Francis pulls up.
He give a critical eye to me.
I’m laying on the grass, gasping and wheezing with Lori smiling over me.
Maybe it was halfway through, when I decided that the work out was easier when I was swearing my mouth off like a sailor.
Maybe it was then that Lori decided he liked me.
Because as the first string of cuss words left my mouth, he paused, his eyes wide as he took in my long profanities, before he doubled over, laughing and laughing, until tears were almost threatening to escape from his eyes.
“Hey Francis,” he waves over to his son, his smile still there as he stands over me.
Francis walks over.
Now both males are standing, looking down at me.
“She’s got quite a mouth.”
Francis’s head jerks to his father, his eyes wide, “What, her mouth? What about it?”
Lori pauses a second, staring at his son, before he doubles over in laughter again.
I’m to tired to process the conversation. Instead I just lay there, groaning and trying desperately to catch my breath.
“I mean, when you push her, her language is worse than Lydia’s and Quinn’s combined.”
Francis raises an eyebrow in surprise. It’s the same eyebrow that he has a small scar on.
“Come on Layla, let’s go.”
“I can’t move.”
He pauses for a second, staring down at me.
I look up at him with pleading eyes.
Sighing he bends down and scoops me up, folding me into his chest.
I gasp at the contact, making him press me closer to him. I don’t know if I’m shivering from the physical exhaustion, the contact with my mate, or the fear of skin touching my skin.
“Hey Francis,” Francis pauses and I see his eyes close in exhaustion. I want to reach up and touch his cheek. To my surprise and mortification, I find that I do. His eyes open as he takes in the sight of his mother, standing on the porch.
“It’s good to see you.”
Lori is nervously standing at the foot of the steps eyeing the two.
Francis doesn’t say a word. Instead he looks down at my hand that his holding his cheek. Looks in surprise at the contact.
I bite my lip, restraining myself from saying another word.
Francis turns his back to the woman on the porch, “Bye Serenity. See you later Dad.”
I hear a gasp come from Serenity. I look over Francis’s shoulder to see her smiling. Smiling from the fact that he acknowledged her.
Gently Francis puts me into the passenger seat of the truck, even going as far as to buckle me in.
Going around, he puts himself next to me, in the driver’s seat.
I take one last glance out, watching as Lori climbs the steps, smiling up at his mate.
“I guess they told you then.”
I glance at Francis.
His grip is tight upon the steering wheel, knuckles white.
“Your mom told me she…wasn’t really around.”
A low growl forms in Francis’s chest, “That woman is not my mother.”
“Oh.”
It’s all I can say.
My thoughts are sluggish from lack of water and from the pressing workout Lori put me under. My arms feel like lead. Like weights have been added to them. It takes all my effort to just roll my head to the side and look at Francis. Examine him as he drives us back to the pack house.
“Your dad is cruel.”
That brings a smile to his face.
“He said your language was horrible,” the idea has Francis laughing, “I just can’t picture it.”
I laugh with him, remembering Lori’s shocked face.
He glances down at my hands, “This morning when I came to get you…were you painting?”
I hesitate. I don’t know what the correct answer is, but I decide to be truthful.
“Yes.”
He nods.
Just a nod.
No other word is spoken between us as a comfortable silence fills into the truck.
I close my eyes, resting my head against the seat belt, and falling asleep to the dull roar of the engine.