Devlin’s remaining assets had been frozen, and it was speculated that it would only be a matter of time until he was caught. Public sympathy was back with Ainsley Holdings, where it belonged.
Gabe was being portrayed as a benevolent man of power, tirelessly working to right the wrongs that Joel and Devlin had wreaked on his company while going above and beyond in taking complete responsibility for the chaos that had resulted. He was being billed as a cross between Bill Gates and Robin Hood, billionaire champion of the poor.
And then, there it was. They showed the same stock picture of Gabe that all the media outlets used, but I drank in the glimpse of his face in the few seconds it was on screen before the weather report began.
“Liv,” Freddie’s voice came from behind me. I jumped. I hadn’t even heard him.
“What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you.”
It was slow, early on a Thursday afternoon, and the only customers were a table of elderly guys seated together close to the pool table, nursing their single beers as they played their weekly game of Euchre.
“Pretty busy here, but I think I can squeeze you in,” I replied wryly and gestured to a barstool across from where I stood. “Come on into my office.”
Freddie sat down, fiddling with the trucker’s cap he held between his massive hands. His bearded face looked sad, and I sensed bad news.
“Spit it out, Freddie.”
“I’m quitting.”
That, I hadn’t expected. It must’ve shown on my face.
He went on, miserably now, hardly able to meet my eyes. “It’s time, Liv. I’ve got to start my own place. I know you pay me good and everything, but I’m ready to own something. To have something to pass down to my kid. To get Rosalie and Mateo into a house instead of a shitty apartment.” He winced. “And Rosalie’s mom. She definitely needs her own room now that she’s…” Freddie looked distinctly nauseous for a moment and swallowed hard, “moved in. I hate to do this to you. I talked to Rosalie, and we really don’t want to lose you as a friend.”
Freddie’s eyes shone suspiciously, and I swore he looked like he was about to cry. My hard-fought emotional stability would not be able to handle a large, sobbing, bearded man right then.
“Oh, bud.” All sympathy now, I hustled around the counter and threw my arms around his massive shoulders. As he awkwardly patted my back, the solution was suddenly, absolutely crystal clear. “I love you guys. Nothing can change that. And it’s not like you can un-nominate me godmother, either. You’re all stuck with me forever, no matter what. Do me a favor and hang out here for a sec while I go make a phone call. And for god’s sake, get ahold of yourself.”
He nodded, grabbing for a napkin on the bar to swipe at his eyes.
I went to the back and called Roxy. We’d kept in touch, and she was still working out the planning stages of her fight club. She’d finagled some grant money and somehow talked her boss into investing even as she’d given her notice. She was currently neck-deep in sourcing a reasonable space to rent and the gym equipment she’d need to get started.
“Hey, Rox,” I said lightly when she picked up. “You still want help with your project?”
“Sure! You got a free weekend?”
“Yeah. Not this weekend, but probably next. You got a free couch?”
“Only for you.”
I exhaled a breath that seemed to have grown stagnant in my lungs. “How long can I use it?”
There was a pause on the other end, and then a cautious, “How long do you need it?”
“Till I find my own apartment?”
Roxy’s squeal echoed through my tiny office, and I laughed. Everything just seemed so simple now. I got off the phone with her and headed back out to Freddie. He’d gotten himself under control, thank God.
“All right,” I said, pointing back to the barstool. “Let’s resume this meeting.”
“You’re such a weirdo, Liv.” He shook his shaggy head but sat down as directed.
“I’m selling you the bar.”
He just looked at me for a second. “Hold on,” he started, his palms facing me like a stop sign. “I know how you feel about this place. I wasn’t trying to, like, blackmail you or anything.”
“Shut up, Freddie. I’m also willing to sell you my house, if you want it.”
His jaw worked up and down for a few moments before it stabilized enough for him to start talking. “No, Liv. You’re leaving?”
“First of all, don’t fucking cry or I promise I will throat-punch you. I can’t take tears right now. Second, yes. I’m going back to Chicago.”
His face darkened. “To that asshole?”
“No. To start the next stage of my life. ‘That asshole’ and I are done but being away made me realize that The Red Stripe has served its purpose for me. This hole-in-the-wall bar gave me a goal, a haven, friendships, income, and something to focus my energy on. It’s been my support. No, my crutch.”
