Page 18 of Gator's Gambit
It takes everything in me not to react to her story as Fancy lays it all out for me in a voice shaking with terror. I don’t even think she realizes it, or that she’s constantly wringing her hands as she speaks. Which, knowing her as I do, tells me all I need to know about her state of mind. And it’s nothing good, understandably.
I want nothing more than to hunt this animal down and beat him with my bare hands. To leave him a broken, bloody mess on the floor. But I let none of what I’m feeling show. Fancy’s in enough of an emotional state as it is without me making it worse by behaving like a neanderthal.
Doesn’t mean I’m not going to rally the troops and figure out how the hell to get our hands on this fruitcake and ensure he doesn’t hurt another living soul ever again. Making a mental note, I silently commit to calling Knight and the team, as well as Tex, to come up with a plan of action.
I will not tolerate someone – anyone – terrorizing Fancy in any shape, way, or form. Any and all threats will be neutralized.
Even as I stroke a soothing hand up and down her back, my mind races to outline a rough plan of action to discuss with my teammates. I know, without a doubt, they’ll step up withouthesitation. Like the musketeers of old, it’s always been a case of “all for one, and one for all.”
I once heard a saying that has stuck with me ever since – family is not always blood, it’s those who showed up in your darkest hour and never left your side. And that, without question, is my brothers-in-arms. We started out as teammates and quickly became family.
As I hug Fancy close to my heart for just a moment, I wonder if she can feel it pounding against my chest, as if to fight its way out to her. Much as I want to hold onto her, I know we need to get back out there. So I reluctantly release her, getting to my feet with her in my arms.
I wait until she has them firmly under her before releasing my grip, allowing myself the tiniest of kisses on her palm before saying, “Come on. We’d best get out there – I’m surprised no one’s come looking for us yet. Besides, the food should be ready by now and, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
I reach for the door handle to open, but stop, compelled to ask, “You know I’ve got you, right?” Fancy nods and, feeling ten feet tall, I nod in return. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
A promise I have no intention of breaking short of death taking me from this world.
“I know you will,” she replies.
I seriously doubt she has any idea the emotion that shows in her beautiful eyes, but it hits me square in the chest – if I’m reading her correctly, she’s in this as deep as I am, and I don’t know how or where to start a conversation about what this means for us.
Instead, I simply hug her to my side and smile down at her, hoping she can see what I’m feeling reflected in my own eyes. Since now’s not the time to get into it anyway, I open the door and lead her outside to join everyone in the backyard.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of children running around, a million conversations all taking place at once, laughter and a heartwarming sense of community. The gathering starts to wind down and people begin to leave.
Hoping to find some quiet time with Fancy by offering her a lift home, I seek her out when I spot Mrs. Gilmore, purse in hand, surveying the group of people left in the backyard. I’ve spent the afternoon giving serious consideration to whether or not a relationship between Fancy and me would be possible, feasible or even something she’d be interested in. So, before I lose the courage, I want to talk to her about it.
I find her standing between her father and mine, pausing a moment to let my dad finish what he’s saying. “Fancy, you got a second?”
She turns to look over at me, and the impact as our eyes meet is like a fist blow to the gut. “Sure,” she replies. “I’ll be right back,” she says to both our dads.
I step away from the small gathering of people, so as not to be overheard. “Looks like your mom’s ready to get going. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out a little longer and I can drop you back home later? Maybe grab an ice cream at Maizy’s on Main?”
Fancy worries at her bottom lip for a moment as she contemplates my offer, and at first, I think she’s going to turn me down. Then surprises me by agreeing to go. “I’ll just go let my folks know.”
I nod. “I’m going to let my mom know too. I’ll come find you when I’m done, yeah?”
“Sounds good.”
I watch as she walks away, appreciating the subtle sway of her delectable hips covered by some kind of flowy material, the kind Fancy tends to favor. My body’s reaction has me shifting to hide the evidence of my interest. Reciting retrieval tactics todistract myself, I stand a moment before going in search of my mother.
Finding her where I expected to – that being in the kitchen packing care parcels for our guests – I give her a quick side hug. “Fancy and I are going to head out for some ice cream. Is there anything I can do for you before we do?”
Her smile beams from her eyes as much as it stretches her lips. “No, thank you, my boy. I’ve got this. You two go on and have a good evening. Don’t forget to take your house keys.” Bending down, I drop a kiss on her head and give her another quick squeeze, then head to my bedroom to grab my house and car keys and my wallet.
Retracing my steps, I take a moment to scan for Fancy and find her talking to my sisters. Reticence tugs at me as I consider the potential fallout of my actions, I stand on the back porch a moment longer. I know my siblings mean well, but I’m not keen on the teasing I’m most likely to have to endure. In the end, though, I man up and head on over.
“Ready?” I ask as I reach the group.
“Yes,” Fancy replies. “Bye, guys. Chat with you tomorrow, Em.” Fancy waves as we walk away, while I suppress the urge to hustle her to the car to avoid one or all of my sisters following us.
We reach my car unscathed, and I’m surprised to have made it without being accosted by them with a million questions. Deciding not to question it too closely, I shrug it off as I open the passenger door and help Fancy in.
The drive over to Maizy’s is filled with small talk, both of us ignoring the elephant in the room – or rather, car, in this instance. Although, it could simply be a perception on my part since it’s possible that Fancy’s completely oblivious to the tension I’m feeling.
A feeling of nostalgia washes over me as I enter the ice cream parlor and familiar smells fill my nose. Tunes from thesixties play quietly in the background, almost inaudible over the sound of teenagers chattering. Maizy, her hair now stone grey, is scooping ice cream into a cone for a little boy bouncing excitedly in front of the freezer.
