Page 80 of Savage Daddies

18

POET

Sex with Zoethe first time sent me into an overthinking mess.

And now I’ve done it again.

This time is certain to kill me.

Trudy and I rarely slept together, and the woman still managed to break my heart when she wheeled those two suitcases out of the hallway. If a platonic love has the power to spiral me into a midlife crisis, how the hell is my body gonna react to the day Zoe leaves? It’s coming. I don’t know when, but the day will come and no forewarning will be issued. We’ll share one last conversation and it’ll be about something mundane like the weather.

It was the same with Trudy—she didn’t bring up a conversation about the divorce. Just dropped it on me, the way someone randomly shoves a bag into your chest and tells you to carry it. News of Mom’s death was delivered the same brutal way. She had a stroke one Thursday afternoon, 5:17 PM to be exact, and didn’t make it. Over. That’s what the hospital told me. I was riding out of the city that day, heading back to the clubhouse. To my knowledge, she was enjoyingWho Wants To Be A Millionaire?on the couch with an English breakfast tea, not lying dead in a hospital morgue.

I can’t even remember our last conversation.

And probably, it’ll be the same with Zoe when she exits my life without warning. It’s like I’m destined to lose loved ones this way.

I tuck Zoe into bed the same gentle way she did with Sammy earlier, and I plant a kiss to her forehead.

She chuckles a tired laugh.

I told her I loved her because I know one day I won’t get the chance. She’ll find a way to leave, one way or another. Either she’ll get bored and quietly exit like Trudy did, or she’ll get taken from me by Felix, because we failed.

“Goodnight, princess,” says Wrangler as he and I walk to the door.

“Come back before you leave,” she says. “Please?”

This brings warmth into my chest. Red hair falls loose around her face, shaping it like a heart, and her eyes shine in the half light like two green “go” signals.

My stomach folds in on itself. What if this is the last time we’re in the same room? What if Felix returns and tears our hearts from our chests with his bare hands? What if the cops uncover Venom Vultures and sentence us all?

To define “life” using only one adjective, I would say: unpredictable.

My skin grows cold as soon as we close her bedroom door.

Standing on the other side, I picture that overdone movie scene where we’re both staring at the door from opposite ends, waiting for the other to reopen it. My imagination runs wild sometimes—that’s why I taught literature for nineteen years, not linguistics.

“You’re scared you’re gonna lose her,” says Wrangler.

I tense my jaw. Nod curtly.

We never discuss emotions.

“Don’t be. We’re Venom Vultures. We’re survivors and know how to fight better than anyone.” He pats me on the shoulder, motivating me forward like I’m a horse from his ranch. “Let’s go and see what Bullwhip has found.”

We journey back through the long corridor and take the grand staircase that snakes down to the lobby. This place is fucking ridiculous. Too many diamond chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Polished marble—or quartz, I can’t tell—tiles the floor, and it echoes our footsteps. That’s because there’s barely any furniture in here.

An L-shaped couch sits at the bottom of the staircase, but it looks untouched. The teal blue color boasts no marks or creases, and white, fluffy pillows are propped up against the backrest, each one placed the same, straight way as the one before it.

I turn behind me to check that no marks from our shoes have been left behind.

“Shit.”

A smear of mud stands out against the white floor behind us.

Wrangler turns to look over his shoulder. “Better clean it up, and quick. The front entrance is just there.” He points at the large door directly in front of us that could open at any moment and ruin us for good.

I wet my finger, retrace my steps, and scrub the quartz-marble floor until it’s clean.

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