Page 167 of Rebellious

“What?” he asked, trying to slow down his drinking, so he wouldn’t take all the champagne for himself. “I’m listenin’.”

“It’s about your pickup trucks.”

He didn’t use Megan’s Valentine’s Day present as much as he should’ve. She’d dropped a lot of bills on the customized truck, but his pickup wasn’t that old. Besides, he just hated to taint anything Megan touched with the darker side of his life. “What about them?”

“Which one do you prefer?”

He gulped his champagne. “Why?” he asked carefully.

“I was thinking we could give CJ your old one. I think you like that one, though. So, we can sell the one I gave you and use the money to buy CJ—”

“Ain’t you just told me to get the lil’ motherfucker a bike, Megan?”

“As much as I’m excited for him to have a motorcycle—” If she was excited, he was a fucking mouse. Her look and tone said otherwise. “I think if we tell him he has some months to design his biker, he’ll be more accepting of the pickup.”

“I’m still not followin’ you. The lil’ motherfucker don’t have no fuckin’ job. How the fuck he gettin’ a pickup and a fuckin’ bike?”

“Sell the pickup to pay for the Harley, but right now, if he gets a bike it might be one more push for him to leave school early.”

“Fine, Megan,” Christopher huffed, knowing he wouldn’t win that argument, even though CJ promised he’d see school through to graduation. “Do it matter which truck I give him?” he asked sourly.

“I’d prefer he have the older one. You know? The less valuable one? The one that wasn’t a gift from me to you?”

“You sure this not your way of gettin’ me to use that motherfucker?”

“Keep the stupid trucks, Christopher.” Megan drained her glass and set it on the floor next to the love pallet, then laid back against the pillows. “I’ll buy CJ a vehicle of some kind. I’ll ask Diesel to make the deal.”

Christopher gnashed his teeth together. Once he set his flute next to the bottle, he laid back and pulled her into his arms.

Anger flushed her skin and warmed her body. He nuzzled her neck. “I still transport illegal shit in my pickup sometimes, baby,” he whispered. “The truck you gave me untouched by all that. How about I give him the keys to the new pickup and tell him it’s ours? Ima tell him sometimes I gotta use it to take his beautiful ma out. Okay, baby?”

She held herself stiff a moment longer, then relented and turned to him. “Okay, Christopher. He needs something of his own. He’s in my Lexus more than I am.”

She was right.

Grabbing his shoulder, she pulled him toward her. “I think we’ve done enough talking for the time being. Don’t you?”

He grinned. “Fuck, yeah,” he told her and met her sweet mouth with his own.

Wednesday, April 17th

Sitting at the table in the kitchen, Mortician sipped his coffee, absorbing the silence of the house. He needed to go to Roxanne’s and ask if she’d heard from Bailey. He also needed to get his boys’ belongings from his mama-in-law’s. He needed to talk to Harley.

Val called a little while ago and updated Mort on both Harley and Zoann. Mort was happy for Val, even as he wished one of Bailey’s unplanned pregnancies had been successful.

Harley didn’t want to come home. Val had overheard her talking to Zoann before CJ picked her up in Meggie’s Lexus and headed to school. She’d told Zoann she was only returning out of duty, but she no longer felt as if she belonged in the house. Her mother, she said, only allowed her to come back recently and then she’d wanted to bar Harley from everyone. She no longer trusted Bailey.

That cut through Mort so fucking deeply. His baby girl, his pride and joy, felt like an outsider in her own fucking house. In the pretty room that she and Bailey decorated together.

“Mort, Harley said she wants to stay and help Zoann, since she don’t have any girls there. And, fuck, Harley’s sob broke my fucking heart. She said if she hadn’t been so mean to her mama and supported her when she wanted another baby, she would still love her.”

Lighting a cigarette, Mort tried to forget those words. Wondered how he could let Harley know that none of this was her fault. He didn’t know how Zoann had responded, but she was a very practical chick. She probably advised Harley as best she could and made some of the points that Mort wanted to convey. Harley would listen to Zoann.

The ringing of his phone interrupted his musings, and less than a second later, the doorbell sounded. The back door opened, and Roxanne stepped into the kitchen. He looked at his phone.

Meggie girl flashed across the screen.

The doorbell rang again.