"Do you ever see her?"
"God, why would I want to?" she asked. "It would be different, maybe, if she somehow saw all the ways she'd screwed up, and wanted to make amends for them. But she doesn't. And I don't feel like I owe her anything, so why should I fight to be a part of her life, y'know?"
"I'm sorry, Sass," I told her.
I might have only had my mother after a certain part of my life, but I knew what family felt like. I knew the warmth of that kind of love. It bothered me that she'd never felt that, though she'd created it, in a way, by caring for her younger siblings.
"It's alright. We've all made something for ourselves."
"Why would Alaric choose to be a male stripper?" I asked.
"You remember his name?"
"I remember all their names. We talked about them a lot back then."
"Well, he's good-looking. And he knows it. And he figured out that he could make a shitton of money being good-looking and confident if he was willing to strip down to next to nothing. So... that's what he does. He knows there's a clock on it, but he's enjoying it while it lasts."
"Are you planning to see him now that you're back in the area?"
"If I don't end up dead, you mean. Yeah."
"You're not going to die, Sass."
"They tracked me to that pizza place today, Che," she reminded me. "It's not looking great for me."
"Sass, I've only been on the case a couple hours. Give me a chance," I said, tone teasing. "And everything always looks bad this side of morning," I added. "Get some sleep. See if you are more optimistic about the whole thing in the morning."
"How did your club buddies handle the news?"
"Brothers. In an MC, they're brothers. Huck isn't thrilled to possibly get involved with the Triad, but he accepts that we might need to. He's going to be hands-off until it looks like we need him. Tomorrow, we are going to see a friend of ours who might be able to figure some shit out for us."
"I'll admit, it feels good for there to be a plan other than 'don't die'," she said, suppressing a yawn.
"Get some sleep, Sass."
To that, she nodded, rolling off to her other side, facing away from me again. "Goodnight, Che."
"Goodnight, babe."
Babe?
What the fuck was that?
I never used pet names with her.
That wasn't the kind of friendship we had.
Or, at least, it wasn't the kind of relationship we used to have.
Christ.
I just needed to sleep.
I would have a clearer head in the morning.
I hoped.
Chapter Six
Saskia
What was one supposed to do when she woke up sprawled out over her green-card-husband like a cat soaking up a sun spot?
It wasn't like I could even claim to have just sort of rolled up against him in my sleep. Oh, no. No no no. My bed-hogging ass was completely on top of him.
My legs were on either side of his body, my chest crushed to his, my face nestled in his neck.
And, God, he smelled good. A mix of the soap he had in his shower and just... him. I maybe took a couple slow, deep breaths before I caught myself.
How hadn't he woken up when I'd climbed on top of him? It wasn't like I was some waifish little thing that could be confused for the comforter.
I'd never slept next to Che. Maybe he was just one of those out-cold sleepers, the ones who could sleep through the fire alarm going off. And women climbing on top of them.
Whatever the case, I was reasonably sure he was still asleep, so if I carefully and slowly started to scoot back off, he would never know I was there in the first place.
"'Morning," Che rumbled, sounding half-asleep still, but clearly amused.
"Oh, I, ah, sorry. I know I'm crushing you," I told him, planting my hands, starting to press up.
"You're not crushing me," he said, taking a deep, slow breath, making me a little too aware of how my breasts were crushed to his chest. "You're nice and warm," he added as I looked down at him.
"Yeah, what is with the AC in this place? I like things cool, but penguins could live comfortably in here." And I was going to go ahead and tell myself that the reason my nipples were in pointed pebbles was because of the aforementioned cold. That was the only reason. Nothing else.
"Harmon," he said. "She's always hot these days," he said, looking up at me with soft eyes.
"Oh, that makes sense," I agreed, moving to slide off his body. Everything in me wanted to stay, but that was exactly why I needed to move.
"How'd you sleep?"
"Good. I feel a lot less hysterical," I admitted, wincing at the events of the day before, the waterworks not once, but twice. In public, no less.
"You weren't hysterical, Sass. You were understandably worked up. No one would think any less of you for feeling that way. Least of all me."
I had to admit, when it came to well-adjusted, Che kind of broke the stereotype about women being better with all their varied emotions. He didn't fight his, or label any of them as weaknesses. I had always admired that about him. I think it took a lot of comfort in your own skin to be able to just let your feelings move through you instead of fighting them tooth and nail.
I mean, I'd gone with him on the anniversary of his mother's death to put flowers on the grave that their whole neighborhood had funded money toward, leaving her with a suitably respectable headstone with the two truest things about her.
Beloved mother.
Cherished friend.
He'd knelt down on that green grass for a long time, eyes closed, lost in his grief, and when he'd come back up again, his eyes had been wet.
I'd never wanted to wrap my arms around someone as much as I did right in that moment.
I never could understand that while when I looked at his tears, I felt respect for his pain, when I faced my own tears, all I felt was disgust at my weakness.
"Regardless," I said, not wanting to harp on it, "I feel a lot more level-headed today."
"Good," Che said, moving to sit up. "We can grab some coffee, and hit the road. Go talk to Arty. See what he can do for us."
"Sounds like a plan," I agreed, hopping off my side of the bed to brush my teeth.
When we'd made it downstairs, we found a fresh coffee pot brewed and bagels in a brown bag on the counter.
"Seeley," Che explained.
"Wasn't he gone most of the night dealing with the car?" I asked, feeling a stab of guilt that the guy I'd barely spoken a handful of words to doing all of the grunt work.
"He doesn't sleep much," Che explained. "Are those your bags by the back door?"
"Oh, good. I needed something to wear," I said, looking over at them.
Everything I owned, stuffed into two rolling suitcases and one small duffle bag.
I'd always prided myself on traveling light, not needing much to survive, but it suddenly looked like very little while situated in an actual home with furniture and personal touches.
I hadn't let myself give too much thought to getting my own place, but I had to admit that sleeping in a bed where you didn't have to wonder how many people had been on it before was nice.