She's All In: Club 3, Book 1 (25 page)

His head was hammering, his stomach still rolling, and he felt like he was dying of a rare tropical disease. Class A hangover, courtesy of his buddy Jack. He shuddered. He hoped he never had to smell, taste or even look at another bottle of that devil’s brew as long as he lived.

“You alive in there?” It was Trace, poking his head into the bedroom. He handed Dack a tall glass. “Here, some of my old man’s hangover remedy.”

Dack sank onto the side of the bed and sniffed the murky contents cautiously. “What is it?”

“Don’t ask. Just drink it. If it stays down, it’ll help.”

Dack took a drink. Didn’t taste any worse than the inside of his mouth, so he glugged it down and then belched. Trace took the empty glass.

“What time is it?” Dack asked, holding his skull in both hands, hoping that would keep it from splitting open. “No, wait. What day is it?”

Trace chuckled. “Nine o’clock on a beautiful Sunday evening. You’ve been out since this morning.”

Why the hell had he been drinking? Oh yeah. Memory flooded back, and he leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “Shit. I am so screwed.”

“Yeah. Kinda sounds that way. Listen, since you’re back among the living, I’m gonna take off, man.”

Dack nodded. “Sorry I kept you from your day off.”

Trace patted his shoulder, his hand warm and solid. “No worries, bro. Jake and I took shifts. You’d do it for us.”

He walked to the door and paused. “You wanna talk, I’ll be around.”

Dack nodded without looking up. He sat there for a while and then slowly heaved himself to his feet. His footsteps echoed as he walked out through the empty club. No place as lonely as one that was meant to be full of people having fun.

He stopped in the office to get his spare sunglasses and got the hell out of there.

He went home, showered and changed into clean shorts and a T-shirt. When he pulled open the drawer of his big bureau, the first shirt he saw was the pink one he’d been given at the breast cancer walk-a-thon. He scowled, chucking it across the room toward his wastebasket. He chose a yellow one with a Rogue Brewery beer label and pulled it on.
 

His stomach growled as he walked back out into the main living area. He opened the refrigerator, found yogurt and orange juice, grabbed a banana from the basket on the counter and threw them in the blender with some protein powder. He took some aspirin with his smoothie and then wandered in to his living room and turned on his big-screen TV to the sports channel. He sure as hell didn’t want to think.

He fell asleep in his recliner, woke with a start when his phone burred in his pocket. He grabbed it and squinted at the clock. Jesus, six a.m. He’d spent the entire night in the recliner. The TV was still flickering, a soccer match from Australia. He hit the remote to switch it off and then finally remembered to answer his phone.

It was his crew boss, wondering where he was. “I’ll be late,” Dack said. “You guys get started on those trusses, and I’ll see you in about an hour.”

No good being the boss if he couldn’t be late once in a while without having to make an excuse.

He made it through the long, hot day somehow. After work, he got supper from a drive-through, something he tried not to do very often because it wasn’t real healthy, but he hadn’t remembered to get any groceries over the weekend.

After he ate, he just drove. The thought of going to his silent condo, or to the gym where he’d have to face people he knew, answer questions, gave him heartburn.

He wasn’t really sure where he was going until he found himself idling in the street in front of his mother’s house. The street was quiet, just a kid shooting hoops a few houses down and an aging golden retriever ambling along the sidewalk with a skinny, preteen girl.

Dack pulled over and shut off his truck. He was here; might as well go in.

His mother answered the door with an exclamation of pleased surprise and then immediately went into full mother-hen mode.

“Oh, sonny, you look so tired. Come and sit on the porch, and just relax.”

He followed her through the tidy little house, past the bad-tempered Siamese who blinked her Daisy-eyes and gave him a warning growl from her perch on the back of the sofa. He didn’t even have the heart to snarl back at the cat.

Dack sank down in the comfortable deck chair in the evening sun and let his mother fuss over him, bringing him ice water and some fresh lemon cookies.

