PART SEVEN: THE DOE
Pope's P.O.V
xXx
Pope Cody pulled up to the sidewalk, the engine of his car cut with a whirr, gazing at the little beach hut across from him. He checked his phone. No, this was definitely it. 704, The Strand, North Oceanside. Yet, Pope had to, for the fifth time that morning, stop himself from reaching for the ignition, twisting the key, and taking another tour of the neighbourhood under the flimsy pretext of looking for the right address.
He was stalling, he knew, and Pope wasn't used to dithering. He was a man who knew what needed to be done, he went out and did it, and that was the end. One. Two. Three. Simple. And yet… Yet. He couldn't bring himself to open the fucking car door, only stare at the little cottage in front of him. What if she opened the door, took one look at him, all it ever took to get people running was one look, and slammed it in his face? What if-
Fuck. Shit. Breathe. One long drag in, one long drag out. He was here. He wasn't going to run away. He wasn't going to take another circuit of the road, pretending to search for an address he knew exactly where it was. And he definitely, most certainly, was not going to sit out here all morning staring at Eleanora's home like some sort of stalker.
Pope would breathe, Pope would get his shit together, and Pope would walk right on up to that door and knock. What came next would be what it was, in whatever shape it came in. With one last calming breath, before he could think himself out of it all over again, Pope reached for the car door handle, pulled, and slipped onto the pavement, the smack of his door banging shut masking the sound of his shoes slapping tarmac.
The walk to the front door seemed greater, more winding, and longer than he thought such a short walk could. It was a nice little cottage, two story, little veranda with a breakfast table and a myriad of potted plants, large windows and bays, light and airy, and for some strange reason, one he couldn't fully grasp, it made him happy to know this, this place full of sunshine and sea breeze, was where Eleanora was staying. It wasn't some two-by-four shit stained motel room off the scrapyard, and it was safe, in a nice neighbourhood, away from the usual spots the druggies usually gathered, and…
Stalling. He was stalling again. Pope shuffled at the door, tugged his shirt hem, cracked his neck, and punched the doorbell. A voice echoed back from somewhere deep inside the house.
"One moment!"
There it was again, a twist in the vowels, keen, the thick English accent Pope had heard from over the crackle of a phone line scattered with some sort of brogue he couldn't place. Irish? No. Scottish, yes, and a little-
The door swung open. The stolen photo in his wallet fell short, felt heavy in his back pocket, sticking him to the floor, roots growing out his feet, and Pope, a man who knew what needed to be done and did it, completely froze. She was short, tiny really, and she was exactly like her photo on J's phone, but so much… More. There was a healthy glow and flush to her skin that the flash couldn't catch, a mischievous sparkle in the evergreen eye a lens couldn't grab, a slant to a dimple missed by overexposure and… Life, there was a life there speckled in her freckles that a photo couldn't contain.
She was real. She was real, and alive, and very much in front of him… And Pope was utterly silent, staring, just staring, and why wasn't he talking? Introducing himself? Saying hello?
"Are you Pope?"
Her fingers on the door frame flexed, wiggled, nervous. Pope came crashing back to himself with all the grace of a spider on ice. That is to say, with none at all. Coughing into a tight fist, he squared his shoulders.
"Yes… Me… Pope. Hello."
It could have been better, but, with the sudden rolling of his gut, it could have been a lot worse. The girl-… Eleanora, her name was Eleanora, blinked and, there, the small shake of her head, the miniscule crunch of her nose, he realised she too was snapping back into herself. Then she grinned, broad, toothy, too bright and too warm, and it looked so much like his own smile. She took a step back, sweeping out her arm.
"Do you want to come in, have a quick coffee or… Well, I only have coffee. And no milk… I don't drink milk… So it will have to be black coffee… And I should have picked up some juice or… or…"
Pope strode through into the house as she fell silent. He glanced back just in time to see her shut the door and wince. He tried to smile back, but he was convinced it was more grimace than grin.
"Coffee is fine."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, she was off, across the living room and into the open kitchen at the back, as if she wanted to put as much distance between himself and her. Pope took the time and space to collect himself and glance about. The house was… Clean. Clean and tidy and scrupulous, with everything meticulously put into its place, not a rug or throw crinkled, not a book left open, not a coaster left wonky.
Just like him.
Eleanora had his smile, and his order and… Breathe. Calm. The whistle of the coffeepot hooted in the silence.
