“That’s too much stress for a kid.”
“But I loved her. Him, too. Mostly, I felt like it was my job to save Barbie. People were always rolling their eyes at her behavior. They acted like she was a joke. No one seemed to care. As an adult, I understand how they were coping with her after decades of being in her life. But I was a kid, and their behavior felt cruel. Didn’t they care how she cried at night? Or that she was scared of every little thing? Why weren’t they helping her?”
“Why didn’t they?” Monroe asks, gripping my hand.
“No one in Elko is enlightened about mental illness. The view is that only weak people see a shrink. Crazy behavior is a sign of failure and crazy runs in my family. The paranoia crippled my grandmother and led to her death. If Bronco hadn’t put his foot down, Mom never would have gotten on medication. It levels out her moods. Otherwise, she’d be flipping out about you right now.”
Monroe gives me a soft smile, probably thinking about how my mom gives her plenty of shit. “The medicine must help. Your mom seems feisty, not crazy. But I’m sorry you felt alone when you were little.”
“You’re an only child. Didn’t you feel alone?”
“Sometimes. My mom was my best friend. I loved spending time together. That’s why I didn’t believe she would ditch me,” Monroe says and then sighs and frowns at the ceiling. “But Aunt Immee said Mom needed a chance to focus on herself. Basically, she made it seem like I had been a burden that held Needy back. I didn’t think that was true, but I started wondering if I only saw things from my side. Like my mom never had any relationships except for that one when I was in elementary school. After she was gone, I realized I hadn’t considered if she was lonely. I started doubting what I knew about her. That’s why when Lowell didn’t immediately feel a connection, I got to thinking my mom was wrong. Or, worse, she lied. Now, I feel like an asshole for believing that.”
“But your aunt isn’t like a full-on bitch, right?” I ask, and Monroe shakes her head. “She said your mom wanted to be with that Kansas guy, and then you heard from Needy that she wanted to stay with him. They were gaslighting you. Of course, you started doubting what was real.”
Monroe runs her fingers over my scars again before asking, “How soon do you think you could get her away from that man?”
“In a few days,” I say, and her eyes light up. “I need to get the okay from Bronco.”
“Do you think he’ll say no?”
“Of course not.”
“Does that mean asking is just a formality?”
“He doesn’t want to owe the club Aja’s stepfather runs. So, asking is my way of saying I am doing this shit on my own, and it’s not a problem for the Executioners.”
“Will it be just you and your sister?” she asks, doubting my badassery.
“She’ll bring a few hired guns.”
“And I can help.”
“No.”
“Because you think I’m weak and need protecting?”
“No, because I think your great tits will distract me.”
“Bull-fucking-shit.”
“You can come along, but you can’t help.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You’ll be inside the car, and I’ll be outside the car.”
Monroe studies me, seriously considering whether to throw a tantrum. I really hope she does because her temper is sexy as fuck. Instead, she smiles and snuggles closer.
“You’re my hero.”
Grinning, I can’t deny her sweet side is sexy as fuck, too. Monroe rewards me with a blowjob that I still feel thirty minutes later when we return to Bronco’s house. With my balls in a Zen state, I don’t want drama with my uncle and Lowell. Yet, I need to get their crap out of the way before I ask Aja to start organizing on her end.
“Needy wants out,” I tell the men who drink beers next to the grill. “I plan to get her as soon as Aja’s ready.”
Frowning, Bronco scans his backyard. He’s looking for my mom as if I wouldn’t have checked before speaking. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at his behavior.
“I’m coming,” Lowell says as Carina wanders over and reaches for her dad.
“Not necessary.”
While Bronco picks up his kid, Lowell leans closer to me. “Needy is Monroe’s mom, and Monroe is my kid. Do the math, hotshot.”
“Are you drunk?”
Lowell shrugs. “A little, yeah.”
“Well, I don’t need you to babysit.”
“You’re a child,” he says, tousling my hair until I smack away his hand. “Your sister is a baby. You need a grownup to supervise.”
Bronco snorts and tells Carina, “Uncle Lowell is wasted.”
“No,” she says and then points to my messy hair.
I glance at where Monroe does cartwheels with Pixie, Sidonie, and Desi.
“Where’s Anders?” I ask while Lowell and Bronco watch their daughters.
“He took Future and Chili home,” Bronco says, lifting Carina up so she can fix my hair. “I guess Fairuza went with them. Or maybe she’s with your mom.”
“Monroe’s athletic,” Lowell tells Bronco, who chuckles. “She was on a bunch of teams.”
“Yeah, you told me that the last time you were drunk.”
“Proud daddies are adorable,” I say while pulling out my phone. “I’m messaging Aja, so she can get a few of her friends to help out.”
“No one from the Serpent’s Eye,” Bronco reminds me as if I’m five. “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
Carina laughs at her father’s angry tone and covers his mouth with her hand. Lowell frowns at the kid.
“I never saw Monroe at that age. Missed it all.”
Figuring his drunk friend needs hand-holding, Bronco asks, “Where’s Topanga?”
“Inside with Lana,” Pixie says, apparently eavesdropping on our conversation.
“Will someone fetch her?” Bronco asks as Lowell sighs too much to be normal.
Stepping closer, I tell Lowell, “Don’t cry, man.”
“Did your mom scare Needy away?”
“No. It was Bambi.”
“Can you imagine Monroe with Rooster’s head?” Bronco asks, trying to change the subject as his daughter gives him goo-goo eyes.
“I don’t have to imagine,” I tell him. “I can just look at Taryn.”
“Burn,” Sidonie says and laughs with Desi.
“They’re getting catty,” I warn Bronco. “That’s a lot of teenage angst for one house.”
“Kid,” Bronco says in a dark tone, “I know. Trust me.”
“Carina has your eyes,” Lowell tells Bronco. “My girl has mine. Do all daughters take after their fathers?”
“My eyes are blue,” Sidonie announces to no one.
“I have brown eyes like my papa,” Pixie says while walking on her hands around the yard. “My sister has our mama’s blue eyes.”
“So, no,” I say to Lowell, who stares at Carina. “Not all daughters.”
Fascinated by how a dress-wearing Pixie walks around on her hands—while flashing her underwear at the crowd—my honey remains completely oblivious to the drama.