kid, failure for me meant going hungry or receiving a beating. However, Conor can fuck up today and start over tomorrow. When he’s president, failure won’t be so simple. But he has time to get his ball swinging perfected.”
Even smirking at his comment, I feel the burden of today.
Bronco likely notices where my head is because he says, “Pixie is in the basement, watching TV and waiting for you. Lana said she checked a half hour ago. No one else is in the basement, so use that privacy however you like.”
When I yawn loudly, I realize sleep might suit me more than a good fuck.
As we pull into his garage, Bronco asks in a quiet yet dark voice, “Do you think the Killing Joes are still around?”
“I don’t know,” I say, too tired to lie. “If I had to guess, no. But I never would have thought they’d come here.”
Nodding, Bronco heads inside. I follow him and then walk straight downstairs. I know Fairuza, Dove, and Future are safe. I need to see Pixie. More importantly, she needs to know I didn’t end up like her father.
Stretched out on the couch, Pixie dozes while a cooking show plays silently on the TV nearby. Her big brown eyes pop open as soon as I lean over her. She starts to smile but then notices my bloody shirt. Breathing faster now, she jumps up and reaches for me.
“Don’t leave yet,” she gasps and strokes my face. “Stay in this story longer. I need you.”
Smiling, I kiss her softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you’re bleeding.”
“Just a minor thing. Got it checked by a doctor. I’m tired, though. Can we sleep now and talk tomorrow?”
Pixie gives me a beautiful smile. She jumps over the back of the couch and then fumbles around for the remote. Once the TV is off, she takes my hand and stares lovingly at me.
“I love you. You’re special,” she says, seeming nervous.
“I love you, and you’re my everything.”
Pixie wants to help me remove my boots, but I just kick them off before wiggling free of my socks. Realizing I won’t let her take care of me, she glues herself to my body. We relax on the mattress, neither wanting a blanket. I love how similar we are despite our different paths to this life together.
I’m excited about tomorrow and the next day and the next. I get to watch Pixie explore a million new things. I’ve missed too many experiences in my life between the lies and the drugs. With Pixie, I plan to soak in every moment together.
PART 7: EXPANDING THE GARDEN
PIXIE
Anders returns to me. Long after everyone—except the honeys—goes to sleep, I worry over my blond bear’s fate.
In Bronco’s basement, I should remain vigilant until Anders’s return. Yet, fatigue tugs at me, and no television show in the world can prevent me from dozing.
Suddenly, Anders appears like a dream above me. I’m relieved until I see he’s covered in blood. I’m certain he’s only returned to say goodbye. Papa struggled to speak after the bullet cut him down. He said my name and then Dove’s. I think he wanted to tell us how he loved us and not to be afraid. Except the government men pulled us away from him. I’ll never know what his last words were as he died alone on the ground.
For hours, I’ve worried Anders would die without sharing his final thoughts with me. Now, he’s here. I inspect his large, bloodied body for injuries. Anders claims the bullet went straight through. That’s better, he says. I don’t know how a bullet in his body can ever be good!
“You should go to the hospital,” I insist, looking over his bloodied clothes as he guides me to the guest room.
“I just need sleep,” he says. “The pain meds are kicking in. A good night’s rest will fix more than a trip to the hospital. Besides, I got stitched up.”
Anders relaxes on the guest bed, wanting me tucked against his body. I’m afraid for him to close his eyes. Will he ever open them again? Anders pretends he isn’t in pain at all, but I know he smoked a lot of pot before going to the Village. The doctor gave him pills an hour ago. Will he suffer when all those chemicals are gone from his body?
Falling asleep quickly, Anders can’t answer my questions. I squirm free of his large arm and sit next to his body. A small table light illuminates enough of Anders’s