"I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this. I never have been. The first time I met J, I called him fuckin' short. That was it. No hello, how are you, just a 'oh, you're a tiny bastard'… I'm just a little… Bloody hell, I'm actually nervous. I swear I don't normally ramble like this, and I usually have better manners and-… And I'm doing it again. Merlin, why aren't I just shutting up? I just keep going. What is that? What…"
She chuckled and it was further hopeless than humorous. That was all it took for Pope. That little chuckle, and everything slid into place. She was nervous, he was nervous, and these were new waters, and, by his silence and her rambling, they were… They were a lot alike, the stag and the doe, different sides of the same socially inept coin, and that… That was good. That felt nice. Nice for reasons, again, he could not fully explain. Finally, he found himself, the man who knew what to do and got it done. He met her eye over the kitchen island, and, yes, this time he did smile.
"I'm nervous too."
Her shoulders sagged.
"Really?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
And the tension broke. Just like that. One word and it went pop and, together, they could breathe. She slunk out from behind the counter, edging closer, step by step, and not so overwhelmed, Pope took her in. She was dressed simply, jeans, white t-shirt, boots and leather jacket, though the latter was a few sizes too big for her. A man's leather jacket. Well loved. Comfort and ease.
Her hair was a beast all of its own. Unlike the photo in his pocket, where curls were just beginning to form, the photo on J's phone, where it was tangled into a bun, she had it down. Long and wild and feral. His smile. His manner. His curls. There was a mirror here, a mirror she couldn't see but he could, all too well, separating them, slicing. It hurt. It hurt good, Pope thought.
She came to a stop before him and jutted out an arm, palm open, ready for a handshake.
"Start over? I'm Nora. It's nice to meet you, Pope."
Pope was never one for touch. It never settled right. Made his skin feel too tight and his muscles trapped. Yet, he saw the hand, saw the distance still between them, and, strangely, he wanted it gone. Vanished. He stepped forward, bypassed the outstretched hand. It, perhaps, felt as odd for her being hugged, by the way she braced in his arms, as it felt for him to be hugging.
Mirrors reflecting warped ruminations. However, a second, a flash, a heartbeat later, abruptly, he didn't feel so boxed, and she wasn't so rigid, this wasn't a huge mistake, and her arms rose to squeeze back, holding, clutching. It was a hug. A real hug. A bit too tight, clumsy by her short size, and achingly genuine. It was the greatest embrace Pope had ever had, for so many unspeakable reasons.
"It's very nice to meet you too."
He murmured into her hair. Pope meant it. Meant it more than she, maybe, would ever understand. He thought she heard him by the way she pressed back harder, heard more than the feeble words. Eventually, as all good things had to, it came to an end by a hum and a pat on the back as Eleanora detangled herself. Chin raised high, she smiled and nodded at him.
"Right, coffee. How many sugars do you take?"
Pope called back to her retreating form.
"Three, please. Black, so hot it burns your tongue."
She smiled at him from over her shoulder.
"That's how I have mine. Do you sometimes add-"
"Aniseed?"
They spoke at the same time. The laughter came swift on both sides, and the following conversation came quicker. Easy. Comfortable. As simple as breathing.
PART NINE: THE KANGAROO
Deran's P.O.V
xXx
The slam of his Harvester Scout merged with the slick click of Baz's BMW and the purr of Craig's Triumph Scrambler chopping to a hush.
"Does anybody know why we've been summoned so fucking early? I was busy."
Deran questioned as he strode over, flicking his phone around in his palm like a switch blade. It was the only explanation of why the three brothers had come tumbling to Smurf's house, at the same time, this early in the morning.
Deran should be out at the beach, eyeing the Cove as he had been over the last fortnight, counting coin or catching waves. Baz should be… Well, doing whatever the fuck Baz wanted to these days, and Craig, shit. Craig should be passed out, hunger over, or still partying. Perhaps some peculiar mixture of all three.
But Deran, as he was quickly suspecting the other's had, had awoken to a text. Just a line from Smurf. Get your ass to the house or you're cut from the next job. Simple, effective, if it had worked on Craig too. So here they were, bleary eyed, on Deran's part, cantankerous on Baz's, and, as he was often doing lately, a Craig who was trying to shirk Nicky off his back.
