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"Hey, yo, boss man," Remy's voice called, making Harmon jerk away from me, reaching frantically for the towel to cover her body.
"Fuck off, Rem," I called, dealing with the condom, then grabbing a towel as well.
"I would except I just wanted to tell you that Teddy had some clothes dropped off for Harmon out here. And all the rest of us," he added. "So stop hogging the bathroom. We all need to shower."
"Go home then."
"Teddy is having us crash here. A party is starting in half an hour," he added.
"For fuck's sake..."
"Alibis," Harmon said, making me turn to look at her.
"Hear that?" Remy asked. "She's starting to become one of us. Alright. I'm heading out so you can get dressed."
"You okay with this?" I asked, leading her into the guest room where, sure enough, there were piles of clothes waiting for us. Loud, hideous clothes. So no one would forget seeing us. Teddy might not have been a biker, but he was a brother through-and-through.
"I, ah, I don't know that I am right now," she admitted, pulling on a pair of bright pink leggings, then reaching for a t-shirt with the owl from the old Tootsie Roll Pop commercials with the words "Wanna lick?" below.
I was almost afraid of what was on my shirt.
"We can leave," I told her. "Get you home. Get some pain meds in you, some food, some sleep."
"Alibis are important in your life, aren't they?" she asked.
"Sometimes, yeah."
"So they are important in mine too now," she said, shrugging, then snorting when I finally pulled my shirt on over my head.
And there it was.
Teddy's payback for anything I'd ever done to him.
A giant beaver head with the words "Beaver Liquors" around it.
"I mean... it's not wrong," she said, smile bright.
"Alright out of the way," Remy said, coming in, grabbing a shirt that said "Yo Homes to Bel Air," then rushing through to the bathroom.
"I think we can get through this one party to make sure everything is okay, and then we can relax all we want tomorrow, right? We will have the time."
We.
I'd never been a part of a "we" before.
I was sure I didn't want to be.
But if that other person happened to be Harmon, I was not only willing, but more than happy to be a part of it.
Epilogue
Harmon - One Week
The clubhouse was a flurry of activity.
It was like all of the contractors Huck had been lining up for a while now suddenly all had open schedules on the same day.
Well, that, or maybe Huck was being extra paranoid now, was paying extra to make sure it all got done at once.
Seeley, Remy, McCoy, and Che were inside finishing up the ballistic steel on the interior walls.
I was in charge of picking new colors for the paint to cover them—and the rest of the rooms that desperately needed refreshing—so they blended in. And I wasn't sure if I should have felt flattered to be included, or a little pissed that they pawned the girly job off on me.
Either way, I was sitting in the kitchen looking through paint swatches, jotting down the names I liked best and what room I thought they would work best in.
Outside, the fence guys were making all kinds of racket. As was Booker's team of security professionals as they installed more cameras than could have possibly been necessary.
But I guess I couldn't blame Huck for being paranoid.
I only knew a fraction of the obstacles they'd been dealing with since opening their chapter, and what I did know was enough to make me struggle to sleep some nights.
It was something I would have to learn to get used to. The uncertainty, the fear, the possibility of someone I cared about getting beat up, knifed, shot, maybe even killed.
The idea of that made my stomach flip over, but that didn't seem like enough of a deterrent to stop me from wanting to be with Huck.
To be honest, the whole week had been a mix of pure paranoia about any or all of us being caught for our involvement with the Chechens and Kit, and also the soaring heights that came with a budding relationship, learning all the ins and outs of a person.
For example, Huck liked cinnamon toothpaste.
Like a psycho.
And he liked horror movies.
And he had some strange aversion to pickles. But he loved coleslaw.
See, me? I loved pickles. And I hated coleslaw.
So if we ever went out to a restaurant where they were traditionally served together, I could take the extra pickles, him the disgusting mayonnaise-infused cabbage, and nothing would go to waste.
"That's a long list you got going there, babe," Huck said, coming in from the back, moving to look over my shoulder.
"This isn't all paint. I am just jotting down some other ideas of things that can be done. Like, you know, blinds and curtains. Proper soap dishes in the bathrooms so it isn't sitting on the sink porcelain like you're a bunch of barbarians."