She sat down in her glider rocker and gazed out at her flower garden. Dack munched his way through a couple of cookies and drank his ice water. “These are good, thanks.”

She leaned her chin on her hand on the arm of her chair. “You want to tell me about it?”

“What?” He looked away, scowling.

His mother sighed. “Sonny, I can see you’re hurting. But you’re being all stoic, just like your dad.”

“Yeah, I could throw a hissy fit,” he shot back. “That would be so much better.”

She shot out of her chair, going to stand on the edge of her deck, with her back to him.

Self-disgust rose in a bitter tide. He grimaced. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

He planted his hands on the arms of his chair to rise, but she turned on him.

“You sit,” she said fiercely, her soft mouth in a straight line, tears standing in her eyes. “Dack Humboldt, it is high time we had a talk.”

Oh shit, he was in for it now. Both the women in his life had it in for him. Might as well man up and take it. Wasn’t much else a guy could do. At least his mom wasn’t threatening to call the cops on him.

“You are just like your father,” his mother exclaimed.

“Hey,” he bit out, glaring at her. If she was going to start in on his old man, he was out of here. She might have Frank now, but his dad was still his hero.

“And in so many ways,” she went on, rolling right over him, “that is a fine thing. I am so proud of you, how hard you work and all that you’ve accomplished. But you are like him in some not so great ways as well.”

Dack’s mouth fell open in shock as Beverly Humboldt paced a few steps and then turned back to him.

“Do you have any idea,” she asked, hands on her hips, “how hard it is to live with a man who will not talk? Who works long hours and then, to relax, goes to the bar with his buddies and talks to them? And doesn’t come home until he’s ready to go to bed?”

She made a gesture of frustration, throwing her hands in the air. “Dack, I loved your father, but a lot of the time, I was…lonely. Your dad doted on you and spent time with you, but he really did not have much interest in my life, my thoughts, my feelings.”

“He loved you,” Dack said, defending the man who’d raised him.

His mother nodded. “I think in his way he did. But I never felt that we…connected. And I know that a little less drama would have been healthier for you, but it’s only been in the last several years, with all the self-help and counseling books and articles and TV shows, that I’ve realized that when I ‘threw a hissy fit’, as you so poetically put it, I was just trying to get your dad to see me, to hear me.”

“Whoa. You’ve been doing a lot of thinking, huh, Mom?” Dack grinned at her, and she smiled back as he knew she would.

She sank back into her chair. “Yes, sonny, I have. And I know Frank can never replace your dad, but…” She gave Dack a look full of vulnerability. “He talks to me. And he listens.”

Dack laid his hand over his mother’s smaller one on the arm of her chair. “Mom, that’s great. You deserve a guy that listens.”

She pressed her other hand over his. “And I’m listening now. So tell me why you look like someone ran over your dog and scratched your new truck?”

He snorted with laughter. “Geez. It’s not that bad.” Then he sighed, giving it up. “It’s worse.”

He told her about Daisy—a highly edited version, because his mom sure as hell did not know he was part owner in Club 3—and how they’d dated, and then Daisy had found him holding her friend after a date tried to hurt her, and assumed he was cheating on her.

“Good for you,” his mother said fiercely. “I hope you broke his nose.”

He shrugged. “I messed it up a little for him.”

“And you really like this Daisy?”

He nodded. “I think it’s…more than that. But, now, I don’t know. If she doesn’t trust me…”

His mother patted his hand. “She does sound rather immature. I mean, after you explained what happened, and she still…?” She paused delicately.

Dack thought about that. “Well…I guess I didn’t, not really. I was pretty mad.”

“Oh.” His mother nodded. “Nevertheless, she should know you’d never cheat, after all the time you’ve known each other, and the hours and hours you must have spent talking.”

Dack rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “Uh, we haven’t really known each other that long.”

“Hmm.”

