Page 35 of Naz & Roz

TWELVE

Naz tugged his beanie down over his head as his mother followed him down the hallway. “Nah, just put a plate in the fridge, Ma, in a container. I’ll grab it before I head out. Promise.”

Catherine sighed. “I can’t believe you’re not staying long enough to have supper, Naz. You’re heading out tomorrow, right? I know your run is coming up. You always spend an evening with us before heading out for that.”

His mother wasn’t wrong. It was something his father had gotten him in to the habit of doing. Before each and every gun run he made, Naz spent the evening with his family. Like a reminder, his dad would say. This is where you need to come back to, Naz. This is where you’re wanted and needed. So, you remind yourself why you need to get this done, and get back safely.

So, he’d come.

But he also had someone else to go see, too.

“But—”

“Catty,” came a dark murmur from down the hallway.

Naz glanced over his shoulder to find his father leaning lazily in the doorway between the hallway and the living room. Cross had said nothing about Naz leaving early because it looked like he expected it.

His mother, on the other hand …

“Let him go,” Cross said. “He’s got business across the woods, I imagine.”

Catherine glanced between her husband, and her son for a moment before her posture softened. “Oh. Why didn’t you just say that?”

Naz shrugged, but said nothing.

Because it wasn’t anyone’s business, he supposed. This thing between him and Roz was still all-consuming, and a little too crazy. He hadn’t even figured it out yet. He was not willing to share it, either. Not even with his mother. Not right now.

Catherine would understand eventually.

“Say hello for us,” his mother whispered, patting his cheek with a soft touch. “And do not forget your food before you go.”

Naz laughed, and leaned in to kiss his mother’s waiting cheek. “How can I forget your cooking, Ma?”

She gave him that look. All mother’s had it.

He just laughed again.

With a wave, Naz was free to leave without more questions, apparently. Why his mother didn’t just realize where he was going as he’d headed for the back of the house, and not the front, Naz didn’t know.

He tightened the neck on his leather jacket, and slipped out into the evening light. It wasn’t entirely dark out, since the moon was up on one side while the sun was still peeking out a bit on the other side. Just enough light to make the trip on foot through the woods a bit safer.

Naz could have pushed the gun run back a couple of days, but that meant doing a run to Mexico and crossing the border with the guns on a weekday instead of the following weekend. That always made shit a little more complicated, and dangerous, really. Every run he made was carefully planned, and executed according to schedule to minimize the risk of a smuggle going bad.

That was his father’s first and last lesson when Naz decided he was going to follow Cross’s footsteps into gunrunning.

One of many lessons, really.

But … he’d been trained by the best which may not have made Naz the very best there was, but he was terribly fucking close to it. There wasn’t another gunrunner on the continent that could challenge Naz’s success rates. Except maybe his father, and frankly, Naz was getting close to passing that record, too.

Not that Cross liked it pointed out.

Everybody had their pride.

Despite how badly Naz had wanted to push the run back a couple of days so that he could spend more time with Roz—the run was going to keep him away for a week, likely, with no contact to anyone outside of his partner and the buyer—he figured it was just best to get it the hell over with.

He could pick up with Roz once he got back. She’d understand, even if he didn’t plan on telling her running guns was what he would be doing for the next week instead of being here with her.

That was a conversation for another day.