"Fuck if I know. Hey, babe, why don't you head in and rest by the pool. I'll be there soon."
Nicky smiled at Craig, all sweet lip and fluttery lashes, before she sloped off to the back gate. Baz lingered until the door clacked shut behind her before he rounded on his biggest brother.
"What the hell is she doing here? If this is about the next job, she needs to leave."
Craig chucked his helmet onto the sidebar of his bike, tying his hair back with a band as he shrugged.
"She crashed at mine last night. I tried to leave her behind, but she wasn't having any of it. What was I supposed to do? Tell her to fuck off? Kick her off my bike halfway down the road? That's one way to get her squalling to the fucking cops."
Baz ran a tired hand down his face, scratching at the stubble of his chin.
"Jesus, Craig. Just… Just keep her away. Give her a beer, give her a blunt, I don't fucking care. Just keep her off our backs while we talk with Smurf. She already knows too much, and Craig?"
Craig cocked a brow, and, to anybody else, perhaps even to Baz or Pope, it would seem careless and carefree. Cheery, under the hot Californian sun. However, Deran knew Craig, sometimes better than he wanted to. There was a tiny twitch to his nostril, a jump in his cheek, a little tensing of neck muscle.
He was pissed. Not about Nicky, or even the thought of losing her. In fact, Deran thought, he only stuck around with the girl because it utterly infuriated Baz, and an opportunity like that wasn't something he, nor Deran, would likely pass up. Nah, the big bastard was likely angry he was being told what to do… Again, and when someone told Craig to do something, rather than ask, he always, always, ran in the opposite direction.
"Yeah?"
Baz scanned him before striding into the garage, shouting over his shoulder.
"Sort her out for next time."
Craig huffed as Deran came to a languid stand at his side, cursing under his breath. Deran didn't really blame him. Not all too much. To keep Nicky quiet about her father, what she had seen in this house, they needed to keep her sweet. Smurf and Baz thought the best way to do that was to throw Craig at the poor girl. It worked, Nicky got what she wanted, all the coke she could sniff and a Cody in bed, and Craig?
Say what they want about Deran's brother, he had a heart, underneath all that bravado and swagger and irresponsibility. It wasn't always in the right place, Deran knew that personally, but it was there, perhaps the biggest any Cody had, and it had led him into many a scrap. He hated hurting people, emotionally that is. Worse still, Craig could never say no, and, perhaps, for once, Craig was happy he was chose first, instead of Pope or Baz. Nicky knew that all too well, she knew too much about everything, and here they were. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.
"Do you really think this is about the next job?"
Craig eyed him from the side, and grinned, back to his blithe, jolly self, never one to be angry for too long.
"What else could it be?"
What else, indeed. Clapping his brother on the back, Craig made his way into the house, Deran not far behind him. They caught up to Baz in the hallway, and found Smurf in the kitchen, and little Lena, and a shit ton of food being plated up. Baz grinned at Lena as she jumped down from her stall, the sugar from the cherry pie still sticky on her fingers, as Baz bent low and picked his daughter up, settling her on his hip. Although his voice was chirpy, cartoonish almost, his gaze, hard and exacting, landed on a smirking Smurf.
"Hey Lena-bear. Aren't you meant to be at school?"
Lena wiggled in his arms, grinning from ear to ear.
"Yeah, but mama Smurf said I could have the day off."
Baz's eyebrows shot up, smile a little stiff, tone cloyingly sweet.
"She did, did she?"
Smurf scoffed and carved another sliver of honey glazed ham.
"You would know, Baz, if you bothered to see her in the morning once in a blue moon."
Baz's grin faltered for a second, before it was back on in a blink, tight. He placed Lena down and ruffled her ponytail.
"Why don't you head outside for a bit, and play with your toys."
Lena nodded and dashed off, through the patio doors and into the sunshine. Craig sidled up to the table, reaching for a slice of cherry pie, when Smurf plucked up a spatula and snapped him on the back of the knuckles. His hand shot back, as, thick with tension, Deran asked what they were all thinking.
"What's all this for?"
Smurf didn't bother to look up, hard at work from tossing a salad.
"Can't I cook a nice meal for my sons?"
She glanced up, locked eyes with him, green sparring with sky blue. Deran saw through her bullshit. He always did. She knew he always did. Eventually, she chuckled, as light as a church bell.
