Rock Chick 03 Redemption (52 page)

“There were three of us and we knew Vance was closin’

in and there was one of him. You made it impossible for us to take him down. What was in your head?” Hank was also back to shouting.

“He had a gun pointed at you. That’s what was in my head.”

“So, the fuck, what? It’s happened before, it’l happen again. I can handle it. We had it under control.” Holy cow.

I shirked off thoughts of Hank having guns pointed at him and scowled.

“Hank Nightingale, don’t you yel at me,” I snapped.

“It wasn’t smart, Roxie,” Dad decided to throw down.

“Dad!” I turned to him.

“It wasn’t,” Lee added, his voice sober and sharp.

My mouth dropped open and I stared at Lee.

“It sure the fuck wasn’t,” Eddie agreed and he wasn’t even there.

I opened and closed my mouth, words escaped me.

They were ganging up on me.

“Um… hate to butt in here, but, back, the hel , off,” Al y put in, standing at the bar fil ed with food. She had a half-eaten apple slice held aloft and she looked cool as a cucumber.

“Al y, stay out of it,” Carl ordered.

“Don’t tel me to stay out of it,” Al y flashed, dropping the apple slice and no longer looking cool as a cucumber.

“Everyone’s fine, everyone’s safe, it al worked out. Let’s calm down,” Annette offered, trying to play peacemaker.

“You don’t know what happened in there. She fucking walked right up to him. There were nine guns in there, eight of them pointed at Roxie. She could have been caught in the crossfire,” Jason threw in his lot.

Annette decided peacemaker wasn’t a good fit for her and her eyes narrowed on Jason, “Wel , what would you do? Hunh?”

“I wouldn’t fucking walk up to him. Christ!” Jason shouted.

“Oowee, you white people know how to fight,” Shirleen declared.

“Leave Roxie alone,” Daisy barreled in, hands on hips.

“She’s had enough to deal with tonight.”

“We’re not done talkin’ about this,” Hank warned me, ignoring Daisy.

We were stil toe-to-toe.

“We are
so
done talking about this,” I announced, not backing off one bit.

“Hank, honey, maybe I should get you a beer,” Kitty Sue tried to calm her son.

“He doesn’t need a beer. He needs to talk some sense into Roxie,” Malcolm stated.

Kitty Sue, who I didn’t know too wel , and always seemed quite even-tempered, went red in the face and turned to Malcolm.

“And exactly what sense is he gonna talk into her, Mal?” she demanded.

Malcolm turned to his wife. “The boys were handlin’ it.”

“Right. You know that and I know that but in the heat of the moment, she did what she had to do,” Kitty Sue said.

“She nearly got herself kil ed,” Malcolm shot back.

“Hardly. They wouldn’t have let that happen. And, I don’t care if you don’t like it, Malcolm Nightingale, but I rather like the idea of Roxie caring about my son so much, not to mention having the gumption to put herself in harm’s way for him. Just as long as harm didn’t find its way.”

“I like it too,” Mom whispered, coming close to Hank and me, grabbing my hand and looking at me like she was proud of me.

I felt a rush of warmth spread through me, though not enough of a rush to make me less pissed off, stil .

“Trish, you’re a fuckin’ nut. This is our daughter were talkin’ about!” Dad exploded.

“Yeah, and seems to me
one
of us raised her right,” Mom flashed back.

“Damn tootin’,” Daisy said.

“Fuckin’ A!” We al heard boomed from across the room.

I looked beyond Hank and Mom and saw Uncle Tex was standing at the door. He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt and, if it could be possible, both his hair and his beard looked wilder than ever, like he’d been tearing at both of them. “How come I always miss al the action? God damn!” Everyone stared at him.

“Wel ?” he boomed again. “What happened? You okay darlin’ girl?” he asked me.

I nodded.

His eyes swung to Hank. “Nightingale?” he asked.

Hank moved to stand at my side. “Yeah.” he said.

“Wel , thank fuckin’ God,” Uncle Tex finished, completely oblivious to the charged air in the room. Then his gaze moved to the food. “Shee-it. Look at that food. Jesus Jones. What’re we waitin’ for? Let’s get this party started.

