduce again, and it’s possible the other one’s eye is permanently damaged. It’s a good thing I watch all of those true crime documentaries, they’ve taught me a thing or two about evidence and what's needed to convict someone in a court of law.”

He snickers at how bloodthirsty I sound right now. “I see you’re fitting in well with our merry band of miscreants.”

“Was there ever any doubt? I mean, you knew my parents and Brick says you helped raise Ban once our parents died. So even if I wasn’t around, it’s kind of in my blood, right?” I ask.

“Not sure it works like that,” he replies, helping me up. “Now, can you fix an old man some of that soup I think Layce made a few days ago?”

I sigh in happiness at being needed, even for something so trivial and minor.

“That sounds good and since I was trying to find something to eat, I’m going to warm a bowl of soup up for me too.”

“Don’t forget the bread,” he advises. I can’t stop my giggle because I’ve noticed the man does love his carbs. “She always puts it in the breadbox in the pantry behind the cereal. Otherwise, those other assholes eat it all.”

“But you know her secret hiding spot?” I tease, pulling out the huge pot and placing it on the counter before I spoon up two heaping bowls. Once I have them in the microwave heating, I head into the pantry and come out with a loaf of Leathyr’s homemade bread.

His sly look then wink has me laughing outright as I state, “Ah, I see, you didn’t let on you were paying attention.”

“It pays for everyone to think you’ve lost most of your marbles. They forget to hold their thoughts and tongue around you because their thinking is you won’t remember what they said anyhow and not only that, if you do repeat it to someone, the likelihood of them believing it is next to none,” he sagely states, rolling over to the fridge and pulling out the butter. “We need one of those butter hut things.”

“What?”

“You know, they allow you to put butter in and keep it out on the counter so it’s not all cold and stiff. My nurse can tell you what they’re called because she’s always talking about how nice it is to be able to smoothly butter a piece of toast and have it soak in or some shit.”

“I’ll have to look for one of those,” I muse to myself.

The list of things I need to look for when Cassie and I can finally go out and shop is growing by leaps and bounds, that’s for sure.

“She used to watch all those fucking infomercials when we were still in that death house.”

“You mean the assisted living facility?”

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