Dark Guardian (Black Hoods MC #3) - Avelyn Paige Page 0,4
like I missed the whole darn thing.”
“Still late. I don’t have all day to wait on you.”
He’s lying, of course. Greg has all the time in the world. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it, he likes our standing Friday night card games at the soup kitchen. Greg had stumbled into my life after he’d helped scare off two teenagers trying to steal my purse when I was walking to my car. And here I am, three years later, still trying to repay him for his bravery, of which is against his will.
“I’m sorry, but I brought you something that might cheer you up.”
His brow arches in interest. Slipping my hand into my bag, I pull out a wrapped Whataburger. His entire attitude changes when I set it on the table and slide it over. Snatching it up, he devours the burger in four bites.
“Better?” I laugh when he runs his weathered thumb across his lips before sucking it into his mouth.
“Would’ve been better if you’d gotten me two of them.”
I slip the second burger from my purse and hand it to him, watching his perpetual frown slip into the tiniest smile. Stuffing it into his worn Army jacket pocket, he pats it in satisfaction.
“I’ll forgive you this time, but don’t be late again.”
I roll my eyes. He’ll never admit it, but he enjoys our Friday nights together, even if I am late more often than not. I just wish I could visit with him more, but my caseload prevents it.
“How have things been this week?” I ask, trying to make small talk while he’s still in a good mood.
“Weather’s been shit. Too hot.” It has been hot, topping in the upper nineties for the past three weeks. I can barely stand it, so I have no doubt it’s been awful in his tent a few blocks away. The place he wouldn’t have to live in if he’d just take me up on my offer.
“There’s air conditioning at the VA.”
“I ain’t goin’ to no VA. Those bastards sent me to Nam, and they’ll try to send me back.”
“The war has been over since 1973,” I chuckle. “I’m pretty sure at 72, you don’t meet the age requirement for active duty.”
“Doesn’t mean they won’t try.”
It’s the same argument we have every week. I offer to get him off the streets, and he fires back nonsense at me. It’s the definition of insanity, but it won’t stop me from trying. After finally getting him to open up to me last year, I was able to verify his veteran status, and even had a caseworker set up for him. But he won’t go. It’s frustrating, to say the least.
“They aren’t going to send you back, Greg. They just want to help you get medical care and give you a safe place to live.”
“I said no, didn’t I? N-O. Even spelled it for ya.”
“You did, but you earned this with your service.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, attempting to look intimidating. “They didn’t do shit for me when I lost my job, my house, or my life. Why should I trust them to house and feed me?”
I stifle a sigh. He has to be the stubbornest man on the planet. He could have a warm bed to sleep in and round-the-clock medical care, but he won’t budge. When he left the Army, things were in a constant state of flux for benefits and support. How he got lost in the shuffle, I’ll never know, but after a few calls and a push from a friend higher up in the food chain, I’d secured him a spot at the local VAs assisted living facility. All he had to do was show up.
“Consider it,” I urge.
“No,” he fires back. “Are we playing, or do you plan to sit there all night, gabbing and clucking at me like ladies at a beauty parlor?” Greg has always been blunt and to the point since the day we met. If he’s ready to move on, you can either comply, or he’ll just get up and leave. There is no middle ground with him.
“Fine. But this conversation isn’t over. Poker or Gin Rummy?”
Pulling out a worn deck of cards from his other jacket pocket, he opens the box and shuffles the deck, his fingers nimble for his age. Without so much as another word, he deals out a hand and lays the cards down in front of me.
“Poker. And the bet is more of those burgers.”
Greg cracks the