Page 161 of Unhinged
Bettie’s apartmentsmells like garlic and onions and something warm I can’t name but somehow already love. Bettie took over the kitchen the second we all came back inside. Didn’t ask. Didn’t wait. Just rolled up her sleeves and told us to get the hell out of her way.
I didn’t argue. None of us did.
Judge sits on the counter, legs swinging, helping her and sneaking bits of cheese when she’s not looking. The guys are scattered around the room, talking low, relaxed in a way I haven’t seen yet. Like something finally clicked into place.
Dillon’s standing at the counter beside Judge, peeling potatoes badly…like, murder-the-potato kind of bad, and ranting about how unfair it is that she’s not allowed to own a flamethrower.
“Seriously,” she says. “Just imagine the possibilities.”
“You’re banned from lighters, Dillon,” Arrow mutters without looking at her.
“That was one time, and that dumpster needed to burn,” she snaps back, flicking a potato peel at him.
Judge laughs so hard he snorts, and I swear Bettie mumbles a prayer under her breath.
Dinner’s ready not long after. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls that are probably from the store, but Bettie put butter and garlic on them, so they’re officially magic.
We eat around the long kitchen table. The pack. My kid. My boys. Bettie. Dillon, who technically just became my sister-in-law, which is wild to think about. She’s Judge’s aunt now. We’re a whole ass family, apparently.
We eat around the table, and it’s not awkward or weird. It just feels easy. Normal.
“So,” Bettie says, pouring herself a glass of wine. “What’s the plan for school?”
I look at Judge, who’s shoving another forkful into his mouth. “He starts Monday,” I say. “Acid took care of it all before everything went to hell.”
“You nervous?” Dillon asks him, nudging his arm.
“A little,” he admits. “But it’s just a regular school, right?”
I nod. “Yup. No big deal.”
Arrow leans forward. “We’ll be around. You need anything, you call.”
“Or shout really loud,” Acid adds.
Gears gives him a look. “We’re not giving him a panic button.”
“Disappointing,” Dillon mutters, stealing a green bean from Acid’s plate like it’s hers. He lets her.
“What about moving out?” Bettie asks, real casual as she stabs a piece of meatloaf. “You guys actually leaving the clubhouse?”
“Yeah,” Acid says. “Soon. We’re gonna start looking for a place this week.”
“We want somewhere quieter,” Gears adds. “With space for him. For her.”
“For all of us,” Arrow says, squeezing my knee under the table.
“Boooooring,” Dillon fake coughs.
“Go live in a treehouse, then,” Acid tells her.
“I would,” she shoots back. “I’m still mad you guys wouldn’t let me live in the weapons shed.”
“It’s not a studio apartment, Dillon,” Arrow sighs.
I smirk and stab a bite of potato. This is chaos. But it’s mine.
“I’m staying here,” Bettie says, cutting through the noise. “The clubhouse is where I feel closest to your daddy. He built this with his hands. Every corner reminds me of him.”
