Rooster took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I’m supposed to have her back.” It was an admission, and he hated that he’d let it slip. He was too tired, too off his guard, too vulnerable. He should stop talkingnow.
“There any rule that says you can’t do that just because you’re in love with her?” Jake asked. “I love my wife more than anything. You think I don’t have her back?”
He swallowed, felt like he was choking.
“Okay,” Jack said, “I won’t push.” He took a swig of his beer. “You ready for dinner?”
~*~
There was a deep-bellied laundry sink in the garage, and Jack took him there first to scrub the grime from under his nails. “Boots gotta come off, too,” he said with a note of apology. “Vicki’s real particular about the cleanliness of her kitchen.”
Like his own mother, once upon a time, Rooster thought, and then immediately dismissed. Nostalgia wasn’t what he needed on top of his anxiety.
Red was setting the table when they walked in, and she glanced up, wide smile breaking across her face when she saw him.
His stomach turned over, and he fought the urge to divert his gaze.
“We made spaghetti,” she said by way of greeting, giddy. “With homemade meatballs.”
“Smells good,” he said, voice thin. Because it did. But also, she looked…
Pink-cheeked. Hair curled at the ends from the heat of the stove. She’d folded her jacket over the back of a chair, and rolled up the sleeves of her shirt – a washed-soft flannel that had once been his, and finally shrunk enough in the dryer that he’d passed it down to her.
He forced his eyes down to the table, just to pull them away from her.
“Did you boys get a lot done today?” Vicki asked, bustling up to the table with a giant bowl of salad. She smiled at Rooster like he wasn’t the scariest thing she’d ever had in her kitchen, warm and welcoming.
“I can’t take any credit,” Jack said, clapping Rooster on the shoulder. He flinched; old habit. Jack patted him and pulled his hand back. “It’s all this one. He’s a worker.”
“Wonderful!” Vicki said. “I bet you’re starving.”
“I could eat,” he said, though his stomach was in knots.
“Ruby’s been such a help today,” Vicki continued, either ignoring or not noticing the tension in him. “Couldn’t have done it without her.”
Red looked pleased, the food smelled wonderful, dusk was falling beyond the window above the sink. Jack and his wife moved around one another with an ease born of long years living together. There was no reasonnotto relax into the moment.
So he did.
~*~
They were almost back to the garage, walking in the cool dark of evening, before Red was able to name the sensation buoying her every step: hope.
She tipped her head back and smiled up at the stars; her breath plumed. Nights were cold out west, even in the summer, and fall was fast approaching. When she inhaled, she could smell the first faint hints of ripening grass that heralded the change of seasons.
To her surprise, Rooster seemed relaxed beside her – as relaxed as he was capable of being, anyway. He still scanned their surroundings, but his head was on a slow swivel, so it seemed accidental. His hands swung at his sides, relaxed and easy, and he radiated a tired sort of contentment that was nothing like his usual tightly-coiled tension after a day spent driving. A day of hard physical labor had been good for him, she decided, even if it meant he would burn through the power she’d given him faster.
“What are you looking at?” he asked, teasing, and she realized she was staring at him as they walked; at the moment, he was staring back. She caught the edge of a smile in the glow of a streetlight.
She felt her face warm, but she didn’t turn away, made bold by the fizzing hope in her chest. “You seem happy.”
“Yeah?” He did turn away then, ducking his face a little, hands going in his jacket pockets. Doubt in his voice.
“Yeah. I like them – Jack and Vicki. They seem…normal.”
He snorted. “Don’t get much of that, huh?”
“No,” she agreed.
