After putting Charlie’s things on her bed, I went to my room and threw my bags on the bare mattress. I didn’t have much anymore, but thankfully when I’d been put away an old friend had stored some of my shit in her garage and since then I’d added to it here and there. First things first, I pulled out a couple of picture frames from the top of my duffle bag and set them on top of the dresser.

  In the first photo, me and Uncle Beau stood in front of a river, holding up a stringer of fish that I’d been obscenely proud of at the time. Uncle Beau was wearing his signature half smile, his eyes pointed down at me, and I was grinning so wide that it pretty much distorted the rest of my face. The second photo was just me and my mom. I guessed I was around two, maybe a little younger, and I was sitting on her lap. Her hair was hanging down and you couldn’t see much of her face, but what you could see looked just like mine did now. The same cheekbones and chin. Same smile. It was wild to me that I was older now than she’d been in the photo.

  I spent the next hour putting clothes away and trying to organize a bit. Eventually, I laid down on my back and stared at the ceiling while I listened to the old house creak and the rest of my housemates moving around the place. Charlie dropped her towels off the top of the stairs and yelled, “Heads up!” making me chuckle. It was kind of nice hearing other people doing their thing. The halfway house I’d just moved out of had been pretty quiet. No one had wanted to be there and most didn’t want to make friends either, so there hadn’t been a ton of interaction. I grimaced thinking of the only real time I’d hung out with my housemates—my first night out when another of the boarders had come into my room interested in one thing. It had been a while and she was attractive, so I’d been more than willing. But she hadn’t talked to me the next day and honestly, I’d been kind of fine with it. I’d later realized that she never slept with the same person twice—she was only interested in the new boarders. I didn’t fault her for it—but it wasn’t really my thing. I’d steered clear of everyone after that.

  Eventually I must have fallen asleep because I woke up later to Charlie standing over the bed, her hand on my shoulder.

  “It’s just me,” she said, flexing her hand. That’s when I’d realized that I had her wrist gripped tightly in my fist.

  “Sorry,” I replied hoarsely, letting go like her arm was on fire.

  “No worries,” she said, giving me a small smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

  “I hurt you?” I asked, sitting up in bed.

  “Please,” she scoffed. “I’m made of stronger stuff than that. I brought your sheets.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I said, still a little fuzzy as I stood up.

  “You stay on this side and I’ll do the other side,” she ordered, rounding the bed.

  “I can do it,” I replied as she swung the bottom sheet out over the bed.

  “It’s so much easier when there are two people,” she responded with a grin, continuing with what she was doing. “I’ll just help you real quick and then get out of your hair.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, reaching for my side of the sheet. “You don’t need to go anywhere. I like it when you’re here. Thanks again for doing this.”

  “Sure,” she replied. “I was happy to help. Oh—I have something else for you.”

  She straightened out her side of the top sheet and walked quickly out of the room. When she came back a minute later, she had a quilt in her hands.

  “Help me put this on,” she ordered, unfolding it.

  The quilt had a geometric pattern done in all grays and blues. Some of the pieces were solid, some were striped, some had tiny flowers and some looked almost tie-dyed, but they all somehow fit perfectly into the design. In my experience most quilts looked like they belonged to little old ladies that had a bunch of cats, but this one didn’t by any stretch. It was honestly one of the most masculine quilts I’d ever seen, even the flowers didn’t look girly.

  “There,” Charlie said. She tossed a pillow at me so I could put a pillowcase on it and started on the other one.

  “That isn’t the blanket I used the other night,” I said as I copied her movements.

  “Nope,” she replied. “This my friend, is a Rose Butler original.”

  “Cool,” I said, nodding. “Who’s Rose Butler?”

  “My grandma,” Charlie replied with a laugh. “Technically my great grandma, but whatever. She was a quilter and this is one of hers. Me and Kara saved the quilts before my parents’ house burned down.”

  I was just about to drop the pillow onto the bed when I froze. “I can’t use your great grandma’s blanket.”

  “Well, she’s not using it,” Charlie said dryly. “She died before I was born.”

  “Where’s that blanket from last night,” I asked, glancing from her to the quilt and back again. “I’ll just use that one.”

  “This is nicer,” Charlie replied simply.

  “Charlie,” I argued as she sat down on the bed. “No. What if I fuck it up?”

  “Planning on using power tools in bed?” she asked sarcastically.

  “I could spill something on it,” I replied, staring at the quilt.

  “It’ll wash.”

  “I could stain it.”

  “Then it’ll have a little more character than it had before,” she said, staring at me like I had two heads. “What is your deal?”

  “This is a fucking—” I paused to find the right words. “family heirloom.”

  Charlie snorted. “Chill,” she said, leaning toward me a little. “Seriously. We are not that fancy. The quilts were made to be used and this one looks great with your new stuff. I knew it would.”

  “They’re made to be used by your family.”

