Page 2 of Rune’s Solace

I didn’t lie to her afterward. A lie would’ve been kinder. I waited until the common room was full—brothers, old ladies, Amy sitting right there—and put my hands on one of the club women where I knew Amy could see me. Walked that woman toward the hall like I had every intention of fucking her, and I never looked back because I didn’t need to. I’d set the entire damn thing up for one person in that room, and I knew she was watching.

Still saw her face before I turned away.

That was the part that stuck.

Not the woman. Not the hall. Not even the look the brothers gave me, because some of them knew me well enough to know something didn’t add up. It was Amy’s face and the second she believed me, when something I’d spent months handling careful went out behind her eyes.

Then I kept walking.

I left the woman at the end of the hall, gave her forty dollars to keep her mouth shut, and went outside to stand in the dark by myself like feeling shitty about what I’d done somehow made me less of a bastard for doing it. It didn’t. I’d kissed Amy, let her think that maybe the thing between us was finally real, then made her watch me choose somebody else in front of damn near everybody she knew, all because I’d decided hurting her bad enough once would keep me from hurting her worse later.

Called it mercy.

Fucking cowardice was closer.

Worst part was, it worked.

Amy believed every second because I’d made damn sure she would, and then she did exactly what I’d wanted. She got mad. Got hurt. Stopped looking at me like I was anything she wanted and started building something that didn’t have me in it. College across the river, classes, new friends, a life that belonged to her. There was even some boy her own age hanging around now, the kind who could walk beside her in broad daylight without anybody wondering what the hell he was doing there, no patch on his back, no club attached to his name, no blood on his hands and no sixteen years between them.

Good.

That was what I told myself whenever I saw the two of them.

Good. That’s what you wanted.

Problem was, knowing I’d gotten exactly what I wanted hadn’t made watching it any easier.

“You’re doing the thing.”

I hadn’t heard Josie cross the yard. He moved quiet for a man his size, which fooled people who didn’t know him, same as the apron did, same as the fact he could spend half a day feeding forty people and remember who hated onions. They saw the cook and figured that was all the man was made of.

Their mistake.

He appeared beside me holding two mugs and shoved one in my direction. I took it without asking. Black and mean, the way I liked it.

“You gonna keep eyeball-fucking that plant,” he asked, “or you planning on doing something with it?”

“Fuck off.”

“He’s still with us.” Josie dropped onto the upended crate by the tomatoes and blew across his coffee. “Was starting to think you’d gone soft on me.”

“I’m working.”

“Bullshit. You haven’t moved in ten minutes.”

“I got shit on my mind.”

“Yeah. I can see it leaking out your fucking ears.”

I looked at him.

“Don’t give me that look.” He took a drink and nodded toward the chamomile. “I’ve been watching you stare at the same patch of dirt like it personally fucked you over. Whatever’s chewing on you, spit it out.”

“Nothing’s chewing on me.”

“Right.” Another drink. “And I’m the fucking tooth fairy.”

I drank my coffee instead of answering him, which was answer enough, and Josie knew it. That’s one of the reasons we’d gotten along as long as we had. Most men can’t stand a silence and will talk just to get rid of it, but Josie knew when to leave one alone. He’d learned that lesson the same way most of us learned anything worth knowing—badly—and he understood there were some things you didn’t drag out of a man before he was ready. You just sat close enough that he knew somebody was there.