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 letter S.

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.

"Patrick," I say.

There's a delay on the other end, one so long that I wonder if this was just a butt dial call.

"Patrick?"

"When are you coming home?" he asks. "It's been nearly two weeks."

My body responds to his voice.

I shrink.

Every part of me automatically sizes down into something smaller than I've become. Muscle memory tells me to comply. To reassure. To appease.

It takes physical effort to straighten my shoulders, even though he can't see me. "I'm not coming home. I can't afford it right now, but I'll be filing for divorce as soon as I can."

"If it's about the money, I'll put it back."

"You should put it back regardless because it was a shitty thing to do. I've had to rely on the generosity of…Mercy's friends."

"I will. Now. Just use it to settle accounts, whatever. I miss you. I want you to come home so we can sort this out together."

I look at the monitor where I can see Lola sleeping peacefully. She goes where I go now, and it isn't to a man who has already shown how easily he's willing to raise his fists in violence.

"You hit me one too many times, Patrick. There isn't any coming back from that."

There's a sigh on the other end. The sound of ice clinking against glass makes me shiver. Nothing good ever followed Patrick drinking ice-cold vodka.

"They're asking about you at church. Where you are. It's embarrassing us." His voice shifts subtly from almost whining to something with a little more menace.

"I can't care about that. I needed to leave you before you killed me."

There's a huff from Patrick. He always held himself the same way when he did it: chin slightly raised, his nose flared. "Now you're being dramatic."

"We're done, Patrick. Don't call me again."

I slam the phone down on the table. It's a billion years old. I likely broke the screen, but I can't bring myself to care.

"Fuuuuuccccckkkkkkkk." It comes out one long, angry gasp of air. An almost silent expletive scream until my lungs burn from the lack of air in them.

"Is that a good ‘fuck' or a bad ‘fuck'?"

Halo.

I spin to face him. "It was a good one, I think."

He walks over to me until our toes are basically touching. Him clad in big black boots, me in my white sneakers. When he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, I shiver.

"Patrick, I'm guessing?"

"He said he'd give me my money back if I went home."

"Generous fucker," Halo says sarcastically.

"Indeed. But I looked at the monitor." I tip my head to the counter where it sits. "All I could think of was that I would take Lola with me wherever I go. And it could never be to a man I know for a fact is capable of losing his temper and raising his fists."

"Wise words. I want you and Lola to be somewhere safe when this mess with our brother is over. And it definitely isn't with a man who raised his fists to you."

"Just this short time I've spent here with you has shown me there's a completely different way of living that is healthier. A place where I can breathe and be safe. I couldn't go back to him now, even if there was no Lola."

He leans back against the counter. "I overheard what you were saying, about affording a divorce. The club has a lawyer on our books. Want me to ask them to come see you and file it or whatever you need to do."

I shake my head. "I can't afford it yet."

Halo smiles. "It would be free."

I drop my head, a little overwhelmed. "You're doing too much for me."

He nudges my chin up. "Told you, I want you and Lola safe. Having this dick out of your life permanently is a big part of that."

The sigh that escapes me is shaky. "Then thank you. I would like that. Don't know how I'll ever repay you."

"You'll make sure that day-to-day, you and Lola have the best fucking life." He looks around the kitchen. "And you cleaned."

"I wanted it to feel restful when you got home; instead, you found me yelling into the abyss because my husband is an asshole."

"Ex," Halo corrects.

"He's still my husband until we're divorced. But yes, he's my ex in spirit."

"I like that you cleaned. Thank you."

"I prepared dinner too, seeing as you said you'd be home tonight. Did you get some sleep last night?"

From the bags beneath his eyes, I know the answer to that before he tells me. "Not much. A couple of hours. Club took a big loss."

"Is it to do with the man King was talking about? Jasper Haven."

Halo nods. "Yeah. You don't need to know the details. Club business. But he helped us do what we do. And last night, not having him smooth the path for us, shit got real, and we lost a delivery we were expecting."

I slide my arm over his bicep. He's wearing a white T-shirt with a denim shirt open over the top. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. My mouth goes dry when I look at his veined forearms, so strong and tanned.

"I'm sorry." The words tumble from my lips, but not like they used to for Patrick. With him, I was sorry for everything. For existing. It was a practiced way of avoiding conflict. But for Halo I really mean it.

"I made an anonymous drop of cash at his home from the club. He had kids. We made sure they'd be okay for a while."

I touch his cheek. "Do you want to go get some rest or go sit out in the yard? I'll bring you a beer."

Halo looks at the pile of things he rescued from his father's place. "As much as that sounds amazing, I have shit that needs to get done. The insurance company needs some more details for Dad's house, and I'm sure he had a life insurance policy, so I need to go through his emails. Close all his accounts. I haven't even stopped his phone plan."

