Page 162 of The Obvious Check
“Hey, sleeping on my back has its advantages. Better angle for you when you want to—”
“Cade!” But she's fighting a smile now.
I shift my weight carefully because even though the bruising has faded from that lovely purple-black to a sickly yellow-green, it still feels like someone's got their fist permanently lodged between my ribs.
“Look, it's nothing dangerous. I'm just meeting someone.”
“Who?”
“Someone who can help us.”
“Cade.” She stares at me for a long moment, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. “You're meeting Jeremy, aren't you?”
“Maybe.”
“Cade—”
“Savannah, I need you to trust me on this. Just this once, let me handle it. And when I get back, maybe you can play nurse again. I think I need my temperature taken.”
She holds my stare for a beat too long, like she's deciding whether or not she's going to call me on my bullshit, but she doesn't. Not today. She's got bigger things consuming her mind—Adley, mostly, and the possibility of bringing her home. Savannah's pretending she's not completely losing her shit over it, but I know her. She's so hopeful it'll go through that she doesn't want to jinx it by talking about it too much.
“Fine,” she says finally, but her voice is tight with worry. “But take your phone, and check in every thirty minutes.”
“Every hour.”
“Thirty minutes, or I'm calling Dash.”
“Deal. And when I get back, maybe we can test out how well my ribs are really healing. Very thoroughly.”
“I love you too. Just… be careful, okay? I can't lose you.”
“You won't,” I promise, even though we both know I can't guarantee that. “Besides, you're stuck with me, Pretty Girl. For better or worse, remember?”
I glance down at my furry accomplice, giving him a look that sayswe've got work to do.
Stanley barks once as I step out of the apartment, and even that small sound makes my head throb where Jeremy's fist connected with my skull. The weight of what's coming presses against my still-tender ribs like a constant reminder of what I've already sacrificed.
The fight may be over, but the war?
That's just getting started.
Jeremy’s already on the bench when I get there, hunched over with his hood up looking miserable as fuck. His foot won’t stop tapping against the concrete and he doesn’t acknowledge Stanley and me as we approach. This better be fucking good news.
Stanley trots ahead, sniffing the grass and marking his territory, completely oblivious to the fact that we’re going to discuss ending a man’s entire existence. Figuratively speaking, of course. Death is obviously a step too far for me.
I ease down on the other end of the bench with a quiet grunt. Still sore as hell, still moving like I got hit by a freight train full of regret. Jeremy glances over, finally meeting my eyes, and the bastard has the audacity to look amused.
“You still look like absolute shit,” he says, his lips twitching. “Thought it was just a post-fight thing, but apparently that's just your face.”
I want to give him some smart-ass comeback that'll wipe away his smirk, but I can't. The fucker is built like a Greek statue and clearly bounced back easily from our little dance while I'm still here looking like roadkill.
“Nice dog,” he adds, watching Stanley investigate what's apparently the most fascinating patch of grass in existence. “Savannah always wanted one in the group home. Used to talk about having a little house with a yard big enough for a dog and a bunch of kids.”
The comment hits me square in the chest. Of course she did. Of course she dreamed about the kind of normal life that I took for granted.
“Well, she’s getting it now,” I say with more pride in my voice than intended. I know exactly what Savannah deserves and I will spend my life giving it to her.
“Yeah, she is.” Jeremy's expression goes soft for a split second before he remembers he's supposed to be a hard-ass. “She deserves it all, man. Every good fucking thing in the world.”
