Page 260 of Fearless

His eyes went to the room’s only other occupant.

Maggie had been on one of the sofas for hours now, reading a paperback romance novel. Carter hadn’t seen her turn the page once, lashes flicking every so often as she blinked.

The common room had been scrubbed top to bottom – not that it needed it. The two prospects, Harry and Littlejohn, were taking out the trash, a chore that was massive here in the clubhouse. For the moment, it was just the two of them.

“Can I get you a drink?” Carter asked, and his voice seemed too loud in the quiet.

Maggie didn’t jerk – she had too much poise for that – but she glanced up at him with a moment of startled disorientation. She’d forgotten he was there. Then she settled and smiled, faintly. “Probably not. I bet you think I’m an alcoholic at this point.”

As tired and stiff as his face was, he felt a returning smile form. “I grew up with a drunk. I know a real alcoholic when I see one.”

Her smile shifted, becoming sympathetic. “How’s your dad doing?”

He shook his head.

Maggie closed the book she’d been pretending to read and tossed it onto the coffee table. She stood. “Tell you what. I’ve got something better than a drink.”

She waved for him to stay seated as she left the room, heading toward the kitchen. She was back a minute later with two Dove ice cream bars. The kind with the almonds in the chocolate coating. “I shouldn’t,” she said, as she handed him one and opened the other. “Straight to my hips. But you know what? Sometimes, all you can do with a problem is throw ice cream at it.”

When he didn’t open his right away, she said, “Aw, come on now, you’re gonna make me feel like a cow. You’re skinny. You actually need the calories.”

The plastic wrapper crackled as he tore it open. “I can’t remember the last time I had ice cream,” he murmured, and truly, he couldn’t. “Sweets weren’t on the menu when I was in training.”

Maggie made a face. “Do you miss it? Football, I mean.”

He considered the bumpy, almond-studded surface of the Dove bar a long moment. “You know what’s funny? I never really gave a damn about football. I mean, I don’t dislike it, but I never loved it either.” He shrugged. “It was something to do. Something I was good at.” He frowned. “A way to get the fuck away from my old man.”

When he glanced up, Maggie was looking at him speculatively. “And what about now? Is that what you’re doing? Getting the fuck away from him still?”

She was waiting for him to flinch away. He wasn’t going to. “He’ll always be my father. I think I’ll be doing that till the day he dies.”

Small flicker of something in Maggie’s hazel eyes.

“But what I’m doing here…” he continued. “I’m hoping it’s not just a lateral move. I’m tired of just getting away. I want to getsomewhere.”

She took a bite of her Dove bar and leaned sideways against the bar. “You should talk to some of the guys. Maybe when things settle a bit. But you should. Most of them were trying to get somewhere when they joined. They found what they needed here. Maybe you can too.”

Before he could respond, the door opened and in trooped the guys. Most of them, anyway. None of them looked pleased. Their faces reminded him of those of his teammates, after they’d lost a game.

This is my team now, he thought. If he chose to stick with it. He didn’t yet know how to feel about that.

Ghost came to stand beside his wife, leaning down to steal a bite of her ice cream. He managed to make even that look dignified.

He glanced at Carter. “You been keeping an eye on things?”

“Yes, sir. It’s been quiet.”

He nodded. “Good.”

It was nicer than anything his father had ever said to him.

The chirping of the crickets was punctuated by the throbbing call of a bullfrog. It was never quiet in the swamp, Ava had realized. Never did it settle and go to sleep. Alive always, pulsing, calling, shifting. Mercy had described it to her as an animal that swallowed you down, and you lived against its beating heart and working lungs.

It was apt. Her poetic Cajun biker.

She lifted her head where it rested on his chest. The bedside clock was just visible over on the nightstand. Three-fifteen a.m.

She’d thought Mercy was asleep, but he stirred beneath her, his hand shifting against her back. “You’re awake?” he asked, his voice clear. He’d been awake for a while himself.

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