Page 26 of Damascus & The Wildfire
Eva:
Well, that escalated quickly. He’s a beast.
Me:
I think I’ll call him Brisket. A Texas name for a Texas dog.
Eva:
You cannot name a dog after your favorite BBQ dish.
Me:
Brisket says keep your judgment to yourself.
Eva:
I’m happy you have a new running buddy. It’s getting too hot for me to go through that torture with you.
The deafening silence of my home was replaced with the gentle click of Brisket’s claws on the hardwood, the rustle of him settling into his bed, and the occasional contented sigh. My heart brimmed with happiness as I played with him through the evening. As thenight deepened, Brisket curled up beside me on the couch. His warm body pressed against my leg, and the sound of his steady breathing filled the room with a sense of safety and companionship.
Instead of putting him in his crate, I let him sleep beside me in bed.
And for the first time in days, I slept through the night.
The music pulsed throughout the yard as I pulled up to the Mavericks clubhouse, mingling with the distant laughter and the clicking of cooling engines. The air smelled of grilled meat and beer.
I’d hoped to arrive before the real party began, to capture video interviews to show the history of the club, but the lot was already filled with bikes.
I pulled my bag from the back of my Range Rover and slung it over my shoulder. A gruff voice sounded behind me.
“Need a hand?” Merrick reached for the tripod, lights, and boom mic before I had a chance to respond.
“Thanks,” I said with a smile.
“You’re not going to make me be on camera, are you?”
I chuckled. “I’m pretty sure I can’tmakeyou do anything. But I will ask nicely.” I batted my eyelashes at him.
“Are you open to negotiation?”
I arched my brow. “Maybe.”
“Another home-cooked dinner?” Merrick asked with a hopeful note in his voice.
“Deal. But only if you help me wrangle the others before they’re too drunk for an interview. And you convince them to take it seriously.”
He nodded. “If anyone gives you problems, point them toward me.”
I glanced around the yard, looking for a location to set up. The chrome-coated bikes and activity in the background would addcharacter to the backdrop, and the evening light would cast a golden glow on each member.
“This spot is perfect,” I said, setting my camera bag on the ground.
Warmth flooded me as Merrick handed me the tripod, his hand brushing mine. I set up the equipment with practiced ease, despite the nervous flutter in my stomach.
“Stand here,” I directed.
“Fuck. You were serious,” Merrick lamented.
