Chapter 8: Nobody Carries Anybody

I didn't sleep.

At six the sky over the lot went from black to gray.

I carried Delaney's phone across the gravel and knocked on the steel door at the foot of Jesse's stairs.

He opened it in a T-shirt and jeans, barefoot, with sleep still in his eyes.

He read the text on the lock screen twice.

"Dutch," he said.

"Wife goes quiet or she goes."

"Which wife?"

I looked at him.

"I don't know," I said. "I don't know which one he meant."

He handed the phone back, slowly.

"You should have woken me."

"I was angry at you."

"Are you still?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"I've been angry at you since Tuesday and I'm tired of it," I said.

"I'm tired of being the one who's good. I don't want to be good, Jesse."

He went still.

"The rule," he said, very low. "Nobody carries anybody."

"I know your rule."

"Then say what you want."

I put the phone down on the stair.

I took hold of his shirt in both fists, the bandaged one too, and pulled his mouth down to mine.

He made a sound I had never heard from a man.

It came from low in his chest, a rough, starved sound, and his hands came up into my hair and held my head.

He kissed me hard and long, and I kissed him back.

I kissed him back until I couldn't breathe.

"Shop," I said against his mouth. "Now."

We crossed the gravel half-running.

I fumbled the lock with my good hand.

He took the key and turned it, and we fell through the door and kicked it shut.

He pushed me back against the workbench.

Scraps of leather slid off the edge and hit the floor.

His mouth went to my neck and I dug my hands under his shirt.

His back was hot and hard under my palms, ridged with muscle.

I dragged the T-shirt up over his head and tossed it behind me.

He was broad and scarred, with a long white line down his ribs and gray hairs scattered through the dark ones on his chest.

I put my mouth to the scar.

He swore.

"I stood at the back of the church," Jesse said, and his voice was raw.

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