Page 65 of The Souls We Claim

“But she’s a child. What does that?—?”

“Motherfucker,” King yells from his spot on a picnic table nearby. “Clutch, Bates, Halo.”

“Fucking timing,” I groan. “I gotta go see what Prez needs. But trust me when I say I’m going to make sure nothing happens to Lola, yeah? Or you.”

I let go of Ari and walk over to King. “What happened, Prez?”

He shows me a news report.

Jasper Haven, our contact at the docks, the man who made everything work for our deliveries, is dead.

20

ARIANNE

Idon’t know who Jasper Haven is, but from the snippets of conversation I heard yesterday as Halo and his friends struggled to relax after receiving the news of his death, he was vitally important to the club.

And now I know about an organization called the Righteous Brotherhood.

I might not be the smartest kid on the block, but even I know how to steer my way around the internet. They’re a white supremacist organization. There are whispers of trafficking. And I hate the idea that they could hurt Lola.

I spent some time before breakfast writing in my journal to see if I could make sense of my thoughts about things. Mercy. Halo. The Brotherhood. Patrick.

But I kept coming back to the one thing I know for certain. Lola and I are both safer here with Halo than out in the world.

The monitor tells me Lola is utterly flaked out in her crib after a busy morning. I’m working on a routine for her. After lunch, we drove to the store in my car, which has run perfectly since I got it back from the Outlaws’ garage.

Lola played on the rug by the door while I put groceries away. Then we played in the backyard. With the money Halo gave me, I bought her a little play area for sand. It’s in the shape of a turtle. And there’s a little pool we empty every night. We stack, and read, and paint with our hands until her little head starts to nod and her eyes droop.

Then I clean her up and put her down for a nap.

At the store, I also bought a few things for Halo’s place. Nothing too expensive as I’m trying to save for when I move out. He’s told me he intends to flip the house and sell it, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be more of a home while he lives here.

I bought two cushions for the sofa, and a plant for the kitchen. But my favorite treasure is a multi-picture frame. The store had one of those machines that print off photographs, so I printed off some I’d taken of Lola and Halo at her birthday party.

I touch the images I’ve already slotted into place. Lola in her pretty dress. Halo laughing as she shoved her fists into the cake. A picture of her chuckling as Halo tried to clean up her face. A candid of Halo I took when he wasn’t looking. I stand it on the narrow table in the hallway where Halo leaves his wallet and keys when he gets home.

Halo suggested I take the time to find out what hobbies I enjoy. Decorating a home is definitely one of them. But I also picked up a romance book Briar had recommended. Something about a Mafia crime family which she assures me is, in her words,spicey.

Now I have about ninety minutes to do everything else I have to do. Operation Win Jax Over has commenced. I am not a one-and-done. He might think I’m too young and vulnerable to be anything other than a house mouse, but I’m determined to show him I can be so much more than that if he’ll let me.

I’m going to make an amazing dinner, clean the house so it’s restful and calm for when Halo gets home, and make Lola and myself look so spectacular, he can’t help but love us both.

It’s so fifties housewife, but I don’t care.

To care for someone who appreciates being cared for is the one thing I want in life. When I was at school, we had to do this task, write about where we saw ourselves in ten years. Some people rather ambitiously said they’d be CEOs or professional athletes or lawyers. I remember Mrs. Lascala had laughed at my answer, that I’d be married, with three children whose names all began with the letterS.

Halo isn’t my forever. He’s made that perfectly clear. But I’m going to build a slice of happy in the window of time I’m here, because experiencing what life could be like with someone who isn’t Patrick is putting the broken pieces of me back together.

I mix up the marinade for the skirt steak I bought earlier. Fish sauce, sugar, garlic, soy sauce, and heapings of coriander make my mouth water. I pop the whole thing in the fridge and prep the Thai-inspired salad I intend to serve it with. Juicy ripe tomatoes, green onions, leafy salad greens, chopped mint, and cashews.

It’s my favorite, and I hope Halo will love it too.

Then I straighten the house, stacking Lola’s toys, dusting the surfaces, and wiping down counters. When my phone rings, I debate not answering it, but it could be Halo.

The name that pops up on my display is not someone I need to speak to.

But I answer out of habit.