Page 44 of The Locksmith's Promise

By the time I made it back to Miller’s, a fine sheen of sweat and an iron-clad resolve coated me from head to foot.

Wrapped in morning chaos, Miller and Maxine gulped back their coffee and chased Mikey and his little brothers around to get them out the door in time for school.

I wanted that, that whole scene, for me and Maggie and Corwin.

Maxine spared me a sunny smile and a wave as she darted out the door with the boys.

Miller stopped and clapped a massive hand down on my shoulder. “All right?”

My eyes met his fleetingly before skipping away. I wasn’t embarrassed, I was grateful.

And it wasn’t a feeling to which I was accustomed.

“Thank you.”

He scoffed. “No thanks necessary.”

“I’ll be out of your hair soon. Work is picking up and I, uh, got a line on a rental.”

He shook his head and grinned. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. I’ve lived so long without you, I don’t mind you kicking about.”

I smirked. “Yeah, well, I’m getting sick of plugging my ears every night. I don’t know how those boys of yours sleeps through the noise.”

Puffing up like a burly, overgrown, plaid-covered peacock, he preened, “You’re not doing it right if she still sounds human by the time you’re done with her.”

Shaking my head, I laughed. “Good for you, man.”

He wagged his eyebrows. “Good for her, too.”

Over the next few days, I signed the lease for my new place a mere three doors down from Maggie and Corwin, answered a few more inquiries for jobs, and spent some much-needed time with Eric and John.

And every day after school, I visited Maggie and Corwin.

Saturday morning, I headed to the city with Corwin and Maggie’s blessing.

Shooting down the highway with my boy beside me for the first time gave me a high like nothing before.

We stopped for lunch, then ran to the bank followed by a brief stop at a furniture store where I bought a bedframe and a vacuum-packed foam mattress.

Then we headed to Strings, my favourite music store.

Guitars of all kinds lined two entire walls with amps set out at regular intervals for test drives. A glossy baby grand piano took center stage and did double duty as the dividing line between the guitars and every other instrument in the store.

Corwin’s eyes blew as wide as saucers as he looked around, moving closer to me when the salesman approached us.

That small show of confidence made me a giant among men. I’d do anything to earn that trust.

Anything to keep it.

Carefully, I rested my palm on his shoulder. Feeling him relax under my hand? Turned me into a fucking king.

I tipped my chin up and asserted, “We’d like to look at some guitars. Both electric and acoustic, please.”

To Corwin’s shock and delight, after two and a half hours, we left with one of each.

“I can’t believe you bought both of them,” he murmured, hugging the case holding the acoustic to his chest as we walked through the parking lot to my truck.

“You wanted the electric guitar, but you should have the acoustic as well.” I smiled down at him. “It’ll save your mom’s ears. And her sanity.”

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