by D. R. Graham
I swallowed and ran my hands through my hair. “Do you want me to be?”
“Yes.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was early in the morning and still dark outside when I slid into bed and wrapped my arms around Huck. She got startled and turned to look at my face.
“It’s okay. It’s just me,” I whispered.
“Oh. Hi.” She relaxed and rested her cheek against my chest. “You stink like alcohol.”
I chuckled. “Sorry. I had to have a few drinks so I could fly.”
“The smell reminds me of Dad.” She held my hand. “I missed you so much, Jamie. Welcome home.”
I squeezed her tight. “I missed you too, Huckleberry.”
“Grandma and Grandpa let you in?”
“No, I rewired the alarm and broke in.”
“Some safe house.”
I laughed. “Well, we don’t have to worry about security breaches anymore. Everything has been handled.”
She sat up and studied my face. “Are the guys who killed Dad dead?”
“All you need to know is that they won’t be bothering us.”
“Are you going to go to prison?”
“No.”
“Promise?” Her eyes narrowed, and she searched my expression for any sign of a lie.
“I promise.”
“Where’s Lincoln?” She hugged her childhood teddy bear to her chest and smiled. “I knew you were going to fall in love with her.”
“What do you know about love?”
She fluffed up her pillow and then gently placed her head back on the cotton. “Well, there is this cute boy at my new school named Travis. I get butterflies when he talks to me. I think it’s love.”
I frowned. “Travis what?”
She reached over to her bedside table for her phone and showed me a picture of a little snot-nosed punk. “Travis Spencer. He’s perfectly nice. He doesn’t have tattoos and he doesn’t ride a motorcycle.”
“Well, I should hope not if he’s fourteen years old.”
“He’s sixteen.”
“Oh, God.” I rolled my eyes at the thought of what a sixteen-year-old would be interested in doing with her. “I want to meet him.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She touched the scar by my eyebrow. “Is that from the bus accident?”
“Yeah.”
“And what happened to your hand? It looks fresh.”
I held up my raw looking knuckles. “I punched a mirror.”
She shook her head in mock disappointment and made a tsk tsk sound like our mom used to always do when I did something dumb. “Cain, Cain, Cain, when are you going to learn?”
I leaned over and kissed her forehead. “That is a very good question. Maybe you should do as I say, not as I do.”
“I already figured that one out on my own.” She punched my arm lightly. “Thanks, though, for whatever you did.”
“No problem.”
She smiled and sighed in a relaxed way. Our grandparents were awake and moving around downstairs in the kitchen. Huck rolled her eyes and said, “They get up ridiculously early. Get used to it if you’re going to live here.”
“I’m going to get my own place. You can come live with me if you want.”
Her eyebrows angled together as if she didn’t think that was the greatest idea. “You don’t cook as well as Grandma.”
“Ha! We both know that’s a lie. If you don’t want to live with me, just say so.”
“Hmm.” She pretended to ponder. “Are you going to do my laundry, drive me to school when it rains, pack my lunch, and give me an allowance?”
I laughed. “Maybe you should live with Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Finn! Pancakes are ready,” Grandpa yelled from the bottom of the stairs.
Huck jumped out of bed, stuck her head out into the hall, and yelled, “Make extra. Jamie’s home!”
“Lincoln’s here, too,” I said. “She’s waiting in the car.”
“Really?” she gasped and spun to check if I was teasing.
“Yeah, she wanted to meet you.”
“Oh my God.” Without waiting for me, she ran down the stairs and swung the front door open. I followed and laughed when she shrieked. “Oh my God. You’re not joking. She’s really here.”
I hugged Huck and waved at Lincoln to invite her to join us.
She got out of the car and walked over to give Huck a hug. Huck asked her a few questions, then ran in the house to tell our grandparents. Lincoln smiled at me as she wrapped her arms around my neck. She pulled me closer so our foreheads were resting together. “Now what?” she asked.
“Has Tessa Todd ever had a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“I wonder if she wants one.”
“There is one guy she would definitely want as her boyfriend, but he hasn’t asked her.”
“Well, do you think she would want me to be her boyfriend while she waits for him to ask?”
She smiled, and her fingers dug into my neck. “I would love that.”
“Good.” I kissed the tip of her nose, then asked, “What do you want for breakfast?”
“How about poached eggs, bacon, and multigrain toast.”
“Wow,” I teased. “Look at you making a decision all on your own. Does this mean you don’t need a handler anymore?”
Her body pressed against mine and sent a charge across my skin before she provocatively touched her lips to mine. “I can think for myself, but I wouldn’t mind if you still handled me a little.”
I chuckled at the innuendo.
“All right. Deal.” I leaned in and kissed her in the way that I had been fantasizing about since I met her. She reciprocated, and it was well worth the wait.
The End
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Acknowledgments
Thank you forever to my husband and the rest of my family for supporting me in every possible way.
Thank you to Ethan Vera, Shawn Mercer, and Michael Yaptinchay for your input on The Handler. As always, thank you to my critique partner Denise Jaden. Thanks also to my Harley guy Kelly, and to everyone else who has supported my writing.
Thanks to Vanessa Mitchell, Debbie Suzuki, Heather Howland, Sue Winegardner, Brittany Marczak, and the rest of the team behind the scenes at Entangled Publishing.
Finally, thank you to all the readers of the Noir et Bleu Motorcycle Club series.
About the Author
D. R. Graham currently lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada with her husband. She worked as a social worker with at-risk youth prior to becoming a youth and family therapist in private practice. She writes novels that deal with issues relevant to young and new adults in love, transition, or crisis.
The Handler is the second book in the Noir et Bleu Motorcycle Club series. For more on the series, visit www.drgrahambooks.com.
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