Layla had let some of her hostess politeness slip, her smile wry and knowing. “My cousin’s been trying to get pregnant for over a year now. I know that face.”
“Oh, we’re not trying,” Ava said. She shook her head as she slotted the spoons in the appropriate rack. “Hell, we got married this morning. And we’ve got so much else to worry about…”
Layla was laughing, low, under her breath. “Doesn’t matter though, does it? When you want one, you want one, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop wanting it.”
Ava paused, bundle of knives in her hands.
Layla shrugged. “Mick wasn’t planned,” she admitted. “Neither was getting married, at first. It all just slammed into us. But then, in the middle of” – she made a broad gesture – “well I don’t have to tell you about crazy outlaw family drama–”
Ava grinned.
“ – but I wanted another baby and Sly didn’t take one second of convincing. He was all, ‘Sure. Right now? Let me get my pants off.’ ” She chuckled. “I can guarantee, no matter what else is going on, all you’d have to do is drop one hint, and Mercy would be all over that.” She made a face. “No pun intended.”
Ava laughed. “Oh no, he’d intend the pun.”
Layla pulled a pot from the suds and rinsed it under the tap. “How long have you guys been together?”
Not long, Ava started to say, because it had only been a matter of days since he’d told her he loved her, and threatened to put Ronnie’s head through a windshield. She shuddered; she didn’t want to think about Ronnie. And she hated the taste ofnot longon her tongue, the way it made her feel cheap and disposable. It wasn’t the truth, anyway. Because the two of them here in this house, married, running away to the swamp together, that “together” had been building since before either of them knew to watch out for it.
“Forever,” she said. “Keeping us apart was always the problem, never getting us together.”
Dishwasher loaded, Ava closed the door and moved to dry the pots as Layla passed them over.
Layla said, “I know enough about the MC world to know that there’s things you guys can’t, and won’t talk about with outsiders.” Her face told Ava that she wasn’t offended by this. She was a part of an underground network, too. She knew the drill. “So I don’t really expect an answer when I ask, Why are you guys on the run?”
Ava framed her answer carefully. “Sometimes personal business and club business get tangled up. My dad thought it’d be safest for me to leave town for a while. Mercy’s always been the one to look out for me.”
Layla’s expression was soft and thoughtful as she scrubbed. “How much older is he?”
Ava could sense no judgment. “Thirteen years.”
Layla nodded. “Sly and I are fifteen apart. It works, you know? He’s not trying to prove anything. He isn’t searching for anything – or anyone – else. Life’s awful enough as it is; it’s nice not to fall in bed next to a minefield every night.”
“My mom says older men appreciate you more.”
“Your mom’s a smart woman, then.”
Ava snorted. “She’d love you for that.”
After they’d finished cleaning up, before they left the kitchen, Layla caught Ava gently by the sleeve. “Just so you know,” she said, quietly, “they found some mold when we moved in, and Sly had to replace the sheetrock and insulation in the guest room.”
“Okay…”
“The walls are thick.” Layla winked. “And I know you got married this morning. Just try not to wake up the babies.”
Ava felt her face turn red. “I wouldn’t…”
“Don’t we all think that?” Layla said with a little laugh. “I don’t mind, I promise. That’s why God made washing machines.”
But still, Ava felt like a bad guest. The spare room, as Layla showed her after a couple hours of dozing on the sofa while the TV murmured in the background, would be turned into Wes’s room when the time was right, but for now, held a double bed, writing desk and a tall dresser. The coverlet was pale blue, the pillows done in shades of ice and chocolate. The clean, creaseless sheets smelled like rain; Ava felt immediate guilt when she turned them back.
She dressed Mercy’s shoulder, showered, and climbed between the covers while Mercy showered. She didn’t mean to fall asleep, but her eyes opened on darkness, body stirring against the feel of Mercy sliding into bed beside her, pressing the length of his frame against her back. He smelled like soap, and the warmth of the water clung to him.
“You feel nice,” she murmured, still groggy, snuggling back against him.
His face settled against the hollow of her neck; his arm slid around her waist, pushed up under her shirt so his hand could find her breasts. “Nice? Just nice? I gotta tell ya, as far as compliments go…weak, baby, just weak.”
“You’re a shithead,” she said, smiling. “How about that?”
