Page 39 of Preacher

It washer.

It was the way she’d looked at me last night when she told me she couldn’t do this. I’d thought things were going fine. Better than fine. But somewhere between the ball field and the ride home, I’d felt her pull back.

It was subtle, but it was there.

I couldn’t figure out why it had happened.

Regardless, it had nothing to do with the boys, and it wasn’t fair to take it out on them. I raked a hand down my face, and I felt the fight drain out of me like air from a slit tire. “Shit.”

Goose raised an eyebrow but didn’t press.

He just gave me that look, the one that saidwe all get hit sometimes, and it meant something to me that he got it. They all did. Without saying anything more, I turned and walked out of the room.

I went to my office and slammed the door with a little more force than necessary, but I didn’t care. I needed some space, and I finally had it. I walked over and sank into my chair. I leaned back with a heavy breath and tilted my head back. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. I needed a minute, and I was damn well going to take it.

The quiet was good.

There were no questions. No sideways looks.

No damn milk on the stupid counter.

It was just me and the hum of the ceiling fan. Too bad it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the thoughts in my head. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have been thinking about things I had no business thinking about.

My mind should’ve been on club business. On shipments. On keeping our boys in line. But every time I tried to shift gears, she was there, and I kept hearing her say the same thing, over and over—'I’m sorry. I can’t do this.’

I couldn’t help but wonder if she meant she couldn’t do it or couldn’t do it with me. She hadn’t said the words outright, but I didn’t know any other way to take it. And I sure as hell didn’t know what to do about it. It felt like a door had closed that I didn’t even know I’d walked through.

It made no sense, and I wasn’t sure it ever would.

I was thinking back over our dinner together when there was a soft knock on the door. Without waiting for me to answer, Memphis stepped inside, flipped the light on, and sat down in the chair in front of me.

He gave me one of his looks before asking, “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.” He leaned back in the chair and folded his hands over his stomach. “So, Goose was right?”

I didn’t answer.

“I was afraid of that. Damn.” He raised his eyebrow. “He was talking about Sergei’s mother, right?”

I still didn’t answer.

Not that I had to. He was my kid. He knew me better than anyone. He let out a slow breath like he didn’t want to say what he was about to say. “I know you don’t wanna hear it, but maybe it’s for the best.”

“You’re right. I don’t want to hear it.”

I glared at him, hoping it would be enough to shut him up.

It wasn’t.

“Come on, Pop. We’re going into business with her sons. She’s just gonna complicate things.”

“She’s got nothing to do with it.”

“She’s their mother. Of course, she has something to do with it,” he snapped. “And even if she didn’t, she’s gonna make things complicated, and you don’t do complicated.”

I didn’t respond. Partly because I’d already said too much and partly because he was right. He looked at me for a beat, then said, “You really like her.”

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