Cricket is asked to go on bed rest two weeks after we return from Tumbling Rock. The doctor originally “ordered” her to stay off her feet, but she gave him a look that made him rethink his wording. Now a request, bed rest zaps Cricket of enthusiasm.

“I’m a beached whale,” she pouts from the couch.

Leaning over the back, I kiss her cheek. “You’re an exquisite mermaid.”

“A celibate beached whale,” she grumbles, reminding me to behave when my fingers linger near her breasts. “You can’t get me excited because my horniness could send the babies flying out of my crotch.”

“I love when you paraphrase the doctor,” I say, kissing her cheek again.

Chipper walks into the living room, sits in a chair, rests his bare feet on the table, and sighs. “Hayes wants to know if he should show his dick to Camden Rutgers, and I just don’t know how to answer that question.”

“I’m less crazy of when you paraphrase situations,” I say while sitting near Cricket.

“Hayes needs a resolution to Pickles’s info about the dealer working in our territory with Brotherhood protection. If we believe this Garbage loser is protected by the club, Hayes will need to do his junkyard dog routine with Camden. Pissing matches will ensue, and I would have to assume a dick-measuring contest too. Of course, we know Daddy will win.”

“I thought you and Moot said you hadn’t found this guy,” I say and reach over to caress Cricket’s head. “Wouldn’t that be the end of it?”

“Well this guy could be smart enough to hide whenever he sees us. It’s not like Moot is very low-key in a town like White Horse.”

Frowning, I don’t get his point, so Cricket whispers, “Tattoos.”

Nodding, I shrug. “You’re low-key.”

“It’s true.”

“But you just show up and walk around,” Cricket says while playing on her tablet. “Of course, you’ll look suspicious. Plus, a lot of people know your face. What we need is for someone like Poet to go undercover.”

“He has tattoos too. Would he go as a junkie?”

I frown at his comment, but Cricket answers before I can. “No, he needs to dress as a househusband. It’s cool out, so wear long sleeves to hide your tats. Take one of my dogs for a walk and act like a schlub. No one will suspect anything.”

“I don’t know how to be a schlub.”

“To get into character, walk like you’ve got a stick straight up the butt. If anyone talks to you, share with them recipes you know for my breast milk. Cheese, yogurt, other gross shit. Oh, and how you buried your kids’ placentas to give back to Mother Earth.”

“That sounds fricking awesome. First, though, I have a question about Pickles’s story.”

“You don’t believe him?” Chipper asks, clearly not buying the story from Cricket’s charge.

“Pickles said he saw the dealer in the middle of the day. Well, who goes to the park at that time? Moms, lame dads, and little kids, right? So, who’s buying Garbage’s drugs?”

“Teenagers?” Cricket suggests.

“They’re in school.”

“Huh, so who?”

“No one, Cricket,” I explain while still caressing her head. “No one walks into a park full of uppity dicks to buy drugs in the middle of the fricking day. If it were later in the day or even earlier, maybe it’d make sense. This park sounds upscale, though. In my experience, upscale people get their drugs from compliant doctors. Plus, these uppity types are nosy and think it’s their civic duty to rat out everyone else. What kind of dealer would set up shop in a park like that?”

“Pickles wouldn’t lie to me.”

“You said he has mental issues. Maybe he thinks it really happened. I don’t know him, but that makes more sense than a freaky-looking loser hanging out in a hoity-toity park in full view of neighborhood watch types.”

“So I tell Hayes what?” Chipper asks.

Cricket pouts on the couch for a minute before shrugging. “Tell him the tip didn’t pan out.”

“This is good news, right?” I ask when she looks ready to cry. “Hayes doesn’t have to get into a pissing match with the Brotherhood.”

“True. I know he was worried about fighting with the club,” she mumbles, fighting tears. “I don’t want Pickles to be hallucinating. It makes me worry about him out there.”

“The man knows how to handle himself,” Chipper says. “He’s dealt with his schizophrenia for longer than we’ve been alive. He got this thing wrong, but that doesn’t mean he’s in trouble. He looked happy when I drove past him today. I saw him chatting with that perv who wears the goofy Scottish hat.”

Cricket exhales loudly. “I guess this is good, and you figured it out without dressing like a schlub. A win-win.”

Kneeling next to the couch, I kiss her forehead. “I can go check on Pickles if you want.”

“No, he’s fine. It’s me that’s the problem. I think of him as a child, but he’s not. He’s sick, but he’s still a man. I have to start thinking of him that way.”

“You’re sweet to care about him.”

“I’m glad no one named Garbage is stinking up our parks.”

Chipper stands up and heads for the kitchen. “And I’m glad I don’t have to watch Hayes show off his dick to the Rutgers twins.”

Cricket and I share a smile. “Thank you, Poet, for having my back even with business.”

“Anything that matters to you matters to me. I will always have your back.”

“And I’ll have yours as long as it doesn’t involve getting up and moving around.”

Kissing her head, I rest my ass on the ground next to the couch. She smiles wider with every kiss I give her—on her forehead and then the cheek and then the other cheek and finally her lips. By the time Chipper offers to pick us up Chinese takeout, my woman no longer worries about her weight or Pickles’s made-up bad guy. She only sees me and my fabulous lips.