Page 58 of Burned in Stone
“I think I’m still learning that.”
“You’ll get there,” Poppy says gently. “You’re already halfway.”
“And while you figure out the other half, remember that you’re here now,” Maggie says. “You’re safe. You’ve got a room full of people who’d throw down for you without hesitation.”
“Plus one prospect who’s basically a giant teddy bear,” Ginger adds.
“I’m not a teddy bear,” Steel protests. “I’m intimidating.”
“You’re Fairy Floss,” we all say in unison, and even Steel cracks a smile.
The door opens again and Duck returns with Tank and two other prospects, all carrying pieces of a nativity scene—but it’s biker themed. “Where’s this going again?”
“My answer hasn’t changed from five minutes ago,” Maggie says.
“Woman, that corner has?—”
“Did you not move the pool table?”
“Mack is playing on it.”
“Then he can help you move it,” Maggie says calmly. “Nativity scene goes in that corner. End of discussion.”
Duck mutters something about ‘festive dictators’ but starts assembling the scene where directed.
“Every year,” Maggie tells me. “Same argument, same corner, same everything. You’d think after twenty years he’d learn.”
“Twenty years is a long time,” I say.
“Flies by when you’re happy.” She glances at where Duck is now arguing with Tank about which leather-clad Shepard goes where. “Even when they’re idiots, if they’re your idiot, it works.”
I think about Cash throwing his helmet, about the rage in his eyes when Gabriel called me a whore, about how he immediately brought me here where I’d be safe and surrounded.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I’m beginning to see that.”
The Christmas chaos continues around me—Steel still battling lights while the prospects assemble the nativity scene wrong at least three times, Ginger and Maggie directing everyone like generals, Poppy singing softly to Rose. It’s messy and loud and absolutely nothing like the rigid perfection my old life demanded.
It’s amazing.
20
CASH
The bathroom in the guest apartment is ridiculous. It has marble counters, heated floors, and a tub big enough for four people. Right now it’s just got two, and Mercy’s leaning back against my chest while I work shampoo through her wild red hair.
“You’re going to put me to sleep,” she murmurs, her eyes closed as my fingers massage her scalp.
“That’s the idea. You’ve been wound tight as a spring since your ex showed up.”
“Can you blame me?”
“No.” I work out a tangle gently. “How was the rest of the Christmas decorating? Did Tank ever get his meth-head Santa set up?”
“He tried to fix it with duct tape.” She laughs a little as I rinse her hair, warm water running through the strands.
“I’m guessing that didn’t work.”
“No. Made it worse. Now it looks like Santa’s been in a bar fight. Ginger finally made him put it in the garage.”
