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“Holding on to the only thing stopping me from kicking out a patrol car window, hunting him down, and stomping on his face.”
“Well, I can’t hold your hand forever, Pope, so …” I leave it right there, unfinished.
His phone chimes, but he doesn’t release my hand. In fact, he links our fingers and pulls his cell out of his pocket with his free hand and taps the screen.
Music comes through the speakers.
“There was something ’bout the way the blue lights were shinin’, bringing out the freedom in your eyes. Too busy watching you going wild child to be worried about going to jail …”
Face burning, I’m annoyed at whoever sent that, ready to kick out a window myself. Pope’s laugh surprises me. I narrow my eyes at him, and he nods to the front. I lean over and look out the windshield, where Marks and Danny and even York are singing along.
Pope pulls me into a surprising hug and kisses the top of my head. “Promise you, Whitley Mae Belington, it’s all gonna work out.”
York opens my door, and I pull away, slide out, and shut the door behind me.
Even over the music still playing from Danny’s or Marks phone, I hear him laugh. I’ve always loved John Paul’s laugh, and right now, I realize how much I’ve missed it.
Marks opens the door for Pope, and he gets out, still smiling.
“You sure don’t look like a man worried about getting arrested.” York shakes her head as we walk around the back of the car.
Looking at me, he shakes his head. “Not a lot I can do behind bars, is there?”
I look away.
York steps to him and hands him a card. “Senior asked me to give you this. Said that you should give him a call tomorrow so you can sort this out.”
I watch his chiseled jaw tense, muscles popping.
“Thanks, York. Sorry about tonight.”
“Gave Gavin here a chance to?—”
Gavin, her rookie, cuts her off. “Huge fan.”
Pope shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you. Sorry it had to be under these circumstances.”
Danny snorts. “And what circumstance is that? Shirtless with nips poking out?—”
“Danny, what the heck is wrong with you?” I ask.
“Sober for one. Fucking cold for another. And, yeah, a little intimidated by the fact that I’m not a dad, yet here I am, rocking a dad body and Pope here’s in better shape than he was in high school.”
“I get paid to stay in shape.” Pope deflects the very … odd compliment.
“Well, put a shirt on, man,” Danny says.
“Anyone want a beer?” Pope asks. “Marks brought Crawford Bock, and we haven’t even finished a six-pack. Be a shame if it went un-drank and got warm.”
“I’m gonna head home. Popa B is probably worried.”
“We’ll follow you and make sure you get there without incident,” York says.
“It’s right around the corner,” I huff.
Pope quietly says, “The other options are, you let me walk you home, or you could always stay here with me.”
I glare at John Paul.
