22
It was already past seven o’clock and Puck was dragging his feet about heading home. After Church, he’d gone back to the bar with several of the brothers to clean up. He’d been ignoring Ava’s texts throughout the day. Couldn’t pretend something monumental hadn’t happened but wasn’t ready to disclose what had transpired, either. The cell phone in his back pocket buzzed. Ava would worry, this late in the day. Tearing off his work gloves, he pulled out his cell and shot off a text that he’d be home soon.
“I’m heading out,” he said as he handed his gloves to Whistle and shrugged on his leather jacket. Fifteen minutes later, he was rolling down Ava’s street. With a heavy sigh, he turned off the engine and sat for a moment, inhaling the crisp, cold air into his lungs. Here goes nothing.
Th