"The same reason I gave Lena the day off from school. The same reason I called all of you here. We're going to-"
The patio door slipped open, and Nicky, frowning, came tumbling in. Five fucking minutes… Deran rolled his eyes as he went to the fridge and plucked himself a beer free, before tossing one to Craig and Baz. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day, and if so, he would need all the liquid patience he could get his hands on.
"I was bored. Oh, is that cherry pie?"
Nicky sauntered over and picked up a plate, taking a bite before Smurf could stop her. Around the crumbs and a trail of sugar, she went to speak, but, thank fuck Deran thought, the sound of the front door buzzing open cut her clean off. That was likely Pope. He was never normally late, always the first to-
Laughter. Deran could hear laughter. Not just any laughter… He could hear Pope laughing. Pope… Pope was fucking laughing. Smurf placed down her spoon and beamed, dusting her hands off on a tea towel as she made her way around the kitchen island.
"They're here. Good. Just in time."
The closer they got, the more Deran could make out a second voice. Female. Husky. Something straight out a smoke and jazz bar from New Orleans or-… No. England, apparently. Baz popped the lid to his beer and took a long chug.
"Who exactly are they?"
Baz's question would soon be answered as Pope came strolling around the corner, grinning, promptly followed by a girl. The first thought Deran was hit with was how lovely she was. Tiny, and delicate, and a tad charming. Like a sunset over the ocean. Yet, paradoxically, on closer inspection, a second glance, she appeared almost… Feral. Fox like. A blaze of ginger locks tumbling about her like a tail end of a spinning comet. A flash of fire in a falling sky. He supposed the mean looking scar carving down her forehead, splitting one eyebrow in two, touching down on eyelid like a bolt of lightning, and the steal toe docs, tallied to the wild that was… Well, whoever this girl was. And Jesus, those eyes, where those contacts or-
"-and that's when the clowns came tumbling out the car. Five of them, full makeup, noses, wigs and all, I swear, like some shitty Saturday morning cartoon, one right after the other, yelling in Swedish. I don't speak a lick of Swedish, they don't speak English, and we're all there, at this truck stop in the middle of the bloody desert, surrounding a mini cooper, and they start miming-"
The girl dropped off to a dead stop as soon as her gaze fell to the full kitchen. She blinked, they blinked back, and then she was smiling. A smile with a twist to it, like the smile of a child who is determined not to get caught with their hand in the cookie jar. A smile with a dimple, like the smile of a snake oil salesman who could talk you into buying air shares. A smile hidden in a smile, like the smile of a poker player who had all the cards.
Cody.
That, there, in combats and curls and a keen smile, was a Cody. Deran would bet the last of his Camp Pendleton money on it. Indeed… Those where his eyes. Brighter, larger, but the very same seaglass green. Nicky dashing her plate on the counter smashed the daze.
"Who are you?"
The girl's grin grew wider as Nicky came closer.
"I'm Nora. J's s-"
Nicky cut her off with a squaring of her shoulders.
"I'm Craig's girlfriend, and J's… Friend. His best friend. He's made no mention of you before."
Nicky skimmed the girl, smiling sweetly, pleasantly, and completely counterfeit. She offered out her hand in greeting. Did she… Deran bit back a chuckle. The poor girl thought this was J's new squeeze? By the way Baz cocked his head, and the frown blossoming on Craig's face-… odd in and of itself, they must have thought so too.
Was he the only observant one around here? Jesus, it was a wonder none of them were rotting in prison yet, not including Pope's short stint in the pen. Speak of the devil, Pope dipped to Nora's side, gently laying a hand on her shoulder.
"This is-"
Nora's face lit up like a Christmas tree, freckles like fairy lights, something hot sparking in her eye.
"Oh, you're the ex, aren't you? The one who nailed the uncle for a rail of blow… What was your name…Come on, J said something about… I remember!"
She clicked her fingers and laughed.
"Narcotic-Nicky!"
Nora actually, truly, honestly, looked proud that she had remembered Nicky's name, and seemed paradoxically oblivious to the fact she had just throat punched the girls rather frail dignity with five syllables. Deran thought he could see Nicky's hackles rise in real time, but the girl, evidently, wasn't finished. Nora glanced down to the hand still hovering in the air between them, side-eyeing the limb, smile dropping to a wince.
"I ain't fuckin' touching that. I don't know where it's been."
