We were driving through a residential area but still, Joker swung immediately to the curb behind a parked car. I gasped as he shoved the truck into park, undid my seatbelt, hooked me with an arm, and yanked me to him.
Then he kissed me, hard and thoroughly, with tongues.
I was breathing heavily when he broke the kiss, and as surprising as it was, I didn’t ask after it.
I knew what it was about.
His people mattered, he mattered, and he liked that I knew it.
So instead, I moved the hand I’d had in his hair to his smooth cheek.
“You got rid of your stubble,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he whispered back. “Cut my hair and shaved for Mrs. Heely. She didn’t like where they were before.” He paused before he finished, “And she matters.”
I felt my eyes get wet.
“I’ll explain it to her, Carrie,” he continued. “Start growin’ it back again for you. She’ll get it and put up with it.”
“Your face, sweetheart, your call.”
I watched him smile before he moved even closer (and he wasn’t that far), dipped, and slid his nose along my jaw, ending that bit of fabulousness by landing a light kiss on my neck.
Then he put me back in my seat and turned to the wheel.
I drew in a steadying breath and buckled up.
Joker pulled out.
In a few minutes, we turned into a development that was clearly assisted living.
I instantly hated it.
It was tidy. It was attractive. There were flowers and window boxes.
But each unit was tiny.
Joker had told me Mrs. Heely lost her son not in a war but during some military operation. He’d been Special Forces and things had gone awry. His team had achieved their aim, but they’d sadly lost two men doing it, one of them Mrs. Heely’s son.
I had no idea how old she was but I didn’t care.
I was my father’s daughter. My gramma was not in good shape, and she still lived at home because my dad made that so.
Thus I believed no one should live in a place like that.
And if Mrs. Heely’s son had been Special Forces, I was absolutely certain he’d agree with me.
“There’s the flag,” Joker muttered and I looked right, to what was clearly the clubhouse, and saw the tattered flag hanging there.
He’d told me about that too.
And staring at it, I felt it should be hanging a lot closer to the woman who only had that tattered piece of fabric left of her son.
Joker parked behind a black GMC Acadia and I looked to the diminutive row of houses. One with a window box had the lights on inside, curtains open, people visible through the window, and the door was opening.
“Oh geez,” I whispered.
“They’ll love you,” Joker muttered, and I heard his door open.
I had my door open and Joker was at it helping me down when I saw an elderly woman in a pretty dress with perfectly coiffed silver-white hair coming down the walk, smiling.
“He shaved!” she cried in glee.
“Told you,” Joker said under his breath to me.
I smiled.
He got me clear of the door, slammed it, and we took one step before the woman who had to be Mrs. Heely latched on to Joker’s face.
She tugged it down and moved it side to side.
“There it is. The handsome,” she declared.
I loved her instantly.
“Don’t get used to it. Carrie likes the beard,” Joker replied.
My heart lurched and my hand lifted so I could slap his arm.
“Do you want her to dislike me?” I snapped.
Joker pulled away from the grip Mrs. Heely had on him and grinned at me as he slung his arm around her shoulders.
“Mrs. Heely, this is Carrie,” he introduced.
“What a pretty dress,” she remarked, looking me over in a kind rather than sharp way, which was a relief.
“Thanks,” I replied, lifting a hand.
“Oh no,” she said, grabbing it and tugging on it, her look changing entirely. It was still kind but also welcoming and very warm. “We do hugs in this family.”
This family.
Gosh, I was glad Joker had that.
Though, it was strange how she emphasized it.
As Joker dropped his arm from around her, I bent in and hugged her. She hugged me back.
So far so good.
I heard the back door to the truck open and close as we let each other go.
“From Carrie. She works at LeLane’s. She got you the good stuff,” Joker said, holding the bakery box by the string and the bouquet in his other arm her way.
Mrs. Heely threw her hands up. “Too much!” she cried but didn’t hesitate reaching out and snatching both from Joker. She shoved her face in the flowers and said after pulling it out, “I haven’t had flowers in the house in years.”
Okay, that was also good.
I again smiled.
“Come inside. Candy has to see your new look, Carson,” Mrs. Heely stated, then ordered in a bossy mom’s voice, “Let’s go.”
We went (she was giving us the bossy mom), but following her to the house, Joker didn’t grab my hand. He slid his arm around my shoulders and guided us in.
When we got in, I found I was right. The place was tiny. And made more so by a bunch of furniture that used to be in a much bigger living room stuffed in, not to mention the large, good-looking man, his beautiful wife, and their three kids who were occupying it.
We barely were through the door with Joker closing it behind us before the man took one look at me and strangely burst into gales of laughter.
I went stiff.
Joker felt it.
“Something funny, brother?” he asked with low warning.
The man, who had to be Linus, kept laughing (though not roaring with it) and shook his head, saying through it, “Car, buddy, you’re the only badass biker on the planet who’d pick the prom queen as his woman.”
“I was homecoming queen. I only made the court at prom,” I told him, my voice as stiff as my body.
He burst into more laughter.
The beautiful woman with him, who I knew was his wife Kamryn, slapped his arm (a lot harder than I had earlier slapped Joker’s).
“Cut it out, Linus!” she hissed.
He quit laughing so quickly, I jumped.
He also did it focused on me.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Perfect.”
The force of his words and the emotion behind them made me push into Joker’s side and his arm tightened reflexively around my shoulders when I did.
Linus looked to Joker and his voice was still rough with meaning. “I know you’re done with him, Car, but swear to Christ, I’d pay to see his face, you walked in as all you are with this girl on your arm. Pay to see that shit.”