"Yeah," I agreed. "It's actually impressive how well you all get along. You're all so different. And now with the kids and stuff. Do you like the kids?" I asked, knowing why I was asking, but hoping he didn't pick up on it.
"Yeah. Was fucking terrified of them at first. You know they're small. But up close, they're really fucking small. But once I got used to that, they're nice to have around. Gotta admit, it's been fucking hilarious to watch Huck fret over them, and clash with Che who has a much more laid-back parenting style."
"Do the others plan on settling down?" I asked, adding silently Do you?
"I don't think any of us planned on it. Life just threw the right women in our path."
Our.
He was including himself in that.
And there was that heart-squeeze thing again.
"The way I see it, given enough time, all of us will be settled down in whatever way feels right for us."
"What way feels right for you?" I asked.
"Dunno. Never really given it a lot of thought since there had never been a woman to picture a future with before."
"I've always been a bit of a daydreamer," I admitted. "I am always thinking about what the future might hold."
"Yeah?" he asked, his fingers stroking up and down my side. "What do you see in your future?"
"A nail salon. I know it is really unrealistic, but maybe even a chain of them."
"That's not unrealistic."
"Belle and I were raised very modestly," I told him. "And then when our mom passed, we were even more strapped. So even one salon feels pretty ambitious to me. But the ultimate goal would be a chain."
"What about for home instead of work?"
"A house would be nice. I've always, all my life, lived in an apartment. I don't think I ever realized how nice a house would be until I came here. But I would like a house with a center kitchen so I can see almost the whole house while I make big breakfasts on Sundays for my loved ones. Including maybe a couple kids."
"Just maybe?"
"Okay. Definitely," I admitted.
"Center kitchen and pancakes and sticky faces that look a lot like you sounds pretty good," McCoy said, and this time it wasn't just a little squeeze in my chest, it was a big one. "But first, we've got to figure this shit out," he said.
We never really expected for the answers to come right through the front door...
Chapter Thirteen
McCoy
"I'm getting sick of hearing that we don't have any answers," Huck grumbled at everyone gathered in the kitchen, picking at the food Eddie had put out.
The man had put out a spread like it was a holiday instead of our usual church meeting. From nachos to queso to a giant pile of chicken wings and, inexplicably, a plate of egg noodles with what looked like butter on them.
"The fuck is this? Are we five years old?" Huck asked at the same time I noticed the noodles.
"Arty," Eddie supplied. "Called him earlier and asked him what he wanted. He said buttered noodles, man. What am I supposed to do, not make them?"
"You're really going to flip when you hear what he puts on buttered noodles," Teddy said, smirking. "Ketchup."
"Christ," Huck said, half groaning and half laughing at the idea. "Oh, finally," he added when we could hear the gates opening. "He said he would be here half an hour ago."
Arty lived in his own little world a lot of the time. He didn't do well with time or deadlines, anything that regimented his hectic brain and life. You could suggest he arrive somewhere at seven at night. But he could easily get there at ten, or not until two days later, whenever he managed to climb back out of that head of his, and rejoin the rest of the world.
We were lucky he was showing up at all.
And, really, the only reason he was probably had a lot to do with Huck calling Booker to have him remind Arty about the meeting, since Arty hero-worshipped Booker, so he tried his best never to let the man down.
Booker wasn't even at the meeting.
But sometimes we had to use him to get what we needed out of our friendly neighborhood hacker.
The front door opened.
And for a long moment, none of us looked, figuring Arty would barrel through with his usual frenetic energy. When he didn't, though, it was Alaric who looked first.
"Shit," he hissed, reaching for his gun.
We all followed suit as he crushed up against the wall near the doorway. "You don't want to do this, man," he called, voice tight as he made a gun motion to his own temple, managing to relay that it was Arty there with someone else who had a gun.
A low, growling noise moved through Huck.
Sure, Arty could be frustrating, but we all had a soft spot for the kid. Which meant we all felt protective of him. Especially since he couldn't or didn't want to learn how to defend himself, despite working for a ton of shady people who he absolutely should have been wary of.