Joker (Hell's Ankhor #8) - Aiden Bates Page 0,17

and shot him a playful smirk. My way of saying we’d pick this back up later. “Give me your number,” I said. “We’ll set up a time for you to come by my workshop and check it out.”

I expected some sort of crack about checking me out, or something along those lines, but Joker was looking almost… stupefied. He blinked a few times, and honestly, it was kind of cute. Not a word I’d associated with him before. After a moment, he fished out his phone, and we exchanged numbers.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Right,” Joker said, still staring. “Sounds good.”

Grinning, I strolled back to the clubhouse to check in with the rest of the guys before I left, and I didn’t let myself look back over my shoulder at Joker. I didn’t want to get my hopes up—and I didn’t need to think too far ahead. I was going to take this day by day. I wanted to know Joker better, and I was willing to go at his pace. But I couldn’t help the little thrill of excitement in my chest.

There was something there between us. Some sort of flickering chemistry, tangible. Something weighty, warm like a humid summer’s day. And I desperately wanted to find out where this thing could go—if Joker would let it happen.

7

Joker

“And then he just walked away!” I said, throwing my hands up dramatically.

“I dunno,” Heather said, chewing on her thumbnail. “Sounds like he likes you.”

Her best friend, Anna, giggled behind her hand and tugged her knitted beanie tighter around her ears.

“Aw, come on,” I said, shifting on the uncomfortable little stool I was seated on. “No one really likes me.”

“We like you!” four voices shouted in unison.

I grinned and rolled my eyes at the kids. It was Thursday, which meant I was spending the afternoon at the Children’s Hospital in Elkin Lake. I’d been volunteering with Heather, Anna, Patrick, and Devon since Parker passed away. He’d been treated in this same hospital, in the same cancer ward these kids were in. All four of them were in their early teens, and I’d watched them grow up, coming in and out of the ward for treatments for their different cancers.

It was just something I did for fun, alongside the small charity fund I’d started in Parker’s name. (Another reason I valued the club—housing in exchange for work meant most of my limited money could go straight into the fund.)

The kids were so strong—and so smart. Spending time here, in this small, brightly colored classroom at the front of the hall, was often the highlight of my week. And I didn’t even do much for them, anyway—we just played games, talked, watched television, and sometimes I brought them carvings, too.

I’d been thinking endlessly about the moment at the backyard ever since it happened. So of course I’d had to get the kids’ opinions on what had happened—they were smarter than I was, for sure. And for as long as I’d been volunteering with them, I’d shared stories about the club. They knew all the members by name now, just from my stories, and always asked me for updates. Heather, especially, hung on to my every word—she dreamed of having a bike of her own one day. I was sure her doctors loved that I planted that dangerous dream in her head.

“But forget about him,” I said.

“No way,” Anna said. “He sounds cool.”

“The sign is way more important,” I said with a grin. “As long as I can pull it off.”

“You’re super good at carving,” Patrick said, grinning his toothy, crooked grin. “It’ll be easy for you!”

“Only if you help me with the design,” I said. “You guys are way better than me at drawing.”

“You said Jonah was an artist,” Heather said curtly. “Just ask him.”

Heather had a memory like a steel trap. I blinked at her. “Hey. That’s a good idea.”

And it was, even if the thought of asking Jonah for help with this made me feel a little queasy. Ever since I was a kid, I’d learned to be as self-sufficient as possible. The more I could do for myself, the less I had to rely on other people—and that was handy when my parents needed to focus their energy on Parker. If I didn’t take care of myself, I wouldn’t have been taken care of at all. And now, as an adult, it was easier to just do things for myself. I wasn’t comfortable leaning on other people for things