You got any hooch?” he asked Daisy.

“Champagne,” Daisy replied, her lips turning up on the ends.

“Wel , break it out, woman. None too happy I ain’t gonna get my go with that jackass in the holding room but, whatever. Now, I reckon if there was an occasion to drink somethin’ as stupid as champagne, this is fuckin’ it,” he looked to the room at large. “Am I right?” Everyone kept staring at Tex. No one was quite ready to let go of the latest battle.

“Wel ? Am I right?” Tex boomed.

Final y, Indy spoke. “You’re right, Tex. You are
so
right.”

“Marcus, Sugar Bunches of Love, bring us some champagne,” Daisy cal ed to Marcus but his head was already in their big, industrial-sized, stainless steel refrigerator. He turned, holding two bottles of champagne in one hand.

“I’l get the glasses,” Jet offered, moving toward a cupboard.

Hank’s arm went around my shoulders to wrap around my neck and I went stiff. I wasn’t quite ready to stop being pissed off at him.

His head dipped and his mouth was at my ear.

“We aren’t done talkin’ about this,” he murmured there.

I twisted my head to look at him.

“Yes we are, Whisky. No more talking, no
conversations
.

Official y, the minute that champagne touches my lips, Bil y Flynn becomes a memory.”

Hank stared me in the eyes; his eyes were working. I could tel he wasn’t done being pissed off either. Final y, he got it under control and his eyes cleared.

“You’re off the hook but only because this shit isn’t ever gonna happen to you again.”

I nodded in agreement but felt like having the last word.

“If it did, you have to know, I’d do the same thing. You aren’t the only one who’s al owed to protect someone you care about.”

He went back to being pissed off and clearly wasn’t going to let me have the last word.

“Sunshine –”

“No, Hank. I don’t want to hear it. Seriously.
Now
, we’re done talking.”

He watched me a beat, then two and then his eyes changed again to a look I’d never seen on him before and it was as far away from pissed off as it could be.

Quietly, just for me to hear, he asked, “You real y think your life began when you met me?”

My body jolted and if his arm wasn’t around my neck, I would have backed away a step.

I wasn’t ready for this. I’d said it in the moment and I’d meant it with everything I was but I didn’t want to discuss it.

Not now, maybe later.

A lot later.

“We’re not talking about that either,” I said to Hank.

He watched me again, a beat, then two and then during the third, his arm tightened around my neck, curling me into him. On the fourth beat, I was ful frontal. On the fifth, his other arm wrapped around my waist and his face went into my neck. On the sixth, my arms wrapped around him tight and I pressed my forehead into his shoulder.

On the seventh, although it was right in the room, it seemed far away, a couple of champagne corks popped and a bunch of people both Hank and I cared about cheered.

Chapter Twenty-Eight
Normal

I saw Denver looming in front of me and, at the sight, I had a little thril that I knew was half-fear, half-excitement.

* * * * *

I’d been back in Chicago for three weeks, going out with friends to say farewel , arranging movers, packing, closing up the loft, meeting with clients, getting my ruined furniture towed away and dealing with the insurance company.

I’d gone down to Brownsburg for a weekend and dealt with the whole Gil and Mimi explosion, when Mom, Dad and I told them al that had happened with Bil y.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kil that motherfucker!” Gil shouted after I was done tel ing the story.

Good grief.

“No need, son. The man doesn’t have a hand,” Dad replied.

Gil’s temper didn’t seem assuaged.

My brother turned to me. “You wanna tel me why you didn’t tel me al of this shit’s been goin’ on for the past however-many fuckin’ years?”

“Um…” I muttered.

The only answer I had to that was that Gil was six foot four and two hundred and thirty pounds of pure muscle and, if he knew, he’d have snapped Bil y like a twig.

Of course, in hindsight, maybe that wouldn’t have been a bad thing.

Mom saved me.

“Al right, it’s over. Roxie’s fine. She’s got a new man now and Gil, you’l like him. Your dad likes him. I like him.

Everyone likes him. So, let’s move on. I made pecan pie.

Who wants a piece of pecan pie?”

