Pawn (The Pawn Duet #2) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,70

into pretty much getting whatever she wants.

Like, right now. I should be sending her back to the pawn shop, but she made me laugh, and I forgot all about the fact that Hanson’s Bar is not exactly an appropriate place for a twelve-year-old kid.

“So, you gonna go find her, or what?” Jo Jo asks. She sits up on her knees on the stool and reaches behind the bar. She grabs a red plastic cup from a stack and the soda hose, filling the glass.

I narrow my eyes at her.

“Sorry,” she says, sounding not all that apologetic. She raises her hands in defense. “I’m still getting used to this ‘you’re in charge of me and strongly discourage my terrible behavior’ thing.”

I take out my wallet and slap a few bills down on the bar. “Sally, for my beer and her soda,” I say.

Jo Jo follows me out through the back door to the alley. “I’ll bring back the cup!” she shouts back.

Sally smiles. She’s used to Jo Jo’s daily shenanigans by now and even helps Jo Jo do her homework at the bar before it opens.

“Pike, you didn’t answer me, do you think she’s coming back?”

I turn to face her. “I thought you didn’t like Mickey?” I ask.

“I mean, she was okay. I like the way she didn’t let me win at board games or video games. And she never talked to me like she felt sorry for me. The same way you don’t. I wasn’t a broken foster kid to her. I was just a kid. An asshole, but a kid.” She shrugs. “It was nice for someone to see me for who I am but not make that all I am.”

I put my arm around Jo Jo. For being so young, the kid has been through so much, and it’s made her wise beyond her years. “Same, kid. And since you know I’d never lie to you, the truth is that Mickey might not be coming back.”

“But you hope she does? Right?” her eyebrows shoot up.

“I sure as shit do. But I can hope all I want. It doesn’t mean she’s going to come back.”

“I hope she comes back, too,” she says.

I walk Jo Jo to the backdoor of my pawn shop and open it. She goes to duck under my arm, but a loud meowing stops her. She steps back out into the alley.

“The cats are fine. I already fed them,” I say. “They’re starting to be greedy little fuckers. Feed them three times a day every day for a year and get a vet to come out to spay and neuter and give them shots and keep them healthy and build a cat tower the size of the fucking Logan’s Beach water tower filled with cat toys, and suddenly, you’re the center of their universe and the owner of dozens of the little greedy fuckers.”

“I wouldn’t call them fuckers. More like, loveable nuisances.”

The voice. It’s not Jo Jo’s. I know this voice.

“Holy shit,” Jo Jo whispers, tugging on my shirt.

Slowly, I turn to where a woman on the other side of the alley is holding a small kitten in her arms. Long, dark hair draped over her shoulders. She’s wearing a pair of white cut-off shorts and a blue t-shirt tied at her belly button. Holy shit is right.

Mickey. My Mickey.

“So, you two were talking about me?” Mickey asks, stepping toward us. She sets down the kitten who scurries off, disappearing into the cat tower.

“You’re back,” I say, my throat thick.

She beams up at me with clear determined eyes. “I’m back.”

“For how long?” Jo Jo asks, as eager to hear the answer as I am.

Mickey steps toward us and looks at me when she answers. “For as long as you’ll both have me.”

I lift her in my arms and press my lips to hers. “Forever,” I mumble into her mouth. “Fucking forever.”

“Ew, I do not want to witness this shit,” Jo Jo mutters, ducking into the shop. “Call me when you’re done being gross.”

The door shuts. I press Mickey against the wall. “How are you?” I ask, looking her over. She’s here. She’s really fucking here.

In every way.

She smiles and drops her forehead to mine, holding my face in her hands. “I’m great. I’m here.”

“Where the fuck did you go? I called, and they said you left a week ago,” I say.

“There were a lot of goodbyes I had to say. I held a different memorial every day for each member of my family. And I had