Not a throat punch then. A nice little neck snap. Nicky blistered to an almost comical shade of red, the hand fell with a flop, and Deran, of course, beer pressed to his lips, spluttered and choked. Baz coughed from beside him, and it sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. Nevertheless, what little fun this was, was similarly hastily put a full stop to as Pope finally intervened.
"This is Eleanora. She's J's sister."
You could hear a pin drop off the marble fucking floor in the ensuing silence as, finally, it clicked, as if it wasn't already obvious. It was in the swoop of her eye, the keen tongue, the vulgar wit. That, there, was a Cody. A Cody with an English accent of all things, but a Cody all the same. Smurf, forever in the lead, was the first to step forth, smiling fiercely.
"Hello, baby, I'm Smurf, you're grandmother. It's wonderful to finally meet you."
She closed the gap, hauled the girl into a warm hug, kissing a cheek, before she gestured around the room at the boys.
"You already know Pope. That one there is Baz. The one with the beer dripping down his shirt is Deran. And the tall one lurking in the back is Craig. Boys… Say hello."
The play button was hit. Deran tipped the skinny neck of his beer in her general direction, smirking, as Baz grinned and nodded in greeting, and Craig, curiously again, crossed his arms over his broad chested and scowled.
"Does the lack of sunshine mean people don't grow above five foot in England, Frodo? You're a bit far from your hobbit hole, aren't you?"
Nora scoffed, and quick as a shot, fired back.
"We grow enough to still be able to bite through your kneecap, Treebeard. Try me."
Silence, one heartbeat, two, three, and then… Then Craig laughed, in the only way Craig ever could, loud and full bellied and with everything he had. That was Craig. Everything he did, everything he said, everything he wanted, it was all or nothing. No in between. Do or die, and fuck the consequences. Perhaps she was cut from the same cloth, because Nora merely smiled brighter. It was funny, Deran thought. Standing in an overcrowded kitchen, on opposite sides, and they were suddenly in their own little bubble, a warren of interest stretching from one point to the other, as if the rest of them were just background props. Nicky crept up to Craig's side, tugging on the hem of his plaid shirt.
"Craig, I thought you said you would show me the-"
He shook her off with a flippant wave of his hand.
"Nah, in a bit. Head up to the room, I'll be there later."
Nicky peeked up at Craig before cutting a quick squint to Nora, ahead of snorting and ambling away, down the hall at the back to the bedrooms. Craig didn't even glance her way. Well… Shit. Craig said no. Call in the fucking choir. Smurf smiled and clapped her hands.
"Should we sit down and eat then? Baz, help me fix the table."
PART TEN: THE RHINO
Baz's P.O.V
xXx
Barry Blackwell, better known as Baz, speared a tomato on the tip of his fork and popped it into his mouth. The bench in the backyard was bursting with laughter, sunshine, and cheer as plates were passed, beers were downed, and stories were had. He, unfortunately, liked the girl, despite all his reservations.
She was outrageously blunt, swore like a sailor, by the beer bottles bungled by her dish, drank like a fish, and was, seemingly, always one snark away from causing a brawl. In short, she was a Cody, there was no doubt about that after five minutes in her company, and normally, on any other given day, that would have drove Baz to insanity. He had enough dealing with Deran, Craig, Pope, and now the kid, and here she comes, strutting in, dimpled and sarcastic and-
And Baz spotted a kindred soul. There was a doggish sort of perception an abused kid grows up to have. A jaded squint. A vigilant posture. A fluid way they spoke, easy and effortless, but excellent in the way they superficially sidestepped personal questions by never giving too much away, always asking a question back, a quick diversion of topics, so you never noticed they had, in the end, not given more than one word away.
"What school did you go to?"
"Boarding school. I heard America doesn't really have them. Is that right?"
"Where did you grow up?"
"Small place in Surrey. You wouldn't know it. Nothing like this, what temperature is this? Its diabolical. I never thought-"
"Where are your guardians? Are they back home or-"
"Around. I'm on vacation. Hey, you don't happen to know where the best place for bike repair is, do you? I've been looking everywhere and-"
You never noticed unless you too were an abused kid who grew up to have the same sort of doggish perception. Baz saw Nora, and, he thought, by the shine in her eye, she saw him too. Neither said a word. She didn't mention, nor look too long, at the cigarette burn mark at the crux of his elbow she spotted as he lifted his drink, and he politely looked away from the scar scrawled on the back of her hand he spied as she reached for the potato salad. I must not tell lies.
