Page 188 of Bitter’s Sweet

“Whatever is mine.”

Mercy nods. “What about the coffee cup?”

I look at her. “How do you know about that?”

“I have eyes.”

“Throw it away.”

“You sure?”

I almost say no.

Then I see Bitter in the garage.

A woman I fucked.

You wanted it to mean more.

Not enough.

“Yes.”

Mercy studies me. “All right.”

She glances toward the windows, where the garage is still busy with bikes moving in and out and too many club members hanging around.

“I’ll get everything once that circus clears out. You don’t need another audience today.”

Relief and dread twist together in my stomach.

“Mercy.”

She looks at me.

“Don't let him bring anything down.”

Her face softens. “I won't.”

“I don't want him packing my things.”

“He won't.”

“I don't want him touching Mama.”

“I heard you.”

I breathe.

“Okay.”

“And I mean later,” she says. “You don’t need to stand here waiting for me to do it.”

I nod.

Mercy squeezes my shoulder once before heading toward the front of the school to help Lark with closing.

I stay at the sink, surrounded by practice faces, wax, brushes, and things built to make damage less visible.