Dack looked over to find his mother regarding him with a look of such innocent inquiry that he knew he’d been had.

“Ah, Mom,” he groaned.

“What?” she asked in mock indignation.

“I see what you’re up to,” he answered, giving her the same look. “I know when I’ve been mothered.” She’d outmaneuvered him, and she looked smug as hell about it too. But his heart was lighter than it had been since Saturday evening. Because maybe she was right; he just needed to explain himself to Daisy.

He leaned over and planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek and grinned sheepishly at her. “Thanks for listening.”

She smiled mistily at him. “Well, I figured since I have never even heard her name before, you can’t have been dating all that long. So a little more communication might be in order. Now, when do I get to meet her?”

He lost all will to smile. “I don’t know. We’ll see if I can fix this first. Then I’ll let you know.”

His mother gave him a fierce hug and assured him that any woman worthy of him would listen to everything he had to say, so she’d wait for his call.

He left with a package of lemon cookies and renewed hope. Because while he knew damn well mothers were prejudiced as hell in their sons’ favor, his could be right once in a while, couldn’t she?

Chapter Fourteen

Daisy called in sick on Monday. She spent the day curled up on her sofa, crying and flipping channels on her TV and sleeping.

Her parents were out of town with friends, Dana had a big court case going on, and Deb…would demand every single gory detail of what had happened, “he said, she said” style. Daisy couldn’t deal with that, so she didn’t call either of them.

She finally showered and dragged herself to her class that evening. She copied Dack’s trick of wearing a pair of brown-lensed sunglasses, and skulked in the back of the room, pretending she had a cold. Even the gregarious bunch of would-be Realtors left her alone with her tissues.

When she got home, it was nearly dark but still warm. The sky in the west glowed with amber light shading into midnight blue overhead. Daisy stuck her shades back on, in case she met any of her neighbors on the walk.

The walk and stairs were thankfully empty. She traipsed up to her apartment and dropped her papers on the table. She needed a glass of wine.

Her doorbell rang while she was pouring. She jerked, and the chardonnay splashed over her counter. Daisy barely noticed. Her heart pounding with sudden hope, she scurried around the kitchen island and peered out at her step.

Her heart sank. It was only Carlie. She waved cheerily at Daisy and lifted a bottle of something.

Daisy opened the door and was enveloped in a warm, perfumed hug. She hugged Carlie back, a wave of gratitude swamping her. Of course she was glad to see her friend.

“I’m so glad you’re finally home,” Carlie said. “We—I’ve been waiting in the parking lot. So much to tell you. And I brought wine.”

“Thanks.” Daisy sniffled. “I just spilled most of mine.”

Carlie handed Daisy the cold bottle and lifted one hand, beckoning over her shoulder.

“Who else is here?” Daisy asked, mystified.

“Um—someone you need to listen to.” Carlie stepped aside, and Daisy’s eyes widened. A sign was mounting her steps, with a pair of familiar feminine legs and sandaled feet under it.

The huge poster board stopped on the top step, and Carlie gestured gracefully at it, like a game show hostess indicating a choice of answers.

“I love U and I would not cheat with your man,” Daisy read aloud. She set both her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes, torn between the urge to growl or snicker. Sounded like the chorus of a bad country song. “You can come out now, Sara.”

The sign slowly lowered, and Daisy’s frown turned to a gasp. Sara had a black eye that extended down into a mottled bruise on her cheekbone.

“Holy crap. Who did that to you?”

“A creep at the club,” Sara said quietly. “Dack and Trace rescued me.”

“Can we come in?” Carlie asked. She took the sign from Sara and leaned it against the railing facing the wall, shooing them with her hands. “Nosy neighbors are watching.”

“Oh, sure.” Daisy stepped back inside, and her friends followed her. She waved at the college girl next door, who was peering out the window by her own door. The girl waved back. Crap, she was more entertainment for the neighbors than a reality show on TV.