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“You’re talking about something more serious.”
I drink. Then drink again. “I am.”
Harper nods, then chews on her lip for a moment. “I think I know someone. Em, just to be clear: do you want my help to get a gun?”
“I do.”
Harper nods, then returns to chewing her lip. “I love you, and because I love you, I’ll think about it. Give me a little time to make the arrangements, OK?”
“I will. You know I appreciate you, right?”
“Of course. Same goes for how I feel about you, Em. And don’t think I won’t forget about this, either. Next time I want some Xanax, I am hitting you up.”
“Whatever you need,” I say. I’ll never forget how lucky I am to have a friend like her. It’s scary as hell having Jay in my life, but with friends like her and Sophie, I think I stand a chance of making it out alive. Though how close I might be to death right now, with Jay’s threat still scratched deep into the surface of my car, makes me appreciate being alive… and realize how short time truly is. For a long moment, I look at my empty glass and think about ordering another. “I think I’m going to go.”
“Wait a second,” she says, and she pours me a glass of water. Then she takes a pot of coffee from the coffeemaker and pours a cup and sets it in front of me. “Drink both, then another round of each, and after an hour and a few trips to the bathroom, I might be satisfied enough to let you drive home. Until then, relax.”
Grabbing the coffee, I smile at her. It’s nice to have someone who cares, even if it means they’re delaying me from going after what I really want. Life is short, after all.
“What is it?” Harper says.
“I said I was going to go, but it’s not my home I’m going to.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hunter
“We have another job for you.”
I frown at my phone, then at the writing on Emily’s car, then at my phone again. “Can’t right now. I don’t have a babysitter.”
Never thought that’d be an excuse I pull, ever. Charlie giggles in my arms, squirms, and I tickle him under his arms. He giggles louder and I smile at him. Never thought I’d enjoy being in this position, either. With each passing day, I appreciate him even more. Sure, he wears me out, makes it hard to sleep, gets cranky sometimes, constantly needs to eat, is often shitting his pants, but I’ve had a few friends like that, too. And none of those friends were as good a listener, as cute, or as fun to be around as Charlie.
“We can help you with that,” Havoc says. there’s no room for argument in his voice, but I’m still going to try.
“I’ve seen the things you build, and I think I know you pretty well. I’m not trusting my Charlie’s life to anything you’ve got going on.”
“Not us. My ol’ lady’s abuela, Yolanda. She’s excellent with kids.”
“Abuela?”
“It means ‘grandmother’ in Spanish, obviously. We’re a multicultural household. Get with the times.”
“I’m a single dad and I handle all the child-rearing duties. I think that’s pretty fucking modern,” I say, feeling suddenly defensive. Which I know is ludicrous, but I don’t like Havoc’s tone.
“Even the diaper stuff?”
“What? Do you think I just let him shit on the floor? Of course I do the diaper stuff.”
“Whoa. Respect.”
“Thanks.”
“So, listen, I’m going to give you Yolanda’s address. She’ll be expecting you. Drop little Charlie off and then come meet us at the clubhouse. We have to go bust some guy’s face for a collection job. You can pick up your baby afterward.”
* * * * *
It’s not just ‘some guy.’