Yeah, he noticed a kindred soul sitting opposite him, Craig on one side, Lena on the other, but he did not like her until she turned her attention to the latter. His daughter had been quiet all day, in a way no kid should be quiet, hardly touching her food, scarcely speaking, and despite his efforts to bring her out of her shell, to see a smile grace her face, Baz was failing. He was failing horribly.
He had been since her mother went missing, in truth. Shit. Maybe he wasn't cut out for this, every choice he made appeared to be the wrong one, and maybe he should…
"Want to see a magic trick?"
Lena peeked up, nodding shyly. Eleanora gestured to the little box of craft art supplies perched at her side.
"Pass me a crayon. Your favourite colour."
Lena wavered for a tick before she dipped her hand in and, of course, dragged out a little pink crayon, blunt and snapped and well used. Baz leaned back in his chair, watching. Theatrically, Nora flicked the crayon through her fingers, weaving, flipping it this way and that deftly. Tugging up the sleeves of her leather jacket to show nothing but wrist, she finally placed the crayon in her palm and clasped it in both hands. She shook her hands before stretching them out to Lena.
"Blow."
Lena frowned, eyeing the cupped hands wearily.
"Why?"
Eleanora grinned and leaned down close, conspiratorially.
"Because everybody knows all good magic runs on the wishes of a Princess. So, puff away princess, and make a wish."
A laugh, sunny, bright, and everything Baz had missed in the last few months. Tilting close, Lena blew. Nora pulled back, jostled her fastened hands once more, and then, skirting them near to Lena, where she would be able to see her opening palms, she unfurled her fingers.
A butterfly. A pink fucking butterfly. Big and bold and colourful and… And alive. It quivered its wings as Lena gasped, face breaking into a delighted smile.
"Wow!"
Nora winked.
"Hold your hands out."
Lena's hands darted out swiftly, as she bounced in her seat in excitement. Delicately, Nora nudged and prodded the pink butterfly onto the small child's knuckle. It wiggled a bit, fluttered, and then settled and Lena smiled, smiled in a way Baz had forgotten she could, a smile that broke his heart and set a grin upon his own face. She looked to him, eyes wide and innocent and so far from his own.
"Can I keep it, daddy? Can I?"
Baz nodded but turned to Nora.
"How the hell did you do that?"
She nudged Lena with a soft elbow, earning a giggle as the little girl responded for her.
"Magic daddy!"
At his raised brow, Nora rolled her eyes at him. Actually rolled her eyes, as if Baz was the gullible kid who couldn't tell fact from fiction. Moreover, there was a glimmer here, prowling in the pupil, a clever cut of a person who was having the last laugh of a joke only they could understand.
"A good guess at a little girls favourite colour, quick reflexes and a slight of hand, or it was magic. Take your pick. I know which one I believe in."
The way she spoke made it positively seem like a dare. A leap of faith. Or a sarcastic gripe. Magic or nimble fingers, Lena was smiling, now chatting away to her butterfly, offering a succulent cherry for it to sip at, and she was giggling, grinning, gleaming. She was happy.
"Thank you."
Nora shrugged it off, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude, as she physically shrank in her seat. Baz had the sudden thought she was the type of person to be uneasy with any style of appreciation. And, apparently, things were only going to get more uncomfortable as the patio doors opened wide and, who else could it possibly be but J, came stomping out, school backpack still perched over his shoulder, red cheeked from a hard ride up the hill. He spied them immediately and zeroed in on Eleanora.
"Nora? What are you doing here?"
Next Chapter: Craig, Smurf, and J's P.O.V
It's been a long time since my last update, blame my university lecturers as they've been cracking the whip lately, and I wouldn't be surprised if this fic went sailing silently into the void of forgotten favourites and follows lol. However, here it is, the update that has taken me around, oh, eight months. That makes me wince even thinking about it lol. I hope you all liked it, I should be back to regular updates now, and I am awfully sorry for the long wait, but I thought it would be better for a long update rather than completely abandoning the fic.
I know there wasn't a lot of Craig this chapter, but there is a whole bunch next, including our problematic fav: Smurf, so buckle up kids! It's all out rodeo from here.
Thank you all for the follows and favourites, and if you could, drop a review and let me know your thoughts.
