Page 57 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

Riggs stops before the door I watched him and the old lady disappear into, confirming this is where he lives and takes in a huge deep breath. The air surrounding him is nervous. Is he afraid to introduce me to his grandmother?

“You okay?” I ask. He looks my way, locking his features up tight. I don’t think he meant for me to notice. He gives me a nod, adds a sweet smile, then turns the doorknob. As soon as it opens, I’m hit with the smell of pumpkin spice and coffee.

“Riggsy,” I hear a feeble voice call out. It sounds happy and free but tired, so, so tired, like it’s a struggle to get the words out.

“Gramma,” Riggs says with a sigh, relaxing almost immediately. I tuck that away to bring up later if I find the courage.

“Oh, Riggsy, who is this? She’s beautiful.” The wrinkly woman takes a minute, and monumental effort, but she stands. I don’t let her cross the room, respectfully meeting her where she’s at. I reach out my hand to shake hers.

She clutches onto my fingers and pats the back of my hand. Her touch is shaky, her whole body trembling, the energy it takes to greet me depleting. Foxy mentioned she was sick. Was she terminal? I mean, she’s not young by any means, appearing to be old enough to be Riggs’ great-grandmother, but not old enough to be this weak.

My heart breaks as I find Riggs watching the exchange with barely concealed anguish. He observes her every move, studies her features, smiles when she looks at him, frowns when she looks away. His mind is computing something—committing this interaction to memory.

Emotion lodges in my throat, a prickle of tears blurring my vision.

“This is Charlotte, Gramma. She is my study buddy.” Sufficient explanation, though I feel like we’re about to add partner-in-crime to that title. Me Bonnie, him, Clyde. We’d have to be in a relationship for that first.

She rolls her eyes as she rubs the back of my hand. I will strength into her, wishing I could somehow give her my energy. The way her grandson looks at her, the adoration is glaringly obvious. How could the world take her from him? He’d do anything in the world for her, and I’ve made it clear to myself that I’m already a tiny bit attached to Riggs Sutton. I want to do anything I can to make his day a little brighter.

“Study buddy, my ass, Riggsy,” she teases and instead of getting embarrassed or upset, he just grins harder.

“I have more plans than to take her to the bathroom.” He winks at her and guides her back to the couch by grasping her elbows.

To the bathroom?That makes no sense, but judging by the look they’re sharing, it must mean something to them.

Gramma gives me a take-no-prisoners once over, then tilts her head in what I hope is approval. “You’re something else, old lady. What makes you think I’m looking for your approval?”

“My approval is the only approval that matters and you know it,” she quips back, and I giggle. I don’t even care if they are having this conversation about me like I’m next in line to shack up with Riggs or not in the room at all. It’s adorable the way he is with his grandmother. Everyone always says you judge a man by how he treats his mother. And when he bends down to tuck the blanket around her, handing her the glass of water from the table, it only solidifies that Riggs, behind that tough exterior, is the good guy everyone says he is.

I’d say I don’t deserve him after the things I’ve done in my life, but I know deep down I’m a good person, not a monster. Riggs might be what I need.

“Have you eaten anything today?” he asks her.

“Yes, Dad,” she drawls, the zing of sarcasm buzzing in her words.

“Don’t give me no lip, woman. I’m just making sure you keep your strength up.” He points a finger at her, and she bats it away. I smirk, watching everything play out, enjoying this side to him even though I can sense the morbidity behind it. In the back of my mind, there is a clock ticking.Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.And from the looks of it, Riggs can hear it, too. “Do you need anything before we go?”

“I just need you to get out of my hair so I can let the strippers in.”

Riggs heaves a sigh and shakes his head as he makes his way down a short hallway, decidedly having had enough of her sarcasm.

I admire the way his narrow hips move with a natural swag and ease, the way his hoodie swallows his lean frame. His stride is so long, so graceful.

“He’s a handful, darling. Not one to trust easily. If he lets you in, you mean the absolute world to him and he’ll treat you like the queen you are. But don’t take that for granted because it won’t be easy being with him.” Somehow, I understand with certain clarity what she is saying. I don’t know the first thing about Riggs, but I get it. Instead of denying her assumptions, I let her think we’re together.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do my best to protect him.” Not sure why I said that and I’m sure Riggs would argue and say that he will do his best to protect me, but I don’t mean protect physically. I mean, I will protect his soul, save him from himself as he might save me from me one day.Darkness seeks darkness. Guilt knows guilt.

Gramma turns to the T.V. as Riggs enters the room. He has a black leather jacket and a smaller set of gray and blue gloves. He reaches for an extra helmet on the coat rack by the door and sets them all next to me. The metallic, hollow clink of spray-paint cans draws my attention to the much heavier pack on his back. Is he taking me to tag something?

I get hype, excitement drumming through my veins. I’ve always wanted to see graffiti artists in action. Is Riggs one? Is he decent? He doesn’t strike me as a full-on artsy type aside from his tattoos, but as I said, I know nothing about the guy I’m about to get on a getaway motorcycle with.

“I don’t have any girly gear, but these gloves are from when I first started riding, so they’re a tad smaller. They’ll be a little big on you, but shouldn’t be too bad. The jacket belongs to the brat on the couch but as long as you treat it right, she’ll let you borrow it.” I laugh as I dress myself, anticipation making me jittery. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before—always admired them, but never had the chance.

“I don’t need any girly gear. In case you haven’t been paying attention, girly isn’t my style. And I promise I will take great care of your jacket.”

We both glance at the couch, but she has already fallen asleep. I look back at Riggs and glimpse his frown before he’s hidden it away. I reach out and grab his hand, squeezing it.

“We don’t have to go. I can head home.”

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