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“Dad?”
“How are ya?”
“I’m, um, doing okay. You?”
“I’m in Birmingham with your mom. We came up here to see Zeus and get out of town for a few days.”
“Mom doing okay?”
“Ya, I think she’s glad to have the downtime and be away from the hospital.”
“I’m sure with everything that’s going on with that guy.” She takes a breath. “I need to get going. Please take care of Mom. Bye.”
“Bye, Octavia.”
She ends the call, and I realize that’s the most she has talked to me in a while, and I smile. Maybe we are getting somewhere.
“What’s up with that grin on your face?” Sunny asks as she sits down beside me.
“I just talked to Octavia.”
“She okay? Everything okay with Neo?” She looks at me, concerned.
“Yea, everything’s fine. I just wanted to talk to her.”
“I’m glad she answered.” She smiles and places her hand on my thigh.
“Me too.”
“Ya two love birds ready to eat?” Zeus asks as he comes into the clubhouse.
I nod, and stand up, helping Sunny from the chair next to me, and I grab her hand as we walk outside. The truck is waiting for us outside the door, and we get in. The drive to the bar isn’t far. Zeus tells us that it’s in neutral territory, so we will see other clubs there.
We arrive, and the place isn’t that busy, so we sit down and shoot the shit enjoying our time together. Zeus keeps his eyes on the entrance and watches as people walk around. He has an issue with someone who comes in here.
When we leave, he drives slowly by the gas station and the corners. It must be the places they sell their product, but he’s scoping out something else. I’ll ask him about it later, and I keep my eyes open for anything going down.
* * *
We get back to the clubhouse after lunch, and Sunny tells me she’s going to lie down and take a nap. Something she doesn’t do very often, and it will give Zeus and me time to catch up since we’re leaving tomorrow.
There’s a pool table at the club. “How about we shoot some pool?”
“Think you can beat me, ol’ man?” he smirks.
“I’ll show ya ol’ man.” I grab my crotch.
He grabs a cue and tosses it to me and I catch it midair.
“Break,” he says, setting the balls up for 8 Ball.
I pop my neck as I size up the table and chalk the tip of the cue, then I bend down, placing the cue ball where I want it. Bridging my fingers on the table, the cue rests on my thumb as I guide it where I want to hit the cue ball.
“I’m going to clean the table.” I laugh before breaking the racked balls. I hit the cue, shooting balls all over the table, sinking both solids and stripes in the pockets. I count them quickly. “Solids,” I call out and get to work, sending each solid to a pocket.
I take my time placing each ball in the hole, and I come to the 8 ball, and I walk around the table, trying to find the best shot to call it in.
I point, “Right pocket.” I line the shot up, pulling my cue stick back, and hit the cue ball perfectly as it hits the 8 ball and lands in the pocket.
