“Leah’s couch,” Aidan said, like that was supposed to make some kind of sense.
“Who’s Leah?”
“Dude. Leah Cook. Aren’t you friends with her, too?”
“Leah…oh.”
Mercy materialized beside him, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand that he held out in offering. “You look like you need this, QB.”
“Jesus,yes, thanks.” The first sip worked wonders. “Leah’s back in town?”
“Got in yesterday,” Aidan said. “Didn’t you know that?”
“Obviously not if I’m asking about it.” He felt snippy – sounded it, too, if Aidan’s raised brows were anything to go by. He shook his head and sipped more coffee. “Sorry. Didn’t sleep well.”
Mercy took pity on him. “She called Ava last week and said things hadn’t gone the way she wanted in Chicago. We helped her move in last night.”
Carter nodded. He hadn’t seen Leah in years, since before she moved. He’d gotten busy with the club, prospecting, and patching in, and going on runs, and he didn’t socialize with anyone beyond it, now. He and Leah had been friendly, before, but not friends. In his memory, she was Ava’s tiny, bouncy friend with an excess of energy and hair dye. She’d been the sort of girl who seemed able to see right through whatever bullshit veneer that caused other girls to simper or stutter. Not the sort charmed by blue eyes, and blond hair, and a good football arm. He could easily picture her owning her own Bohemian shop of some sort, married to a tattoo artist with fifteen earrings. Someone who looked like Tango, honestly, who was studying him quietly now, arms folded.
When Carter made eye contact, he cocked his head and said, “You alright?”
An innocuous question, and a fair one, given the state of his reflection this morning. He hadn’t shaved, and the hangdog bags under his eyes were reaching failing-used-car-salesman levels of critical mass. A kind question, too; concern from a worried friend.
But it hit Carter like a spotlight. The coffee he’d just drunk sloshed in his stomach. “Yeah, fine.”
Tango’s gaze narrowed with doubt. He’d been through too much shit personally to buy it from others.
“Just slept bad. Too tired. Too much whiskey.” Carter wondered if he sounded as desperate as he felt.
Tango nodded, and offered a flickering little smile. “Been there.”
“Hey,” Ghost called, from the open rolltop doors of the shop, and Carter released an internal sigh of relief for the distraction. He knew Mercy had talked with Tango, daily, back when things had gotten really rough. A listening ear, a shoulder to help with the burden he carried. The last thing he wanted was for someone to offer that to him – he was afraid of what might come spilling out if he dared to crack the shell.
The president had his shades on, hair windblown like he’d just climbed off his bike; probably he had. He rarely seemed to stay in one place for long these days. “Any of you four been by Bell Bar lately? Seen anything fishy? We keep having a graffiti problem.”
Aidan winced. “All that ‘fuck the Lean Dogs’ shit? Yeah. It’s…lame.”
Ghost’s jaw tightened. “Lame can still ruin your reputation.”
“Reputation, boss?” Mercy asked with a grin. “We got a good one I don’t know about?”
“Good, and getting better,” Ghost said, aiming the end of a cigarette at him before he stuck it in his mouth and reached for his lighter.
“What happened to quitting?” Mercy asked.
“Figure out who’s defacing my fucking buildings, and I’ll quit,” he said, and headed off toward the clubhouse.
“Always an excuse, huh, Daddy?” Mercy called after him.
Ghost shot them the bird over his shoulder, and everyone laughed.
Everyone but Carter. He sipped his coffee. When Tango fired him another covert, questioning look, he turned away.
~*~
Sometimes Leah couldn’t get over the fact that Ava had three kids. She loved her best friend, but Ava had never struck her as the maternal type.
But here she was now, carrying Millie, while Remy and Cal went streaking across the open expanse of the huge, empty industrial building where she’d brought Leah to buy a kitchen table.