He looks so weary and troubled; I can't stand it. I wrap my arms around his waist and step into him. It takes him only a moment to respond as his arms snake around me.

We stand there for a minute as I breathe his scent. He smells of fresh air and soap. Simple. His denim shirt is soft to my cheek.

"It would be so easy to get used to this, kitten," he says.

I smile against his chest. "It's a few hours until I planned to have dinner ready. Why don't you set up at the table, and I'll make you a snack while you work?"

Halo places his finger beneath my chin and lifts my face until I look up at him. "I can take care of myself."

"I know. But right now, you don't need to. Let me carry some of the weight for you."

His eyes narrow. "Fuck it." His palms are warm and rough as he cups my cheeks. His lips on mine are soft and gentle. Not wild and reckless like I was expecting. Our tongues barely touch.

Longing pours from me. I hadn't realized how starved I was of a caring touch. A touch I could trust and lean in to.

I place my hands on his solid chest as strong arms cocoon me. When he lifts his lips from mine, I sigh. "You have work you need to do. You go take care of that and let me take care of you."

He strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. "I'm glad I got to come home to you today, Ari."

"So am I. You need me to move the jigsaw puzzle?"

Halo looks at it. "No. I like seeing your progress. We'll get you another when you're done."

There's a dichotomy to his words. He's clear this isn't a relationship, that we are a very temporary…thing. But he's thinking about things we'll do in the future, like buy more puzzles.

And so, we peacefully co-exist. He works, and I make him a sandwich with some ham and cheese I bought earlier in the week. I use up the rest of the tomatoes. Once I know he has food and a beer, I quickly grab a shower and shave my legs while Lola continues to nap.

By my accounting, I have about fifteen minutes left before she rouses, so there's no time to dry my thick hair that takes an age. Instead, I cover myself in a scented lotion I adore.

Is the sweep of eyeshadow I quickly apply necessary? No. Neither is the mascara. It's the first time in a while that I've felt like making the effort. Patrick always expected me to be presentable, even on my days off. It's been a tiny act of rebellion to not wear makeup every day. But today, I want to feel pretty.

As I apply a little gloss, I study my face. I look rested. And my skin has picked up a healthy summer glow from all the hours spent outside. My heart rate after Patrick's call has returned to normal.

Perhaps I should grieve the end of my marriage harder than I am. But all I feel is breathtaking relief. I couldn't force tears, even if I wanted to.

I allow a daydream to linger. One where I stay with Halo and heal with him. One where we grieve our losses together and keep this house but turn it into a home. It's a reckless idea. I don't want to live in a situation where I rely on a man.

But the vision of me, Halo, and Lola all growing up together is beautiful.

Something else hits me too. Even if I move out tomorrow. Even if these conflicting and tender feelings I have for Halo aren't ever reciprocated, I'll be fine.

It feels wrong, taking money from Halo to look after my niece who I would look after even if he didn't pay me. But I'm saving most of it beyond a couple of things I bought for Lola and the house. Which means when I'm ready, I can move out, get my own place.

I run my fingers over the lovely sink and the finely veined marble. Wherever I live won't be as lovely as Halo's home.

"But I can make it on my own." In the quiet of the bathroom, it's a powerful statement. I repeat it. "I can make it on my own."

Energy courses through me.

I can.

"I can make it on my own."

It's my new mantra. I'm going to repeat it to myself every morning, or when things feel hard. When I file for divorce. Whenever I need to remind myself who I am.

Lola starts to babble in her bedroom, so I hurry through getting dressed. I put on a floaty sundress and smile at myself in the mirror.

One of the best things about a baby is that they are always so freaking happy to see you when they wake up. Even if they are crying and sad, seeing you makes their world immediately better.

Lola is no different.

"Come on, sweet thing," I say, lifting her out of her crib. "Did you have a good nap?"

She babbles at me while I go through the routine of changing her diaper.

"Should we put you in a pretty dress too?" I ask. We walk to her closet. "You want the pink one or the orange one?"

Her chubby little fingers reach for the orange one, even as she shouts, "Pink."

"Good choice. Jax is going to think you're as cute as a button." I sit her back on the changing mat and slip the dress over her head. "What do you think about a little clip with a daisy on it?"

Lola claps, and I take that as a yes. I brush her hair with the soft little brush. "You know, I think you're going to be strawberry blonde like me and your momma." I brush the downy hairs behind her ear, then slide the little clip in to keep her hair from her face.

"There. You're all done. Jax is going to love this outfit. Do you think he's going to like mine?"

Lola claps her palms on my cheeks and squeals.

"Yeah? I hope so too. I want him to think I'm the prettiest woman he knows."

And with that, I pick her up and take her downstairs.