Page 18 of The Bratva King

When the nuggets are done, I cut them in half, the way Luke likes, and put them on the plastic plate with the T. rex on the bottom. I bring it to him with a cup of milk and sit on the couch beside him.

“Good?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says.

Luke finishes, drinks his milk, and hands me the plate with the T. rex showing.

“Good job,” I say.

He almost smiles.

Bath, pajamas, teeth. The same order every night, the same songs I hum without realizing. He gets into bed, and I tuck the minky blanket around him even though sweat is gathering at his hairline. He won’t sleep without it. We’ve tried.

I read him two pages of the dinosaur book and kiss him goodnight.

Outside, a car alarm goes off somewhere down the block and then stops. Las Vegas never really goes quiet. You learn to sleep through it, or you don’t sleep.

The burner phone is in the box of tampons in the bathroom. I pull it out and go into the living room. I don’t take it out for anything except this. One contact. No name saved.

“Hey, kiddo,” Greg answers.

Hearing his voice makes me smile.

“Hey,” I say.

“How are things?”

“Good,” I say. “Really good, actually.”

The lie is easy. I’ve been telling it for six months. It didn’t used to be a lie.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah. Work is going well. Luke’s good. We’re good.”

“He eating okay?”

“Like a champion. We found this dinosaur cereal he’s obsessed with.”

“That’s good. A new food.” A pause. “You’re being careful.”

It isn’t quite a question.

“Always,” I say.

“Nothing unusual? No one’s been around? Nobody asking questions?”

“Greg, I’m fine. I promise.”

He exhales. “I know. I just worry.”

“I know you do, and I love you for it.”

“You know you can tell me if you’re struggling.”

“How are you?” I change the subject.

“Same as always.” Another pause. “Getting closer to that retirement date.”