Counterfeit Love

"You will miss my late-night calls, angel, admit it."

"Goodbye Finch," she said, climbing in, slamming the door, and damn near flooring it out of the driveway, leaving me standing there with gravel dust clouded around me.

Eventually, I took myself back inside, grabbing a beer and the cigarettes I'd hidden in a drawer.

I had cut back, but I hadn't given it up entirely. And I was itching for something with more of a kick than the patch and the gum and the goddamn lollipops that were going to guarantee a trip to the dentist in the next few months, no matter how much I brushed my teeth.

One of the many items we'd picked out when furniture shopping was a pair of old school rocking chairs for the front porch. Well, no. We didn't pick them out. I had. They made me nostalgic for my childhood, for the smell of tobacco in the air from my grandfather's pipe, for sun-steeped sweet tea in my hand, rocking the evening away.

Chris had thought they were overkill, but I had insisted.

Now, I was glad I had.

It was a good way to end a strange day.

I wasn't someone prone to overthinking, but I found my mind racing a bit as I smoked, as I moved from one beer to three, watching the evening start to fall.

Maybe she was determined to avoid me unless we had business to talk about. More likely, though, she wanted to avoid me because she felt the spark I felt there too. And, for whatever her reason, she didn't want to go there. Or was trying to tell herself that she didn't want to go there.

Well, I guess there was just going to need to be some business problem in the near future then.

I was about ready to head back inside when there was the telltale crunch of tires on the gravel driveway.

Not a second after hearing that, I could see the headlights of a massive dark F-250 truck.

My gun was just inside the door.

Depending on who came out of that truck, I could get there before they got to me.

I wondered for a short moment if it was the guy from the gym--Jake something or other--who was looking to settle the score since his boss wasn't around to tell him to behave.

I decided against that as the engine cut, the door opened, and the figure that appeared out of it was about twice the size of the guy at the gym.

Dark haired, dark-bearded, shoulders like a damn linebacker, wide and strong as he was tall, this guy had an intense gaze. And it was focused on me.

"McAwley," he growled out at me, lumbering up the front path.

"That's me," I agreed, wondering if it was a mistake or a power move that I hadn't gotten up to get the gun.

Everything about this man seemed reasonably calm and collected, though.

"Malcolm," he told me, jerking his chin at me as he moved past me to drop down in the rocking chair on the other side of the small outdoor table. He reached downward, grabbing a beer, twisting off the top. "Shouldn't smoke," he added, nose wrinkling a bit.

I had no idea who this man was, but he looked like he would knock down walls for a living. Using nothing but his body. I had never seen someone quite so giant in person before. My father had a saying for someone like him: built like a brick shithouse. Eloquent, my old man was not, but pretty accurate in his descriptions.

"Well, Malcolm, to what do I owe the honor?" I asked when he said nothing, staring off into the mostly-wooded side of the property.

"This all yours?" he asked instead of answering, waving his beer out toward the front yard.

"Fuck if I know. Part of it, I guess. But I'm renting. I honestly didn't even pick the place out. A woman I know burst in and took over, barking orders, making me fall in line."

"Yeah, she does that," Malcolm agreed, nodding slightly.

Oh.

Okay.

So he knew Chris.

And he was likely here because Chris's mom had seen me with Chris at the gym, because she maybe was wondering what kind of man her daughter was getting involved with.

I had no idea what his relation was to Chris, but he was clearly the man here to give me that talk.

The 'Chris is special and deserves respect' talk. I had yet to be graced with one of those, but they were legend where I came from. They often came with a man sitting there on his porch cleaning his gun while he gave it.

"She your family?" I asked.

"Something like a cousin, yeah. My mother has been at Hailstorm since she was a teenager. My father is with the Henchmen MC with Chris's father, Cash."

"Got it," I agreed, nodding. "And Lo went to sic you on me since she saw me at the gym with Chris this morning."