The man was huge, not fat so much as wide. His skin glistened it was so black, the whites of his eyes the only color in his face, and Finn only saw the whites of his eyes when the man shoved the black Ray-Bans up on his forehead and glared with a cold, flat, venom that made Finn quickly readjust his opinion of the neighborhood his dad was living in. This guy wasn’t a door-to-door salesman, and he wasn’t a cop. He didn’t know what he was—but he was scary. The huge, sharply-dressed black man looked a little too old to be a student and too slick to be in a gang, although the big diamonds in his ears did shout drug dealer, in Finn’s opinion.
“Are you Finn Clyde?” the voice was higher-pitched than Finn would have expected, coming from the chest cavity of the bear-sized man on his father’s front porch. As soon as the comparison with the bear crossed his mind, Finn knew who the man was.
“Are you Bear?”
“I am. And you better move your white trash ass aside and get Bonnie in front of me real fast or you will find out why my mama named me Bear. It ain’t ’cause I’m cuddly.”
Finn figured he deserved the white trash assessment, standing there with his bare chest marked with offensive tattoos and his blond hair loose around his shoulders, so he let the comment slide and stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Finn stepped back, and Bear stepped forward into the small living room, filling the space with malevolence, his eyes taking in everything at once.
“Bonnie’s upstairs. She was asleep the last time I checked. If you’ll excuse me for a second, I’ll pull on a shirt and tell her you’re here. Bear’s eyes widened at the mention of Bonnie still being asleep at almost eleven o’clock in the morning, as if that detail was too intimate for Finn to be privy to, but he folded his arms across his massive chest and spread his legs in a stance that said “hurry” as he watched Finn climb the stairs.
Finn raided his dad’s closet for a T-shirt. His dad was a tall, thin man who spent his time in dress shirts, sweaters, and the occasional golf shirt, so finding a T-shirt was harder than you would think. Finn found a pale blue T-shirt at the back of the closet that had a corny slogan only a math teacher would find funny. It had a beer can and the limit definition of the derivative on the front of it. On the back it said Never Drink and Derive. It was stretchy enough to fit, unlike the dress shirts and the polos, but snug enough to make Finn feel like he’d borrowed his brainy little brother’s T-shirt. He ran a brush through his hair and pulled it back in a smooth tail, hoping that made him look a little less trailer park and a little more Steven Segal. He would need all the help he could get with the grizzly downstairs. Somehow, he didn’t think Steven Segal was much of a mathlete, however. The ponytail was completely undermined by his stupid T-shirt.
Bonnie was awake, but just barely. Her eyelids were at half-mast and her hair, wet when she went to bed, looked as if she’d spent a wild night doing all the things he wished they’d done.
“Bonnie Rae, you’ve got a visitor downstairs. And if you don’t show your face right away, he’s going to kill me. And it won’t be a quick death. It will be a mauling. Do you understand?”
“Huh?”
“Bear’s here, and he’s loaded for . . . well, bear.”
“Bear’s here?” she shot straight up in bed, immediately awake, and made for the door, bare legs flying, oversized T-shirt slipping off her slim shoulders.
“Bonnie!” She halted and turned in question. “If you want me to live, pull on some pants and do something with your hair. Please.”
A sheepish grin lifted the corners of her mouth, and she ran for the bathroom where her discarded jeans still lay in a heap. Within minutes, she was out again, teeth brushed and hair slicked down a la Hank Shelby. She was still wearing Finn’s T-shirt, but she’d thankfully added her jeans for modesty’s sake. Finn followed her downstairs and was just reaching the bottom step when Bonnie launched herself into Bear’s arms.
To the big man’s credit, he didn’t immediately throw her over his shoulder and leave. Instead, he held the slim girl to his chest, her feet dangling a foot off the floor, his arms wrapped around her. He had lowered his glasses back over his eyes, but his big, lower lip trembled suspiciously as they both took a minute to communicate their devotion.
“Baby Rae. What in the hell is going on, baby girl?”
Baby Rae. Finn tried not to smile. It seemed he wasn’t the only one with a nickname. He turned to leave the room to give them a little privacy, but Bonnie called after him.
“Clyde. Wait. Don’t go. I want you to meet Bear.”
“We met,” Bear said, and he didn’t sound pleased.
Bonnie turned on him fiercely. “Bear. Don’t use that tone with Finn. He hasn’t done anything but help me. And believe me, I haven’t made it easy for him.”
Bear set “Baby Rae” on the ground and stared into her face. She glared back, her chin jutting forward and her expression stony.
“I’m going to make some coffee,” Finn grunted, not comfortable being the topic of a thorny confrontation.
“Sit!” Bear barked, and Finn stiffened, turning back toward him.
“Bonnie loves you,” Finn said, keeping his voice mild. “And you obviously love her. That’s all that counts in my book. But if you think that gives you the right to come in here and tell me what to do, you’re going to have a fight on your hands. I was in prison for five years, and I don’t fight pretty.” He turned and walked into the kitchen, and the silence behind him convinced him that his comments had momentarily stunned the pair. But not for long.