Page 43 of Goldie and the Three Wisconsin Bears
Mitch keeps his promise. Then Nico joins us. By the time I fall asleep between them, I’m nice and toasty.
“Happy Birthday, Goldie,” they say in the distance as I drift off to sleep full of sunset orange.
But I don’t answer. I’m afraid if I open my mouth all the things I shouldn’t be feeling…all the sunset orange will spill out of me.
Chapter Twenty
I feel the warm sun on my skin when I wake up the next morning. But nothing else.
That’s strange. I’ve become used to waking up in someone’s arms, no matter how long I stay in bed.
I roll over, confused. Then freeze.
Tommy is lying on the opposite pillow, his eyes sparkling with wrath and madness.
“Did you really think I’d let you get away, you little slut?”
Something warm and liquid touches the bottom of my feet. Too viscous to be water.
Somehow I know, even before looking down….
It’s blood. So much blood.
Nico, Mitch, and Jeb are lying at the end of a bed that has somehow become bigger than before. Their eyes are wide open. And they’ve each got a bullet hole in their foreheads.
I know who put it there. But Tommy’s next words confirm it. “I killed them. They’re dead, and it’s all your fault.”
My whole world collapses because he’s right. I stayed too long, and Tommy found me. And the men I shouldn’t have fallen in love with have paid the price.
I scream in anguish.
“Goldie, wake up! Goldie, mija. Wake up!”
My eyes pop open, and the world is much different. Nico is there, not Tommy. He’s got his hands on my shoulders, and he looks worried.
“Nico?”
He hugs me tight. “Yeah, it’s me. You were screaming. Having a nightmare, I think.”
The door suddenly bursts open, and Mitch and Jeb appear. Their work boots, jeans, and t-shirts let me know they must have heard me all the way upstairs. They’ve both got their fists curled, like they’re ready to take on anything. For me.
I haven’t shame spiraled in months, but everything inside of me curdles as Nico tells them, “She was having a nightmare. She’s awake now.”
“What kind of fucking nightmare?” Jeb demands. “You sounded terrified. I almost stopped to get my rifle.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Mitch sits down on the edge of the bed and says, “Sorry’s not enough, baby. You’ve got to let us know what’s going on with you.”
Nico squeezes me tighter in his arms. Usually, he’s the one telling Jeb and Mitch to back off when they start interrogating me. But this time, he says, “We can’t help you if you don’t talk to us.”
I don’t need to talk. I need the Canadian border to open so that I can get somewhere safe. And I don’t want to bring it up. Don’t want to burst the warm fantasy bubble we’ve all been living in for the last two months.
But I have to tell them, “The money you said you would pay me. I’m going to need it. Soon.”
Nico stiffens. And I know they’re probably having another one of those silent look conversations of theirs.
In the end, Mitch says, “Okay, our bank up here is too small to have that kind of money on hand. One of us would have to make a special trip down to Muskego to withdraw it in person, and Jeb’s got a meeting with the team brass in a couple of weeks. Two weeks…can you give us that?”
Two weeks…
My heart aches at the thought of leaving them. But I have to. The feeling from the nightmare lingers. And I shiver again at the thought of Tommy finding me and hurting them.
I know the guys like having me here. I’m like a beer after work. A good distraction. But it’s better for everyone if I stop this. The upstairs is nearly finished, they told me. I should let them get back to searching for the perfect wife, let them get on with their lives. Without me.
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod at Mitch. “Okay, two weeks.”
Two more weeks. I’ll give myself two more weeks with the best men I have ever known. Then I’ll let them go.
NICO
I don’t swear nearly as much as Mitch and Jeb, but there’s no way in hell two weeks is going to be enough.
Despite that, every night isn’t an orgy with us. Goldie comes to Mitch to complain about her extensions—I guess he’s suddenly a black hair expert or something in her eyes? And you know Mitch must be crazy about this woman. He won’t let me watch so much as a Drake video on his phone. But he lets her mess up his YouTube algorithm with a bunch of box braid videos.
“My mom taught me to braid, but it’s been a while,” she tells Mitch apologetically after she's done.
Mitch doesn’t mind. And neither do I. In fact, I end up driving three hours to the Amazon Hub locker over in Green Bay for six packages of RastAfri Golden Brown/Blond Mix Jumbo Braid hair.
