Dark Guardian (Black Hoods MC #3) - Avelyn Paige Page 0,5
first smile of the night. And true to his word, he earns himself at least a dozen burgers over the course of our playing time. I’m not what you would call a card shark, but I’m decent. Greg, however, is a pro. If I hadn't called off the last game when I did, I’d be buying stock in Whataburger to pay off my debt to him.
“Giving up easy today, kid?” he teases.
I motion to the setting sun outside the booth’s window and say, “It’s getting late.”
“Past your curfew, eh?”
“I don’t have a curfew,” I mumble back.
“Neither do I, so why the rush? I need to earn some more burgers before you start trying to beat me.”
“It’s been a long week,” I lie. Greg is still a capable guy, but I’d rather that both of us weren’t out on the streets this late at night.
Nodding, he gathers up the cards and pops the deck back into his pocket before we shove out of the booth.
“Don’t forget what you owe me, Grace. Extra cheese, and maybe some fries.”
I laugh at his demands. He knows I’ll get him whatever he wants, and that’s how our relationship has been since he rescued me. He may grumble about being able to take care of himself, but if he really needs it, he’ll give in soon enough. Blankets, coats, and gift cards, or cash for food, are just drops in the bucket to what I’d like to do for him. I just wish he’d be more open about the VA. But hopefully, I can convince him to go there soon.
“I won’t forget.”
“Don’t be late.”
“I guess we’ll see what happens,” I throw back over my shoulder. “Maybe I’ll have a date next Friday night.”
“Yeah, me,” he scoffs. “But if you do find yourself a man, he better come with you. I’m going to have some questions for him.”
Yeah, right. There has never been a man in my life, and I doubt there ever will be. No one wants to be involved with a workaholic who can never make plans.
Chuckling, I shake my head. “See you next week.”
He follows closely behind me until I reach my car and unlock the door. Satisfied that I’m safe, he turns, heading toward his tent home, but stops and waits until I’m inside my car. The engine of my Volvo starts up on the first turn of the ignition, and with a wave, I pull out of my parking spot. Standing on the corner, he watches until I disappear around the corner.
Most nights, I’d listen to music during my drive, but silence is more fitting for my current mood. The banter between Greg and me as we played earlier runs through my thoughts instead.
How many other veterans like him are on the streets right now because they fell through the cracks?
It breaks my heart to know these men and women put their lives on the line to protect our country, and we’ve failed them so badly. Greg is one of the luckier ones since our chance meeting, but a part of me wants to advocate more for those like him. Between my own work, and volunteering at Greg’s shelter throughout the week to help support the attached soup kitchens serving line, my plate is already full. Yet, there has to be some way I can help them. I just have to find it.
My older apartment complex comes into view within ten minutes of leaving the shelter. The old brick contrasts against the new luxury apartments that continue to pop up in the historical district of Austin. Where families used to live in beautiful historic homes, younger couples and singles now dot the sidewalks, dressed in fancy clothes, carrying their coffee in one hand and their phones in the other.
As I park my car in my designated spot next to the entrance of my building, two younger women in skirts that leave zero to the imagination, and heels high enough to reach Heaven’s gates, trot by me toward a waiting Prius with a ride share logo in the back window a block away, their giggles echoing off the surrounding buildings.
“I miss the old neighborhood,” I murmur under my breath, walking up the stairs to the front entrance. My apartment is on the first floor of the building near the back. With most of my neighbors nearing Greg’s age, it’s quiet at night, which I love. Work is far from quiet, and the silence at home in the evenings is almost therapeutic.
Unlocking my door,