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“Pop the hood. I’ll take a look,” he says, like someone who’s used to giving orders. I bite my lip and watch as his gaze zeros in on my mouth. My stomach does a flip. Nope. Good-looking or not, I don’t want his help.
Regardless of the fact that I’ve been on my own most of my life, there is something about being physically near someone but unable to connect that is more isolating than actually being alone.
“And no, besides jumping my car, you haven’t given me a reason to help you. But someone has to be the first one to do the right thing, right?”
It’s to remind me that someone can experience life and death, joy and grief, and still be beautiful and bright. That, like the truck full of marigolds that overturned, I can find a new home and thrive. Like this little flower, I am strong.
“You fit in here, with us.” Those six words feel bigger than they should, like there is something deeper he’s not saying. Or maybe it’s just how long I’ve been waiting for someone to say them.
Colton giggles. This grown-ass, tattoo-covered man giggles, and the musical sound has the last bits of the wall I built crumbling down.
“Today we remember, tomorrow we return to the fight.”
Turning toward me, Colton bites his lip. “Can I take you out Friday?” “Like murder me?” It’s kind of funny watching him squirm. His face scrunches in confusion. “Why do you always think I’m trying to kill you? I want to take you out, like on a date.”
We park amid a bustling Main Street and, to my surprise, Colton darts out of the car before I have time to unbuckle my seat belt. My heart skips a beat when I realize he’s coming around to open my door. Apparently, I’m a sucker for the little gestures.
Colton shoves his hands into his pockets. “Oh fuck. I scared you, didn’t I? Listen, I know it’s early, but I want to make this work. I want you to go after your goals, and I want to be there when you reach them. For the first time in my life, I want something for myself. Not for Jack or the club, but for me. I’m not going to let a little distance come between us, Tiger.”
They are protecting the people of Eden—the people society has declared open season on. Just like Colton couldn’t stand to watch the doves be slaughtered, he and the Jackals can’t stand by and watch less-fortunate people be used and discarded for sport by rich bastards like Charles Eastmann.
I’m coming to learn that sometimes a found family is even better than the ones we’re assigned at birth.
“All Jackals have an equal seat at the table. Every voice counts.”
