Page 73 of Catcher's Lock

We made a deal, after all. And he’s already more than held up his end.

“Right.”Totally worth it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before I left,” he continues, andfuck, I hate hearing him apologize to her because of me. “I didn’t want to get everyone’s hopes up until I knew what I was gonna find.”

“And what, exactly, did you find?” she asks with a skeptical arch of a cool brow. “Do I need to call my cousin?”

Yeah, sure.The old “helpful” connection who pulled strings to get me into Harmony Hell-Home two years ago, and fuckthatshit right off.

“I’m not going back to rehab,” I state, as Josha says:

“I don’t think we’re there yet.”

They both turn to me, Cheyenne with undisguised disdain and Josha with an exasperation that borders on pleading.

“Meetings might be a good idea,” he says softly. Swallowing the itch that tries to crawl up my throat, I shrug.

“I did NA in Bernalillo. It wasn’t that bad.” Not that I had a choice. Or anything better to do while I was locked up. Of course, it didn’t stop me from falling off the wagon the minute I was back on the streets.

I’ve got a much better reason to stick it out this time, though. Orgasms with Rocket are a hell of an incentive, and I doubt he’ll continue sharing them—or the rest of himself—with me if I keep fucking up. I meet his hopeful gaze with a half smile that’s only partly forced and try not to think about how much more tolerable Cheyenne would be after a few drinks.

“Do you really think you can handle him?” she asks, still addressing Josha. Her eyes track over my low-slung sweats and bare feet before shifting toward the bedroom—rumpled bedsheets clearly visible through the half-open door at the end of the hall. “That this is a good idea?”

So much for secrecy. At leastthissecret wasn’t my idea. I might feel smug if Josha didn’t look so warily uncertain. And if Cheyenne wasn’t being her usual snarky self.

“I’m not Josha’s responsibility,” I inform her. “I’m a grown-ass man—even if I don’t always act like it—and I can answer for my own fucking mistakes. Stop acting like you’re in a position to judge anyone for the decisions they make for the people they love. You know all about collateral damage.”

“Gem.” Josha shakes his head in warning, but Cheyenne bristles with fury and finally takes the bait, stalking over to get in my face.

“You want to talk collateral damage, shithead? You want myposition? I am fuckingdoneletting your bullshit hurt the peopleIlove. If you ever put your mother—or Milla or Hals or Josha—through anything like that again, I will hunt your sorry ass down and make it the last free thing you ever do. I will have you committed and throw away the fucking key. And I’ll make sure you’re pumped full of meds until you can’t think about taking a drink without puking your guts out and your dick doesn’t remember how to get hard.”

Jesus.Note to self: Find out if Antabuse causes erectile dysfunction.

“I think he’s got it, Chey.” Stepping between us, Josha takes her by the arm and nudges her gently toward the door. “We’vegot it. He’ll be here when the family gets home on Friday, I promise.” He shoots me a warning look over his shoulder. “And he’ll be sober.”

“I can’t fucking wait,” I mutter, but I have the sense to keep it under my breath.

Remember the orgasms.

Neither of us say anything as we listen to the ATV fire up and fade away.

Trailer doors aren’t heavy enough to effectively slam, but they give up a good rattle if a six-two pissed-off hulk bangs a fist against them.

Josha has forgotten the orgasms.

“Told you we should have hidden out in the shower,” I quip, and immediately regret it when he turns his head to regard me through narrowed eyes. “Sorry I put you on the bitch’s shit list. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I’m a fucking idiot.” His voice is blisteringly calm.

“No you’re not.”

“I am. I’m an enabling idiot who lets himself be led around by his dick.”

“You’renot.”

“That’s what Cheyenne’s thinking right now.”

This is why he didn’t want her to know about us.My fucking issues make him look weak. I cross to the door and clasp his bicep so I can tug him around to face me.