Page 10 of Halfway to Hell
“I know. Don’t worry.”
“Yeah.” Hanging up, Texas shoved the plastic bag into the waterproof luggage strapped to his bitch bar and swung a leg over the bike. His timeline was set now. With night already settling in, he’d have to pick up the rest of his supplies once he got to Sudbury.
Firing up the engine, he lingered just long enough to send a quick message to Lynx. He’d need a safe place to stash Sunday while he dealt with her ex.
Pocketing the phone, Texas put the bike in gear and rolled out, leaving another small town fading into the dark behind him.
On the outskirts of town, Texas pulled up to a dusty gas station to top off his fuel tank. While there, he grabbed a new pairof shades and a trucker hat from the convenience store shelf. Shoving them into his jacket pocket, he finished fueling up, slid back onto his bike, and headed toward the border.
The club had a guy on the payroll who worked the border crossings. To get into Canada with his guns, Texas would be running through Buffalo, New York. He hoped it wouldn’t slow him down, but there was no way he was giving up his guns—or his blades. Still, he might have to wait until the guy was on duty. Crap.
Two hours later, Texas pulled off the highway to refuel again. As he reached for his phone, he noticed a couple of texts waiting. One was from Monday, giving him the name of the motel where Sunday was staying and letting know there was a diner just across the highway where she’d meet him. That eased some of the tension knotting his gut.
What caught his attention more was the detail that the room was booked under someone else’s name. Smart girl, he thought, a small smile flickering across his face.
The next text confirmed what he’d been dreading. The guy wouldn’t be on duty until four a.m., coming back after his three-day stretch off. That meant Texas would be late getting to Sunday, not by much, but late, nonetheless.
Glancing at his watch, he figured he’d hit Buffalo around eleven that night. He’d have to kill time somehow. He either needed to find a rest stop or grab a hotel for a few hours. Fuck it. He’d find an all-night diner and just sit, keep his eyes open.
And he’d still have to finish his shopping once he got there. It wouldn’t be ideal, but it would have to do.
Texas was about to pull back onto the road when his phone rang again. Seeing it was one of his brothers, he answered immediately, “What’s wrong?”
“Dude, why do you always assume something’s wrong when we call you?” Roan shot back.
“I don’t know, man. Maybe because something’salwayswrong when you call. What’s going on? It’s late.”
“Late? You don’t sleep unless you’ve been up for days straight.”
When Texas stayed silent, Roan kept going. “Dad’s checkup went well. Doc said he can get back to work.”
Texas liked hearing that. His dad had recently had two stents put in, and they’d all been worried he wouldn’t bounce back quickly. Which, knowing his dad, would’ve meant plenty of misery for them listening to him grumble about not being dead yet.
“That’s great news,” Texas said, a smirk creeping into his voice. “Now he can get out of Mom’s hair.”
“And back in ours,” Roan laughed, thinking about their poor mom. “When are you coming home?”
Texas weighed what to tell them. “I have to make a detour to North Bay, but I’ll be home in a week.”
“Just in time to start working on cider.”
“Yay, me.”
“Screw you, Ange … you like it.”
Texas laughed. “Yeah, I do. Especially when you get to help clean the vats.”
Ignoring his brother’s jab, Roan was ready to hang up as his wife’s car pulled into the driveway.
“Well, the wife just got back from her Pokeno night, and you know what that means.”
“A drunk Shelley.”
“A fun Shelley.”
“Night, bro.”
Texas hung up, the quiet settling around him. He realized how much he missed his family.
