Riddick update: No surgery! Turns out an old fracture in his hock and some sort of soft tissue strain are causing his pain, so he's on pain meds and rest. Huge sigh of relief.
Writing update: I'm exhausted. I should have some new content next week, maybe even tomorrow. I have a peace offering of lines. 97k words in on Fix You and coming to a close. Yay. And I got to write within some new POVs, which may or may not be fun. I can't decide.
With a look that was a clear warning, Jo melted out of sight behind the door and Tam stepped in front of it, pulling it closed behind him as he joined Walt on the stoop. Tam gave him the up/down and moved past him, dropped down on the wooden step and stretched his legs out in front of him. He was in jeans, socks, and some old threadbare band t-shirt. He fished a pack of smokes from his back pocket and shook one loose; stuck it between his teeth before he asked, “Why’re you here?” in a flat, disinterested voice.
Wales had always been smug; he’d never had a damn thing to his name save a leather jacket and that old Detroit-made hunk of steel his mother had left him. How could a man with no accomplishments have anything to be smug about? Walt had always supposed it was nabbing Jo, gaining a place in the family, that had fueled his sense of victory. It was a notion that had spawned a loathing, one that he was having a hard time swallowing tonight.
“I came to wave the white flag,” he said, biting back the contempt in his voice.
Tam lit his cigarette and turned to glance back over his shoulder, blowing smoke into the night through his nostrils. “Not buying it.”
“I may be the baby, but I’m not an idiot.”
He felt a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Did I ever say that?”
“That or something very much like it.”
He couldn’t apologize – he wasn’t ready for that – but he draped a careful arm across her little shoulders. She stared at the house across from them, but didn’t shrug him away, and Walt thought that might be a start.
Material Copyright © 2013 Lauren Gilley