“Maybe if you stopped lying to girls to get in their pants, that wouldn’t be an issue,” Dex offers. “They’d know you weren’t interested in them as actual human beings and avoid you like the plague.”
I smother a laugh.
“I don’t lie,” Rav insists. “I’m genuinely interested…until I get in a woman’s pants.”
Dex shakes his head. “Well, at least you admit it. That’s a start.”
I’ve run out of patience for Ravage’s internal crisis. I’ve got plenty of my own to keep me occupied. “You got this, Dex?” I slap his shoulder, tagging him in as relationship counselor for the afternoon.
“Yeah, Prez. Go see your girls,” he says, a note of sadness creeping in on the last words.
“You all right, brother?” I ask in a quiet tone.
“I’m good.” He jerks his head toward the door. “I’ll catch you later.”
I thump him once on the back, then slip away.
There’s a squeak behind me, and a heavy thump, thump, thump down the front steps, a crunch of boots landing in gravel. I ignore whoever it is and keep moving toward the path that will take me home.
“Rock!” Rav catches up to me.
I stop and turn. “What’s wrong?”
“I wasn’t trying to disrespect Hope or Grace.”
“I know you weren’t.” Otherwise, I would’ve knocked you out.
“Okay. I just wanted to make sure you knew that.” His gaze shifts toward the woods. “They coming back with you?”
“Maybe later.”
He nods once, then jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Birch, Hoot, and I are going down to the new clubhouse.”
“That’s why we built it.”
“You haven’t picked out a room there, yet.”
I cock my head and cross my arms over my chest, confusion about the conversation leaving me searching for something to say. “I thought the whole point was, you guys wanted a place that wasn’t family friendly as I think you put it.”
“Yeah, but you’re still our prez.” He shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Ol’ ladies can visit, like during the day and stuff, for family club days or whatever.”
I fight back a hundred different sarcastic retorts. “All right. If you mean that, set something up.”
He blinks quickly. “Like what?”
“A club family event.” I shrug. “What about Halloween? Kids won’t be there late, then you can do whatever deviant shit sets your pants on fire.”
He smirks, then turns serious again. “How do I do that?”
“You’re smart. Figure it out. Get in touch with Hustler, so Upstate and Downstate can plan it together. Have Murphy help you with the family part. Talk to Teller for the funding.”
“I can do that.” He frowns. “Halloween’s a few months away. You’re really not going to come by until then?”
I’m not sure why it’s so important to him but my brother seems to be wrestling with something. “When do you want me to visit?”
“You’re the prez, you can come whenever you want.”
I’m aware.
“All right, I’ll try to get over there this week,” I promise.
“Cool!”
Satisfied I’ve given Ravage something to occupy his apparently limitless free time, I tilt my head toward the woods. “Can I go now?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” I put my thumb and pinky up to my ear. “You need something you can always call me.”
“Who talks on the phone these days?”
I roll my eyes skyward. Why do I bother? “Then text me, send a note by pigeon, or some smoke signals, whatever the fuck works for you.”
“Deal.” He grins and salutes me.
Shaking my head, I continue my walk home.
The crisp forest air clears my head. By the time I reach home, I’m calmer. Looking forward to an afternoon with my wife and daughter.
I swear to fuck if anyone decides to show up unannounced, I’m going to shoot them.
I step in the front door, toe off my shoes, and drape my cut over the entryway bench. Downstairs is empty and still. Happy chatter from above draws my attention. I jog up the stairs, following the sweet chirps from my daughter and my wife’s high-pitched, enthusiastic responses.
A bright glow spills from our bedroom, leading me to the left. All the lamps are lit, and blinds lifted, sunlight pouring in. A good sign.
“What color do you want?” Hope asks. “This one or that one?”
“Dat!” Grace’s happy giggles follow.
“Green. Excellent choice. Look at all this hair.”
More giggles.
I stop in the bathroom doorway, leaning against the frame to take in the scene. Grace sitting on the bathroom counter, facing the mirror. Hope standing behind her with a green bow clenched between her teeth while she tries to tame Grace’s fine curls into a ponytail.
“What do you think?” Hope asks Grace when she’s finished.
Grace pats the top of her head and stares in the mirror. My lips quirk at my little girl’s serious expression.
“Too tight?” Hope asks.
Grace bobs her head.
“Okay. Let’s try a different one.”
“Nooooo,” Grace wails as Hope unwinds the bow.
Hope reties the bow looser. “Better?”
“Yef.”
“Good. Can Mommy get ready now?” Hope picks up a teardrop-shaped sponge and leans closer to the mirror, gently dabbing her face. She gently bops Grace on the nose and cheeks with it, pulling more giggles from my daughter.
“Dada!” Grace shouts, turning my way.
Hope jumps and drops the sponge in the sink, but she’s nothing but smiles as I step into the bathroom.
“How long have you been watching us?” she asks, draping her arms over my shoulders and leaning up to kiss my cheek.
“I could watch you two together like this all day long.” I press my lips to hers for another quick kiss, then nod to her makeup and stuff scattered all over the counter. “But why don’t I give you a break?”
Her lips curve. “She already picked her outfit. It’s the floral one on the bed.”
“Done.” I scoop Grace off the counter, holding her high, then pulling her in for a kiss. Repeating the back-and-forth motion while she squeals with happiness.
I drop her into the middle of our bed and she scampers over to the tiny outfit, lifting both pieces in the air and waving them at me.
I stare at the bright green top scattered with big, orange and yellow flowers and matching shorts. “Bold choice.”
She bobs her head and thrusts the outfit into my hands.
“You okay?” I ask Hope after I finish wrestling Grace into the two pieces.
“Yes,” Hope murmurs, leaning close to the mirror to stroke mascara over her lashes.
“Who’re you getting dolled up for?”
“Myself.”
All right then.
“Does Grace need a snack?” I ask.
“Sure. I sliced some pears earlier and there’s a tub of ricotta in the fridge.”
“Done.” I lift Grace into my arms. She laughs and traces her fingers over my cheeks. “All right, giggle machine, snack time.”