Page 77 of Goose

Ally

Iparked my car on the concrete drive behind the house. As soon as I shut the car door, Goose shouted at me from over the roof’s edge. “I’m up here.”

I looked up. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d seen him, but he looked different. His face was gaunt and covered in a few days’ growth of whiskers. The skin underneath his eyes was dark. He needed sleep. Desperately, I might add.

“Coming up,” I said.

When I reached the roof, I gawked at the sight of him. Dirty handprints peppered his normally pristine white tee shirt. His jeans were covered in a light film of gray dirt, as were his boots. He was filthy from head to toe.

He came limping toward me.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Got everything cleaned up,” he said. “Worst fucking night of my life.”

“No. What happened to your legs? You’re limping.”

“Bad fucking night, that’s all,” he said. “Just got home, to be honest. Left a message at the diner, drove here, and walked up the steps. Haven’t even been inside yet.”

“You look like hell.”

“Feel worse,” he said.

“What happened? Did you get everything resolved?” I asked. “Everything?”

“Cleaned up one mess, and Cash made another.”

I was starting to not like this Cash guy so much. I walked up to Goose and gave him a light kiss, being careful not to get any of the filth that was all over him on me. “Seriously?”

He forced a sigh and then rubbed his hand over the top of his closely-cropped hair. “He’s a stupid fuck.”

“I was defending him the other day,” I said. “Now, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re right.”

He laughed. “I’m right.”

“What did he do?”

He shuffled to the bench, sat down, and patted the seat beside him. “Have a seat.”

I sat down at his side. He smelled like sweat and adrenaline. Like my father did after a big job.

“I guess I can tell you,” he said. “Not specifics, but some basic stuff on why he’s so fucking frustrating.”

“Okay.”

“Everyone in our little group has a specific strength. I’m good with guns. We’ve got a guy that’s good with computers. We’ve got another guy that’s former military—he’s good with tactics, making bombs, and all kinds of cool military-type shit. Anyway, we each gave our strengths.”

I looked at him and widened my eyes dramatically. “And Cash is good at being brave.”

He laughed. “He wasn’t very fucking brave last night. Or this morning. Whenever the fuck it was. Sunrise. Whatever time that falls into. He was screaming like a little bitch.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one, he damned near hit a tree.”

“On his motorcycle?”

“No, in a car. Truck. Whatever you want to call it. An SUV.”