Freddie was shaking his head. “But, Liv—”
I held up a hand. “I’ve outgrown it, Freddie. I can get along fine without it now. Same with my house. Besides, you know damned well you can fix that stupid downstairs toilet in a fraction of the time it takes me. And you’ve been dying to get your hands on the running of this place. You’ll finally be able to refinish these old floors.”
Freddie’s face was a study in contrasting emotions as he picked absently at the peeling varnish on the bar with one blunt fingernail. Excitement, hope, regret, back to excitement. It squeezed at my heart, but deep down, this felt like absolutely the right move at the right time.
I’d built this life in Detroit as a protective refuge, and I didn’t need it anymore. It was time to let someone else have a crack at it.
I went on to tell him about the women’s fight club idea, and the more I told him, the more excited I got. I felt like I was cutting ties with everything that held me down. I would miss my regulars, sure, and I’d miss my friends, but I could visit. Maybe I’d even break down and get on Facebook, just to get my Mateo and Rosalie fixes more easily. And I’d still be my own boss, so I could come back and visit anytime I wanted.
This project with Roxy, though… it was something new and amazing and would enable me to do more than just sling drinks. I could focus my time and energy on helping people. Victims of abuse. Paying it forward and continuing to pay it back to my mom, all at the same time.
It wasn’t a hard sell.
Freddie had always loved the bar. My house had three bedrooms to his apartment’s one, the neighbors were good, and I’d fixed the place up over the years. Freddie and I worked out the details, even though he wasn’t happy with the arrangements. Low selling prices for both places, low payments they’d easily be able to afford, no interest, no down payments. I didn’t care about the money — that had been a last gift from my mom, and it had served its purpose — but he wouldn’t just let me sign things over to them, either.
Silently, I’d already decided to throw in the Taurus too. Freddie could fix it up, and it would be a good thing for them to have a second vehicle. But I understood pride and finally agreed that any money Freddie and Rosalie sent me would go directly to the fight club. I had my own money I’d saved up over the past few years. Freddie and Rosalie’s money, and indirectly my mom’s, would go to a higher cause.
It took me less than a week to divest myself from my home and business, sell the few things that were too large or not important enough to take to Chicago with me, sign over the title to the old car, and pack everything else in the saddlebags I strapped to the Ducati for the trip.
I’d said my goodbyes to Drew, the waitresses, my regulars, especially Cecil and his sweet wife who lived above the bar, and to some of the women I’d met through the community centers.
Saying goodbye to Freddie, Rosalie, and little Mateo was the worst, and as I buckled on my helmet, my eyes felt like they were still swollen and scratchy from the night before. Although that could have been from the celebrator
y Cuervo shots that Mateo’s now live-in abuela had passed around several times.
But finally, I blew a kiss to my house, and to Checkers, the sweet, formerly stray pit bull that Freddie had formally adopted, now that he didn’t have to worry about apartment complex pet restrictions. All the loose ends here were tied up in neat little bows. I rode past the bar one more time, feeling a little tug of sadness. Just a little one, though.
I revved up the engine of the Ducati and said goodbye to Detroit.
As I rode away, I felt like I was leaving this part of my life just a little bit better than I’d found it. Not just for me, but for other people too.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Gabe
It had been twenty-six days.
I felt like an idiot, counting the days since I’d seen Olivia, but I could admit it now. I fucking missed her.
Devlin was still in the wind, but thanks to Liv, things were finally settling down at Ainsley Holdings. The media had all but completely backed off. The PR department had room to do their thing, slowly figuring out legitimate ways to restore the company’s image completely.
HR hirings and firings were over, and we had a solid staff in place, one we trusted, thanks to Jason’s undercover intern. He hadn’t uncovered a single inside leak, but he was able to assure us that we had the respect and loyalty of our staff.
It was pretty ironic. Thanks to Liv, I suddenly had more time to think about Liv.
I was in a hell of my own creation. What had seemed like bindings that she used to tie me up in knots — her sense of humor, her wicked side in the bedroom, her sultry looks and sarcastic wit — they were just facets of Olivia’s personality, not deep-state level plots to trap me. She had never been anything but honest and straightforward with me, and thanks to the distance I had craved to gain perspective, I was kicking myself for not seeing things more clearly sooner.