  “Look,” she said, patting the bed so I’d sit down. She stared at me until I gingerly dropped my ass to the bed. Were my jeans clean? I hadn’t worked that day, but I had been moving furniture and shit and who knew what I’d picked up—

  “My gram made tons of quilts, alright? And when we got them out of my parents’ house they were split between the grandkids and great grandkids. I got three. One is on my bed, one is folded up in my closet, and this is one. It’s mine and I say you can use it on this kick-ass bed.”

  “I appreciate it,” I said quietly. “But if I fuck it up—”

  Charlie cut me off, shoving my shoulder gently. “Then every time I take it out I’ll remember that time I let Beauregard Augustus Bishop borrow it. These quilts were made to be used. Loved.”

  I sighed, knowing I was fighting a losing battle.

  “They were made to make you feel at home,” Charlie said, giving me a soft smile. “And I never met my gram, but from everything I’ve heard, I have a feeling she’d insist you use it.”

  “You’re nicer than everyone thinks you are,” I muttered, making her gasp dramatically and backhand my shoulder.

  “Everyone loves me,” she argued, laughing. She looked around the room. “It looks good in here. Hey, is that your mom?”

  “Yeah,” I replied as she climbed off the bed and picked up the photo.

  “She looks just like you.”

  “I know.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Jenny,” I said, clearing my throat. It was weird, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d told someone my mom’s name.

  “Jenny and her sunshine boy,” Charlie murmured softly. “Look how sweet you were.”

  “I grew out of it,” I joked, trying to lighten the conversation.

  “Nah,” she glanced at me. “Still sweet as sugar.” She set down the frame and picked up the other, giggling at the photo of me and Uncle Beau.

  “Look at you two in your straight-guy-holds-fish pose.”

  “Our what?” I asked with a confused laugh.

  “Yeah, you know?” She posed, standing straight, her chest pressed forward and a big grin on her face, one hand held in a fist at shoulder height like she was showing off a fish.

  “Shit,” I said, understanding exactly what she meant.

  “He looks like a guy you’d want to have a beer with,” she said, accurately describing Uncle Beau. She looked up at me. “And he looks so proud of you.”

  “About thirty minutes before the picture was taken, he’d been swearing like a sailor and calling me a dumbass because I’d caught my hook in his t-shirt,” I said dryly. “I almost gave him an unintentional nipple piercing. I think the pride came and went.”

  Charlie laughed. “Ooh, bad form. I don’t think I’ve ever caught someone with a hook.”

  “You fish?” I asked in surprise. I honestly couldn’t imagine Charlie sitting still long enough for her to go fishing.

  “I have,” she said. “With my uncles, mostly. You couldn’t tell by looking at him, but my dad isn’t really the fishing type. He grew up in Southern California and went to prep schools and all that.”

  I imagined Casper at a prep school and choked.

  “Yeah,” Charlie said, grinning as she set the photo back down. “He even went to Yale.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit. He’s crazy smart, did it all on scholarship.”

  “How the fuck did he end up in the Aces?” I asked curiously.

  “That’s a story for a different day,” Charlie said dryly. “And not mine to tell, anyway. You should ask him about it some time.”

  “Yeah, I doubt I’ll be asking your dad about his backstory,” I replied, making her snicker.

  “You might want to get to know him a little better first,” she agreed, wrinkling her nose. “Okay, well I think you’re all set now, so I think I’m going to go straighten up my room and watch some TV.”

  “Thanks again, Charlie,” I replied.

  She ran her hand over the quilt absentmindedly, tracing her fingers over the stitching. After a moment, she looked at me, her eyes soft.

  “Welcome home, Beauregard Augustus Bishop.”

  Chapter 7

  Charlie

  We settled into a new routine with Bishop in the house, and I liked it. His schedule was much more set in stone than mine was, and he didn’t seem to go out much, so I always knew when he’d be home which secretly thrilled me. Evenings became my favorite time of day, and though our activities were pretty fucking tame for people our age, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. We all ate dinner together during the week, had Reb over to play poker and board games, and watched TV shows that we all promised not to continue unless everyone was present. Bishop and I usually ended up in my room at the end of the night, hanging out after Kara and Draco had gone to bed. On the weekends when I wasn’t working, Bishop would sometimes go for a run with me and Kara. When she left us in the dust because the girl couldn’t do a leisurely run if there was a gun to her head, we would talk the entire time about everything and nothing.

  Three weeks in, there was only one topic that we hadn’t broached, and I flew right past that invisible barrier after a long ass day of working and a couple drinks.

  “What were you in prison for?” I asked, lying sideways in my bed with my head propped up on my hands.

  Bishop had been lounging on my couch, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded behind his head—and he stayed that way—but I still could’ve sworn I saw his entire body freeze in place.

  “I’m sorry,” I choked out, instantly remorseful. I’d overstepped big time and I knew it. I’d grown up with men who’d been in and out of prison for a variety of reasons and I knew how shitty it was to ask them why they’d been there. If they wanted to offer up the information, it was their place to do it. If they didn’t, you kept your curiosity to yourself because frankly it was none of your goddamn business.

  “Weed,” he answered quietly, his chest rising and falling on a big breath. “Anything else you wanna know?”

  “It’s none of my goddamn business,” I said, covering my face while I shook my head.

