Stella let out a sigh in her sleep and his heart clenched. He ran his hand down her leg. Both of his hands throbbed; he should’ve taken pain medication last night.
“Love?” he said and cleared his throat. He wished his mind wasn’t full of cobwebs.
Last night after their shower they’d shared wine and whiskey, too much wine and whiskey, both of them lost in their own thoughts of what this really meant for them. Jamie was back and it was go time for them both. Stella was going to be bait for the FBI and George needed a plan ready to get rid of that fucker once and for all. He’d call Jesse. Jesse would help him figure out what he needed to do.
Stella ran her fingertips over his chest for a few seconds before she opened her eyes and focused on him. Her eyes were full of regret, dreams lost, and determination. It was a strange combination, but quintessentially Stella and he knew she’d been dreaming again.
“Love?” he whispered again.
“Yes?” she answered perkily, arranging her lips in her perfect fake smile.
“Stop with the fake smile,” he said without moving his lips that much.
“You look like shit,” she observed, the smile falling off her face.
“I feel worse than shit. My face feels like someone kicked it with a boot after that boot stepped in a pile of shit.”
“Wow. That was really descriptive.” Stella leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Your lip is split. Does it hurt?”
“My entire face feels like it looks—like I was hit with a frying pan several times, El. Can’t you tell?”
She gave him an exaggerated once over.
George rolled onto his back. “I think we need to talk to Patrick. See what he knows about what’s going on.”
“I think you may need to go to a doctor.” Stella’s voice was full of concern and she ran her fingertips gently over his right cheek where his cut had begun to scab over.
“You should see the other guy.” He smirked and then stopped when he felt his lip crack.
“I did. I guarantee you he’s seen a doctor.”
George inhaled deeply and exhaled. “No. I’m fine. I have to go to the bar today anyway.”
“How are you going to explain…this?” Stella motioned in front of his face.
“I didn’t really think about that.” George closed his eyes. “I fell grilling?”
“Oh, I like it. Was there a hole by the grill?”
He stared at the ceiling. “I dug it myself and then fell in it while looking at my girl.”
“Because your girl was prancing around in her undies?” Stella giggled.
“Do you wear undies?” he asked, chuckling.
“No,” she said, grabbing his hand and putting it somewhere he loved.
“Ugh, I can’t even move this morning,” he moaned, his voice full of regret.
“Don’t worry, Rocky. I can.”
Chapter Six
Throwing Shit and Breathing
Cooper followed Stella around the house as she searched the rooms aimlessly, looking for her boxes. Then she remembered where she put them. She rushed to the top floor hallway and pulled the string attached to the panel on the ceiling until it groaned, the panel moving downward and releasing the ladder to the attic. She put down the wine bottle she was drinking from and climbed up carefully, inhaling the sweet, musty smell of old stuff. When she was at the top of the ladder, she looked around the attic to determine the area where her boxes were stored. Last year, George had brought everything to the attic from her apartment and she had no idea where he put anything up here. She spotted the box she was looking for a few piles to the left, thankfully not too far into the depths of the attic. Just as she stepped off the ladder and onto the creaky wooden planks, she heard a sound behind her and laughed out loud when she saw Cooper trying to climb his way up the ladder as well. He’d made it up two rungs and was frozen, panicked and whining.
“Damn it, Cooper.” She pulled the box over to the opening and climbed down the ladder until she was even with her dog. “No one invited you