Page 145 of Dock

Pleasure, pain type of thing.

I get the feeling it’s going to be a long recovery.

“Traditionally,” Lady begins, returning the water to the table, “Old Ladies do get nicknames that match their Old Man’s, like a his and hers in leather thing, but I was Lady of the Lakes loooonnnnggggggg before he came along and crashed my jet ski that his ass had no business on to begin with.”

Snickering hurts.

A lot.

But it’s worth it.

“Dock calls you Bay, like the song.”

Thoughts of singing it in front of the mirror while wearing his cut immediately glide to the front of my mind.

“That’ll look good on a cut.”

Will it?

Pangs of a different type suddenly stab me in the chest.

Should I even be getting a vest – er – cut?

Am I even meant for this lifestyle?

Him?

“I…” the next words burn in more ways than one as they leave my lips, “I don’t know…that…um…I’m…cut out…for…this.”

“You are.”

Huh.

Just total fucking confidence.

Not an inkling of doubt in her voice?!

She didn’t even have to think about it!

Her instantaneous response pushes me to inquire, “How do you know that? You don’t even know me.”

“You survived.”

The retort momentarily stuns me.

“And you didn’t just sit around waiting to be rescued like some dumb Disney damsel. You fought the whole fucking way through that shit. With whatever you could find. Plus, you stitched yourself up like you were on some backwoods Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman shit.”

“I did?” Confusion crinkles my forehead. “I don’t…um…I don’t remember…much?” A pause is taken to truly see what I can recall about the situation. “Anything?”

Kidnapped.

I remember being kidnapped.

And held hostage?

Maybe at the school?

Or was that a different dream?