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I can’t help chuckling. “When she talks about you, I feel like she’s saying stuff about her kid. Now, you sound the same way about her.”
“We share a complicated relationship. We were both essentially ruined when we met. We helped rebuild each other. Irina’s stronger now than she can admit.”
Seeing her shuffling toward the door, I announce, “I’m going to pick you up now.”
“No, I can walk.”
“You seem tired.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“No one thinks you are. They know you got fucked up by your pyscho mom.”
Fiona studies me through half-opened eyes. “If I let you carry me, will you promise to pry Irina from my side today? She’s never had any great friends, and that whole ‘girl gang’ thing sounds interesting. I strongly suspect Irina’s a wild woman under all her baggage.”
“I agree,” I say, both to her deal and the idea of Irina having a wild side.
I carry Fiona out of the humid room as Gatsby follows us. We enter the family room, where the noise increases. Fiona lifts her hoodie protectively.
Irina hurries over, seeming concerned. “Is everything okay?”
“I just gave him the talk about how if he does anything to hurt you, I’ll hunt him down and make him pay,” Fiona explains, and I smirk at the idea. “He was very intimidated. I think my scary poodle helped.”
Once I settle Fiona into a chair, Irina hugs the smaller woman. Watching me with worried eyes, she’s gotten herself so worked up today.
Wynonna is no longer causing trouble inside the Pigsty. I spot her out back with her kids, the redneck husband, and what looks like Hobo. My mind immediately latches on to a plan. My club brother will know the Rogers’s property layout and can help me plan Jimbo’s end.
Pulling me from my thoughts, Irina wraps her arms around my waist and watches Fiona curl her body up in the chair. I run my fingers through my woman’s soft hair. She stops staring at Fiona and focuses on me.
“Are you having fun?”
Nodding, Irina doesn’t sell her good mood. She seems afraid. I sense she’s searching for something on my face. I stare more intently as my hand slides down to her ass.
Losing her edginess, Irina grins. “I haven’t had Thanksgiving in more than a dozen years.”
I realize the last time she celebrated this holiday was when her son was alive and a baby grew inside her. That was a long time ago, yet the fear I see in her eyes feels raw. No matter her smiling face, she’s working through something painful. I sense her pushing down her fear, only for it to bubble to the surface again.
Leaning down, I whisper into her ear, “I love you.”
The way she exhales feels like I’ve removed a burden from her shoulders. Her blue eyes flash with fear and hope before tearing up.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as people move outside to avoid waking a now sleeping Fiona.
“I feel like I’m going to lose everything.”
Jimbo’s face flashes before me. I grew up with him. He was in one of my gym classes in junior high. I remember how he harassed the girls by snapping their bra straps. He’d also hound the guys. I watched him try that shit on Hobo once. My club brother wasn’t a big kid. He always looked undernourished and dirty. Jimbo gave him shit constantly, remarking on his stench.
Though I wanted to stand up for my friend, I never got out of my head long enough to speak up.
Then, one day, Hobo flipped out. He started dancing around Jimbo, making monkey noises. No one knew if they should laugh. Hobo always seemed on the verge of snapping and killing everyone. Some days, he’d come into class and smile the entire time. Other days, he’d glare at everyone as if he were plotting their murders.
I realize now how much of Hobo’s behavior was a game he played. He didn’t want most people to know him. His sister worked hard to fit in and dominate other women. Hobo just wanted to be left alone.
That’s why I liked him. We were both outsiders with crazy hangups.
When he flipped out that day with the monkey routine, Jimbo got confused. He lashed out and knocked down the smaller kid.
That’s when I grabbed a dodge ball and nailed Jimbo in the back. He turned toward me, seeming too big to be in the same class.
