“There’s a place around here who does rice, beans, and veg ones for your vegetarian ass,” she told me, coming out of the bathroom in a pair of men’s blue and green boxers—loose in the ass with a pocket in the front she had no use for—and a black ribbed tee. She was still drying her dark hair with a towel as she came into the kitchen. “I think they even have plant-based cheese.”
“That sounds like a plan then. Do we assemble the bitches, or keep it just the two of us?” I asked. “Was that a hard question?” I asked, smiling, when Vi just stood there in a daze for a moment.
“Well, Gracie is having guy trouble again, isn’t she? And Hope always says she will come, then flakes off for work. Willa is out of town for a meeting. That leaves Andi and Luna.”
“Andi has a litter of opossums,” I supplied.
“Oh, right. At least they’re not rabid raccoons,” Violet said, grimacing.
“You’re never going to let that one go, are you?”
“I had to get rabies shots, Billie. Rabies.”
“So… Luna?” I asked.
“Luna will be buried in a book. Maybe…” she started, trailing off when the apartment door opened.
And there was Malc, swallowing up the entire doorway, standing there with a flabbergasted look on his face.
“You’re catching flies, Big Guy,” Vi said, smirking at him.
“This was open,” Malcolm said, voice airless, like he’d gotten the wind kicked out of him.
“Obviously,” Violet agreed.
“Unlocked,” he added.
“Seems like it,” Vi said, nodding.
“You two are alone in here.” When he got no response to that from us, he threw out one of those big arms of his. “You have to lock the fucking door. You live on the first floor. Anyone could waltz right in. And don’t try to tell me that this black stone thing would keep people with bad intentions out,” he grumbled, motioning to the black tourmaline I had hanging next to the door for that very reason, actually.
“You’re grumpy,” I declared. “Have you not been sleeping enough? I can make you more of that herbal—“
“No!” the word rushed out of him too fast, a horrified, disgusted sound. And, to be fair, I hadn’t been able to find a way to make his tea palatable. I’d barely been able to choke it down myself. “I mean, I’m sleeping fine,” he said, moving inside and closing the door.
“Nice save,” Vi mumbled, shooting him a smirk.
“I’m actually here for a favor,” he said, looking at me.
“I’m always happy to help. Unless it is ripping up the mint I planted at the clubhouse. Because I want that there.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s… well, it’s Rowe,” he said, shuffling the boats he called feet.
“Rowe?” Vi asked when I suddenly couldn’t force my tongue, voice box, or brain to work together to form a sentence.
Which was likely because my mind was shooting off in a million different directions at once at the mention of his name.
I’d been trying to avoid thinking about him, to be perfectly honest. It was harder to do since I’d learned of his fall, but I’d just done what people who couldn’t face up their issues have been doing for generations. I threw myself into my work. I took on extra yoga classes for a teacher who was out on maternity leave. I added more private clients to my list. I put up new products in my online storefront.
I kept busy.
And keeping busy helped keep my mind from imagining that beautiful man falling backward off of a roof after being shot. Or picturing him in a hospital bed, needing love and support, maybe some feminine energy, but getting surrounded by tough-it-out and rub-some-dirt-in-it dudes instead.
Did he still slip in here and there?
Obviously.
Especially in those quiet moments before sleep when I would mentally plan out herbal teas and salves I could make to help him recover. And then need to remind myself that I was the last person in the world he wanted any sort of nursing from.
“What about Rowe?” Violet asked when I still couldn’t seem to form a sentence. “He’s back, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, we got him back here five days ago. But, ah, he’s not doing so great,” Malc admitted, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, his head ducked, gaze on the floor. It was a vulnerable position for him. He was worried about his friend.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Malc,” I said, moving forward, reaching for his hand, holding it between both of mine. “This can’t be easy on you.”
At that, I got a humorless snort. “It’s not easy on anyone right now. He’s… he’s a miserable fuck. I say that with love, but it is what it is.”
“I get it. Remember the time that runner closed the door on my hand and broke three fingers? I was so fucking nasty.”