“The description of the driver could be Chew, outside the age. And he had a way with hotwiring. If the car is stolen, though, it still could be either one.”
Rush nodded.
“Priority one is still finding Chew,” Tack declared.
“Agreed.”
“But I’m thinkin’ a sit down with Valenzuela is in order.”
Rush did not like that.
But his father wasn’t wrong.
When he repeated, “Agreed,” the word came out tighter.
“Other shit is goin’ down too. We’re gonna have to have a Club meeting.”
Rush nodded again.
“I’ll get on that,” Tack said.
“Right.”
Tack looked between Rush and Rebel and murmured, “Now we should all get on with our nights.”
“Yeah,” Rush said.
“See you again, Rebel. And look forward to it bein’ for a better reason next time,” Tack said to his girl.
“Me too,” she replied.
Tack turned his eyes to his son. “Later, Rush.”
“Later, Dad.”
His father gave him a chin dip and gave Rebel a soft look of the variety Rush knew he reserved for old ladies in good standing with the Club (these being Lanie, Carissa, Millie, Sheila, Rosalie and Keely, all there were left after a lot of drama, except Arlo’s old lady, who Tack liked but Arlo treated like shit, so she didn’t come around often to get Rush’s dad’s soft looks).
Then Tack moved away.
“Later, brother.”
“Later.”
“Yo, later.”
These words his brothers called out as they moved out.
Except Hound, who caught his eyes and declared, “Drive-bys at yours too. Can’t be too safe.”
Rush lifted his chin to Hound as Hound took off.
Tack had turned into the parlor.
Rush turned to Rebel.
“Best be packing a bigger bag,” he advised. “Then we’ll get home.”
She looked into his eyes, something working in hers.
She didn’t give him whatever was working in hers.
She started to pull away, saying, “I’ll get on that.”
He wrapped both arms around her and kept her where she was, regaining her attention.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“It’s getting late and—”
He gave her as squeeze and a warning, “Babe.”
She stared up at him, huffed out a breath, then admitted quietly, “I fucked this up.”
His arms tightened and repeated his father’s words, “Get that out of your head, Rebel.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
He let her go with his arms but caught her with both hands at her jaw then put his face in hers again.
“Baby, you did. You just did. There’s no goin’ back and undoing it. And I’ll add this, what you did was loyal and brave. It was beautiful, Rebel. It just didn’t work out. Not because you didn’t know what you were doin’ or the reasons behind what you were doin’ were stupid. Just because this is jacked-up shit that even Chaos, who’s been dealin’ with this kinda garbage for decades, can’t unravel. You are not responsible for the actions of assholes. You didn’t get Harrietta dead. You didn’t get her body dumped on the street in front of your house. Harrietta didn’t even buy that. The men on the other side of this war are pieces of trash. They do what they do and there’s no explaining it, no understanding it. The only job we got right now is to survive it.”
She gazed into his eyes and said nothing.
So he prompted, “You with me?”
“Are you sure you’re real?”
He smiled at her.
“Yeah, sweetheart, I’m definitely real.”
She tipped her chin, forcing her way to press her forehead into his collarbone.
He moved both his hands to curl around the back of her neck and tipped his chin to kiss the top of her head.
“Um, not to creep you out, but you look a lot like your dad, and if you grow older and still look like him, this would be far from a bad thing,” she said into his chest.
That was when he grinned into her hair.
“You have prettier eyes though,” she mumbled.
His grin in her hair got bigger.
Then he said there, “Let’s get you packed.”
She nodded, her forehead rolling against him, before she pulled away.
This time, it was Rebel who took his hand.
And Rush would find the journey to her pad was not a lot easier, meandering through Essence’s hippie-practically-hoarder house.
But once they’d bested the quagmire, the path at the back between homes was a lot easier to navigate.
The Real Deal
Rebel
Rush led me in through the door at the back of his house.
It had been clear when he gave me the tour that he’d done a lot of work on his place. And it looked really good.
But I kind of hoped he kept the kitchen like it was, with its brick-red walls and light wood