Mom’s pie, over the years, had soothed many a foul temper.

We al moved to the kitchen and Mimi put her arm through mine.

“You sure you want to get into another relationship so soon after Bil y?” she whispered to me.

I thought about it.

For about a second.

Then I nodded to her. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

She looked dubious.

I showed her a photo on my phone that Al y took of Hank.

“Holy shit,” Mimi breathed, staring at the photo.

“They’re al like that in Denver,” I told her.

“Holy shit,” Mimi repeated.

Then I leaned into her ear and whispered a few other things Hank was like, not the sexy, bedroom things, the sweet, wonderful things.

“Holy shit,” she said again.

“Mm hmm,” I replied.

Then she gave me a hug.

Gil glared at me.

Whatever.

* * * * *

Annette and Jason were stil in Chicago, likely not moving out to Denver until the New Year.

They had more to do than me (and they didn’t have a hot boyfriend to get back to).

Half of Annette’s staff were fighting to come out to Denver with her, half of them were fighting to become the new operating manager of what Annette was now cal ing

“Head East”. They also had to get things sorted for the new store in Denver (or “Head West”).

Jet reported, during one of my many Rock Chick Phone Chats, that Smithie was not happy with the delay in getting his reggae-white-woman-stripper at a pole, but he was dealing.

Hank was the one that dubbed them the “Rock Chick Phone Chats”. This was what he cal ed them anytime I referred to something said in a chat I had with Jet, Indy, Al y or Daisy (for example, “Oh shit, you’ve been havin’ another Rock Chick Phone Chat.”).

I must admit, I referred to those chats a lot, mainly when I was losing ground and trying to make a point when Hank and I slipped into a Hank Conversation.

* * * * *

I decided to take two days to drive out to Denver, doing the long haul the first day and stopping just over the Colorado border. I real y should have powered through but I didn’t want to arrive and see Hank, for the first time in three weeks, red-eyed and skanky. I wanted a good night’s sleep (didn’t get it) and plenty of time to make myself look as good as I could (this kind of worked).

I had my now slightly longer hair in some nice waves and ful -on makeup (to hide the fact that I didn’t get good sleep).

I went the way of Colorado (it was apropos) and wore jeans, coffee brown, high-heeled boots and a grass green turtleneck sweater with huge cable knitting down the front. I finished this up with my funky, super-long green, raspberry and cornflower-blue stripy scarf and knit cap (because it was colder than Christmas outside).

I had another carload of stuff with me and I was moving into Uncle Tex’s for the time being. I’d been surfing the ‘net to find an apartment in Denver and I had two days fil ed with viewings ahead of me. What was left of my destroyed belongings was being picked up at the end of the week and I had to have somewhere to take it.

The staying-with-Uncle-Tex-gig and my own apartment had not gone down wel with Hank. We’d had several

“conversations” about my apartment. Hank saw no reason for me to have an apartment. He figured we were going to move in together eventual y, why delay it? I dug my heels in, not because I didn’t want to move in with him but mainly because I was stubborn and because I wanted to give him the chance to back out, just in case. Eventual y, we compromised on a six-month lease (kind of, I got the distinct impression Hank wasn’t exactly committed to the compromise, more like giving in so I’d shut up).

The backing out bit was the reason I was nervous. I didn’t mind moving. I’d done it a lot; I was a practiced hand.

Hank and I had only had a week and a half of “normal” after Bil y was caught (though normal had a weird definition in Denver, especial y when it centered around Fortnum’s).

We’d spent the three weeks while I was in Chicago building our relationship over the phone. It was strange to feel something that seemed old and even steady in Denver was new over the phone.

Or, at least, it felt new to me.

Hank didn’t act any differently.

* * * * *

After the big showdown at The Castle, we al partied in Daisy’s kitchen until we’d made a sizeable dent in the food and an even more sizeable dent in the champagne stash.

Mom and Dad stayed the night with Uncle Tex in order to give Hank and I privacy. They’d roared off, al squashed into Tex’s El Camino, while Hank and I stood watching. Hank had put his suit jacket over my shoulders to keep me warm.