Page 65 of Live Love Steal
She laughed at my face. I realized she was teasing me again. She directed her next comment to our mother, but it was angled at me. “Mom, I think you’re going to need to do an intervention here.”
“Me? I think she’s doing a great job. She’s going to be a good step-mom.”
“Step-mother… Damn, Iz. Better you than me.”
“What about that accountant Mom says you’re dating?”
Audrey froze. Her smile faltered slightly. “He’s…”
In the things left unsaid, Mom and I both winced. “He didn’t make the cut, did he?” I stated, more than asked.
My sister sighed. “Nope. Does your hood rat have a brother? Maybe some single friends?”
“Dear Lord, protect this house and the people under its roof,” Mom crossed herself and muttered under her breath.
I could picture Audrey at the Destroyers’ clubhouse drinking whiskey with Bear. It was not a pretty image. Someone had to steer her clear of that mess. Because I’d be damned if one of Sketch’s friends got tangled with Audrey. They’d never survive her. And Sketch loved each and every one of them. “He’s an only child.”
“Too bad. I want one of those bad boys, just without all the ‘bad’ if you know what I mean? Did you know Victor stole my credit card?”
“Good thing he’s dead,” I muttered. A little giggle threatened to take over. I counted under my breath to keep from losing it. Some nights, I still woke up in a cold sweat, remembering what his brains looked like scattered across the asphalt.
That didn’t stop my sister and mom from agreeing with the sentiment. Audrey even went as far as plotting increasingly inventive ways for his untimely post-mortem re-demise. I slipped my hands under the table and rubbed my tattoo. I was iron. Maybe a bit rusted, but unbreakable.
Sketch came in first, Noah following with my dad. All three of them had grease somewhere. Audrey showed Noah where the Dawn was so he would be spared the skin loss from the abrasive soap both Dad and Sketch used to scrub their hands clean.
Somewhere around the fruit cobbler Mom made for dessert, Audrey told Dad about the credit card issue.
Sketch and I shared a moment of silent commiseration as the inevitable, “I’m glad he’s dead,” chorus bounced around the table. Sketch broke first, a grin taking over his face, his shoulders shaking. “He sounded like a real piece of work. Do you mind if I have seconds on that cobbler?”
I pulled Noah’s plate closer. He’d eaten the fruit and declared the crumble “icky.” I pointed out the oatmeal in it. That was on his list of approved foods.
“But it’s too sweet and not gooey,” he commented.
“That’s because Mom doesn’t know how to make it any other way. Sorry.”
He picked up his fork and tried a bite. He chewed and pushed the pieces around until he found a small piece of peach stuck to the crust. It was gooey enough there, he declared.
I pulled apart mine and slipped a few more slices of fruit onto his plate.
Sketch leaned over to see what I was doing and kissed me on the hair.
In front of my family. I blushed. It turned redder as he didn’t stop staring at me.
Once he had my complete attention, he said, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
I couldn’t let that slide without comment. “I love you.”
The collective silence around the table meant they’d all heard that. I picked at my dessert. Sketch put his arm over the back of my chair. He leaned in so he was close to my ear. Quietly, he said, “I love you, too.”
They shouldn’t have been able to hear that. But the glances being shot around were embarrassing. They didn’t know that this was our first time saying it out loud. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I tried like hell to blink them into submission.
Sketch moved back from the table and slipped down to his knee.
“Oh no, no-no-no… no pressure, please?” It poured out in a panicky pile of gibberish. He grinned and took my hand. His thumb rubbed across my tattoo.
“Breathe.”
I did.
