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April gulped. Blue continued, “Or you go back, claim what’s rightfully yours, raise hell with those fuckers until they’re history, and your ass is back in that head of the table seat where it belongs.”
“But you are pulling the strings,” Colt sneered.
“You’d just have to be smart enough to know when to follow through and when to pull back,” Blue countered.
Colt felt the politics already. He’d have sleepless nights trying to figure out Blue’s agenda, trying to work out who to trust, worrying about April not being safe... and yet... President of the Black Coyotes again. April at his side. Fuck.
He cleared his throat. “We’ve got to run, we have no choice-”
“There’s always a choice,” April said quietly. Colt heard it echo through his ears within his brain.
“If you run now, you’ll be running forever; they will always be chasing you. Even if Cleaver gives up… your mind, your soul will always be being chased,” Blue said.
Colt took a step back. “Yeah, we need to talk, think about it, sleep on it…” He let that fade out.
“Alright then,” Blue said finally.
“Alright then,” she repeated through pursed lips. Man, she was pissed at him. Well, he was pissed at her. She knew this whole time that Blue was alive, she’d kept that from him, knowing how much Blue meant to him, knowing how much of a father figure he was.
“Well, looks like we part ways now,” Blue said.
April latched onto him, hugging the air out of him. “I love you, Daddy.”
Colt felt like a dick.
She pulled away and Blue turned to Colt. Colt wasn’t sure what to do, shake his hand? Give him a high five? Flip him the bird? Blue decided for him. He pulled Colt in and held him pinned against his chest.
“Love you, son,” Blue muttered. Colt thought his heart exploded. His mind had exploded earlier when he’d seen Blue. His soul had exploded earlier when he’d claimed April. Now his heart was a goner, too.
Colt let out a strangled sob. Then Blue pulled away. And, without a backward glance, he strode away. Down the sidewalk. An old man in a too tight leather jacket.
“Colt.” Her quiet but steely voice pulled him back from the edge of a deep downward spiral. “We need to talk.”
“April, at the risk of sounding like a grumpy bastard, I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think, I want to fuck you until neither of us can walk. I want to pound into you until I am seeing stars and then until those stars are bouncing around off other stars like that fucking air hockey arcade game.”
“I see. I’ll call a taxi.”
Colt flicked his lighter and lit up his cigarette. The tip glowed red in the inky, cool evening sky. He took a deep drag, relishing the burn, and tipped his head back to blow the plume of smoke upwards. As he did so, he noticed the moon. A full orb of whiteness. Beautiful. Untouchable. Mocking him. He scratched his forehead with his thumb nail, and began to limp over to the steps up to their cabin porch deck. Limp because, yes, April and he had fucked each other into next year. She was asleep, or passed out in a post orgasmic haze on the bed. She was a fighter. She hadn’t complained, and he knew he was being too rough with her. No, she’d let him have his way with her, she’d begged him for more. And he’d complied. The lactic acid build-up in his quads though... So he limped stiffly and sunk down with the sigh of an old man onto the steps. He was hoping to have a quiet cigarette before ending up beside April and sinking into sleep alongside her. He stretched out his legs and groaned.
Another groan answered his. Colt looked up. What the fuck? There it was again.
“Argh…” A drawn out, groggy kind of groan. Coming from the flower bed by the side of the cabin. Colt got up tenderly, and peered into the gloom.
“Huhh… I don’t feel so good.” A body lying on the ground moaned and stirred.
Colt raised his eyebrows. Someone was lying face down in their flower bed. “Fuck.” Colt sprang into action. Tossing the cigarette, he lurched forwards, hunkered down awkwardly and grabbed the shoulders of the person on the floor.
“Miles!” Colt exclaimed, surprised. “What the hell are you doing out here, man?”
“I thought this was our cabin,” Miles slurred. Colt caught a whiff of puke on his breath. He tried not to grimace as he helped the other man sit up. Colt sat beside him, groping the ground quickly to check he wasn’t about to lower his ass into a puddle of Miles’ vomit.
Fuck, Miles was drunk. Really drunk. His eyes were barely open, his head lolled about. “My cabin,” Colt said, correcting him. “Yours is next door, about 100 yards that way. Come on, I’ll help you get there.” Colt started to drape Miles’ arms over his shoulder and heave him up.
“Nooo...” Miles howled. “Is she there?”
“Who, your wife? Clarissa? Probably.”
“No, we can’t go, she’ll kill me, Colt, she’ll send me to rehab-”
