Page 33 of Lone Star

“He’s not that way!” she insisted.

“Well, that’s not normal,” he said, pointing toward the wall. “So either he slipped something in the bathroom, or he’s having some kind of episode.”

Her nose wrinkled. “What kinda episode?”

Michelle would have had the word for it; one of those moments when a person’s brain cracked under too much stress.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I need to ask him some questions.”

“You’re welcome totry.”

He wanted a drink, badly, but didn’t think now was the time to ask for one, with Melanie squared off from him. The wave of déjà vu that accompanied her stance was unwelcome; that was how it had been between them, once they moved out of the short, thrilling honeymoon phase at the beginning of their relationship. Her with her arms folded, her head cocked, her expression challenging; him asking himself why he bothered.

He let out a breath and nodded. “Well, guess I have to.”

She followed a few paces behind when he returned to the living room. Pacer sat very still, watching soup drip off his spoon back into his bowl.

Candy wanted to scream.

He sat down in the chair beside him and said, “Hey, Pace?” He didn’t expect to get a response, but Pacer did turn to him, finally, slowly, his face eerily blank.

Fuck, this was so wrong.

“I need to ask you about your boys,” Candy continued, speaking slowly, clearly. “The ones who – the ones you lost. You couldn’t tell me much about them the last time we talked.”

He heard Melanie shift her weight behind him, a rustling of clothes, and he imagined her unfolding and refolding her arms, an old habit he remembered.

“Okay?”

Pacer blinked at him, his eyelids out of sync. “O…okay.”

The sunlight shifted across the floor. Candy hated this.

~*~

Sometimes, Michelle marveled at the speed with which she’d grown accustomed to the seasons of Texas. She loved the long, hot summers; the winter days, short and blustery, reminded her of home – of London – in a way that didn’t offer much comfort.

All afternoon, she mulled over what Jinx had told her of Pacer, of the Vultures, and the MC war that wiped a whole club out of existence. She wondered if any of the other Dogs shared Jinx’s…reluctance when it came to Pacer. She thought about it, and thought about it, and suddenly it was getting dark, and the happy hour crowd was filing in, and she wasexhausted.

“Can I suggest something?” Jeannie asked, scooping TJ up from his Pack-n-Play and tucking his head deftly on her shoulder. His fussing stopped immediately, and he went limp, comforted in the arms of someone he knew. “Go home,” she said with a warm, motherly smile tinged with worry. “You’re too tired, your baby’s too tired, and we’ve got things covered here.”

“But…” Michelle protested, and promptly ran out of steam. She didn’t even know why she was protesting; it was a kneejerk reaction, the constant urge to stay longer, to do more, to work harder.

The irony of it: Devin Green’s restlessness had manifested in a string of fleeting romances that came with a string of illegitimate children. All of those children – and their children – in turn funneled that restless spirit into work, work, work.

Jeannie chuckled. “Everything’s done. All you need to worry about is getting home safe, and getting some food in you. Have you eaten today?”

She’d nibbled an onion ring out of a basket in the kitchen, earlier. “A little.”

“I already had someone go grab Jinx from the bar – ah, speak of the devil.”

Michelle turned – and, whoa, she was dizzy – and saw him trooping into the room, already wearing his heavy leather riding jacket and carrying hers. He must have gone back to the storeroom to grab it;thoughtful, she noted, fuzzily.

“You ready?” he asked, like he was afraid she’d say no.

She almost did – it was hardwired into her brain. How many times had Dad, or Tommy, or Miles, or Albie asked her the same thing, and she’d shaken her head, and sipped more coffee, and pressed on.

She couldn’t have coffee now, though, so she sighed, and nodded, and took her jacket. “Thanks.”

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