Page 3 of Rook

“But what if you did?”

“I don’t. They know that.”

“But you could.”

“What? A long-lost brother I never mentioned before?”

“A wife.”

“A wife,” I said, choking on my beer. “You want me to pretend to get married?”

“I was thinking more that you should actually do it.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” I had a million problems already. I didn’t need a wife on top of that.

“I think Nancy would suss out if it was a fake marriage. Then she’d probably find some way to get you sent back to prison. For lying to her or something like that. But if your wedding was legit…”

“Colter, man, I’m not dating anyone. I’m not even fucking anyone casually.”

“So, you make an arrangement with someone.”

“Who would want to do that? Marry me just to go visit my mom for me?”

“I dunno. Money. A place to live.”

“Colt, man, how much have you had to drink?” I teased, shaking my head at him. “However much it is, I think it’s too much.”

“Just something to consider. You got a bit to go on your parole. It’s eating you up not knowing how your ma is doing. If you had eyes and ears in there, I think you’d feel better. Plus, it might help with Nancy.”

“How would that help with her?”

“Dunno. Maybe it would soften her to you. Make her see you as less of a criminal if you were married and happy. Maybe planning on babies…”

“Now I’m having babies too?”

“Well, planning doesn’t mean having them. But maybe she wouldn’t be rifling through your shit if you had cute baby onesies and rattles and shit lying around.”

“It sounds like maybeyouwant to be getting married.”

“Been there,” Colter said, sighing hard as he tipped up a beer. “Done that.”

Colter’s marriage was what sent him to prison in the first place. While he was off fighting for his country, his wife and best friend were fooling around behind his back.

He beat the shit out of the friend, then filed for divorce from jail.

But all that being said, the guy was a diehard fucking romantic. I saw the way he was looking at the couples around the clubhouse, the babies they were popping out. He wanted that.

And maybe he was projecting some of that onto me with his asinine idea.

“These ladies were just saying they’d love to get out of here,” Coach said as he walked up, arms thrown over the shoulders of two sparkly-dressed women.

There were six of them.

And only four of us.

I liked those odds.

“Not to be cheesy,” Raff said, looking at the girls. “But I haven’t seen you around here.”

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