  “I’m sittin’ in your room,” he said easily. “Been in your room almost every night since I moved in. I’d say that makes it your business.”

  “No it doesn’t,” I argued sitting up. I felt weird having the conversation while laying down. “I knew you’d been in prison. If I had reservations about that, I could’ve said something before you moved in. Asking now is just—it’s shitty. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Charlie,” he said chidingly. “I meant it—anythin’ you wanna know, I’ll tell ya.”

  “Full out of questions,” I said quickly, shaking my head.

  “Honey, if I thought you were bein’ an asshole or would be an asshole about it, this would be an entirely different conversation.”

  “How did you go to prison for weed?” I blurted. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Between my record and the amount of green I had on me, they pretty much bent me over and fucked me,” he said quietly.

  “But it’s legal now,” I replied, still confused.

  “Only legal up to a certain amount,” he said.

  “Was it worth it?”

  “Fuck no,” he said, giving me lopsided smile. “See if I ever buy in bulk again.”

  I let out a startled laugh.

  “Don’t ask me to go to Costco,” he continued. “I’d have nightmares for weeks.”

  “You’re a shit,” I replied, throwing my pillow at him.

  “Oh, now I’m a shit,” he said insinuatingly as he stood up, my pillow in his hands. “I see how you turned the tables.”

  “That’s not fair,” I replied, scooting backward on the bed. “I apologized.”

  “I know. And you can’t help it,” he said, lurching toward me. I scrambled even further back. “You’re naturally nosy.”

  “I’m not nosy!”

  He put a knee to the bed and a very undignified squeak burst out of my mouth as I tried to escape. Unfortunately, I’d underestimated the size of my bed and I fell backward ass over elbows onto the floor beside it.

  “Holy fuck,” Bishop yelped, hurrying around the bed. He was struggling not to laugh. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I wheezed, lying flat on my back with one foot still awkwardly clinging to hope on the bed.

  He crouched down next to me and reached out.

  “Don’t move me,” I said urgently. “I may have broken something.”

  The smile lingering on his lips instantly vanished as his eyes widened with worry.

  “Fuck,” he breathed, his gaze running over me. “What hurts?”

  “Nothing,” I replied easily, reaching out to jab him in the side with my thumb. “But that’s what you get for laughing.”

  I rolled over and got to my knees in one smooth movement while he stared at me.

  “I thought you were actually hurt,” he said accusingly.

  “Good,” I replied, pointing at him. That was as far as I got before he lifted me from the floor and slung me over his shoulder.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I yelled, kicking my legs and twisting to try and get away.

  “You know,” he said conversationally as we left my room. “You really should be more careful about who you pull shit with.”

  “It was just a joke,” I choked out as his hand connected firmly with my ass. It wasn’t a smack, but Jesus, it was a clear sign of something.

  “Jokes are funnier when they’re shared,” he said, jogging down the stairs.

  “It was shared,” I argued, pinching his ass. “We shared it.”

  “But I didn’t think it was funny.”

  “I never said I was a comedian,” I spat, pinching him again. “You win some, you lose some.”

  “That is true,” he said as he strode through the entryway and into the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, starting to get nervous as he just kept walking.

  “What’s happening out here?” Draco asked, coming out of his bedroom. Kara stood behind him in one of his t-shirts.

  “What was that big thump upstairs?” Kara asked.

  “Sometimes,” Bishop said, ignoring both of them as he opened the back door. “The joke just isn’t funny to the person it’s gettin’ played on.”

  With those words he set me on my feet, right on the soaking wet patio.

  I stared, rain pouring over my head and instantly soaking through my clothes as he took a quick step back and closed the door between us. By the time I’d reached for the doorknob he’d already locked it and was watching me smugly through the window.

  “It’s fucking freezing!” I hissed, banging on the door.

  “Sorry, I can’t hear you,” he said, shaking his head as he pointed to his ear.

  “Yes you can!” I snapped, banging harder. “Don’t leave me out here!”

  He strode away, letting the curtain fall back into place and I stood there, struck completely dumb. What the everlasting fuck had just happened?

  “What the hell is going on?” Kara asked as she threw open the door just seconds later.

  “Where is he?” I growled. As soon as I’d said it, I knew. The pipes were old, and because of the way the plumbing was designed, everyone in the house knew when a shower was turned on.

  “Do you want a towel?” Draco asked in amusement as I stomped past them.

  “No, I don’t want a towel,” I barked as I gained speed. By the time I’d reached the top of the stairs I was freezing and stripping my wet clothes piece by piece. Bishop and I shared the Jack-and-Jill bathroom and up until that point we’d been overly courteous of each other in regard to it. Because of that courtesy, I had a feeling he would’ve forgotten to lock the door to my bedroom, and I was right.

  “You’re dead,” I announced as I stomped inside.

  He was already in the shower and he must not have heard me come in, because the minute I whipped the curtain back he jumped like he’d been electrocuted.

  “Get the hell out of the way,” I snapped, using his surprise to my advantage as I pushed past him into the hot water.