Page 78 of Handful

“I wasn’t done for. I was intrigued.”

“Same thing.” Then he looked past me to Austen and grinned. “And there she is. The reason nobody’s seen this idiot’s face in twenty-four hours.” He looked her over, delighted, not a scrap of shame in it. “Please tell me you two showered before you came out. I’ve gotta stand next to him all night.”

“We showered,” Austen said, level as you like. “Twice.”

That got a bark of a laugh out of him. “Twice.” He jabbed his beer at me like I’d just proved his point. “He moped the whole six weeks you were gone, by the way. Constantly. Wanted you to know that in case he had you thinking he played it cool.”

“I did not mope.”

“He moped,” Colt told her. “It was embarrassing for everyone.” He raised his beer to her. “Welcome back. Don’t do that to us again.” And he was gone.

Austen looked up at me. “You moped?”

Lilac got to us before I could deny it — came out of the crowd grinning and hooked an arm through Austen’s. “Right. The women want her. Come on, Aust.” She started to tow her off.

I caught Austen’s other hand and didn’t let go.

Lilac stopped. Looked at our hands. Looked at me. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“It’s across the room, Handful.”

“Still no.”

“You talk shit about me and Colt being attached at the hip.” She put her free hand on her hip, building a head of steam. “You’ve spent twenty-four hours stuck to this woman with your dick, and now you can’t let her walk across a room for five minutes?”

“No,” I said, and laughed, because she wasn’t wrong and I didn’t care even a little. “Not five minutes. Not one. You can have her tomorrow. Maybe.”

Austen didn’t pull her hand back out of mine. “You heard the man,” she told Lilac, no complaint in it.

Lilac threw her hands up, beaten and loving it. “God help us all. There’s two of them now.” And she went off to share the gossip with the women. Intel sharing, as Glitch called it.

I stood there a second and let myself have it.

Every face in that room I’d have bled for, grinning at me like I’d finally done something right. The SAA patch, earned, Dutch’s voice still in my ears. And the woman — wearing my shirt and her name already inked over my heart, her hand finding my side without her having to look for it.

Dutch found us a while later, somewhere in the middle of the noise. He tipped his head at a spot along the wall, away from the worst of it, and started that way.

I went to take Austen with me — I had her hand and wasn’t letting go for anyone, not even Dutch. She didn’t move. I looked at her, and she shook her head.

“I think Dutch wants to talk to you,” she said.

“Us.”

“It looks private.” She slid her hand free, easy, and laid it flat over my heart. “Go. I’ll be right here.”

We stood there while the party went on around us. He looked at the patch, not at me. “Suits you. Took you long enough.”

“You gave it to me in about four words after church, old man. Handed it over like you were passing the salt.”

“You’d earned it by then. Didn’t need a speech.” He drank. “Speech was for tonight. But this is for you, so listen.” He looked at me straight, the way he had across that desk. “That morning in my office. When I told you I’d take your cut.”

“I remember.”

“I meant it.” Nothing soft in it. “Get that clear. You’d gone on the way you were, I’d have done it and slept fine.”

I didn’t doubt him. Dutch never said a thing he couldn’t stand behind.