But, dammit, I had trusted Natalie. Trusted Joel. Trusted Devlin too.
Maybe my trust sensor was just fucked, so I didn’t trust that I could make a good decision.
I just didn’t know. I just knew that I missed her… deeply. Achingly. In a way that was only getting worse with time, not better.
Despite things settling down, I had yet to get back out onto a job site. With everything finally falling into place, my schedule had loosened up enough to allow for it, but I spent a lot of time in my office alternately doing desk work and staring out the window. I was feeling useless, directionless, and I hated it.
“Son, you need a vacation,” a voice boomed out during one of my window-gazing sessions.
“Jesus, Gramps, you scared the shit out of me. Learn to knock.”
Chester shuffled in, a grin taking up most of his face. He looked happier than I’d seen him in years. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “You’re finally marrying the feisty Mrs. Blakely, aren’t you?” It was a statement, not a question. The old man looked years younger, his eyes snapping under his heavy brows, and a spring in his step that hadn’t been there in a long time.
“Who told you?” he frowned, his grizzly face collapsing into a multitude of lines.
“You’re looking,” I winced even as I said it, “frisky.”
Chester hooted in appreciation at my attempt to joke about the still-recent trauma of realizing my octogenarian grandpa had a sex life. “Boy, I wish you could have seen your face that night!”
“That’s all right, I remember what my horrified face felt like. We don’t need to revisit.”
He settled into the chair across from my desk and leaned back, crossing his legs at his booted ankles. “Yep. Elva and I are tying the knot on the first of September. You’d better not have any other plans because you’re the best man.” He said it gruffly, but there was a twinkle in his eye.
Emotion hit me in the face, burning the back of my nose, and I had to cough before I was able to speak. “I’ll try to remember to put it on my calendar.”
He nodded. “You do that and don’t be late.”
I crossed my heart with my finger, much as I did when I was a boy. “I promise.”
Looking satisfied, he leaned back in his chair and hoisted a leg up until an ankle was settled on a knee. “Speaking of ladies, you talked to Liv lately? I haven’t heard from her. Figured she’d keep in touch after she went home.”
Just hearing her name made my heart thump hard in my chest, and I rubbed my sternum to relieve the ache. “No. I haven’t heard from her either.”
I must have paused just a second too long before answering because Chester pounced. “What’d you do, boy?”
I scrubbed my face with my hands. “It’s in the past, Gramps. Olivia’s back in Detroit.”
“Which tells me you did something stupid.”
“Look. It’s none of your business.” I was starting to get mad, and I tried to keep my temper under control. Chester was looking good. Healthy. But I didn’t want to take any chances.
He stared at me for a long moment, his face troubled. “You’re still letting that Natalie mess your shit up, aren’t you?”
I sat back and folded my arms, mirroring his pose, and narrowed my eyes. “Why bring her up?”
“Gabe, don’t be a dumbass. You know exactly why I brought her up. She cost you everything in college.” He dropped his eyes to his shoes and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I’ve known from the beginning that you fell on the sword for that worthless girl. You seriously think I would believe for two seconds that you were doing hard drugs? Beating up on the girlfriend that you loved? I knew you’d never be irresponsible enough to do any of the bullshit things she was saying you’d done.”
All these years, Chester had known the truth.
“Why did you let me think I had pulled off the lie?”
“Jeezus, I don’t know. At first, I thought maybe it was one you needed to tell. With having to give up football, maybe you could at least tell yourself you’d saved Natalie from gettin’ in trouble. Then, when she started all that talk at school… you just kinda shut down. Got to where you wouldn’t talk about anything, and the last thing I wanted to do was bring up something so tough on you, hash it up all over again.”
I didn’t know what to say. All these years.
“Anyway, I’m bringing it up now because I want to know how bad you fucked up this situation, son.”
I told myself I had a choice. I could either be pissed off at the old man or let years of bitterness and misconceptions roll off my back like they’d never happened.
I studied Chester from across my desk, seeing the different ways age was creeping up on him. The slight tremor in his hands. The little slump in his shoulders, curve in his back. Shit, there wasn’t really a choice at all.
“I’ll tell you how bad I fucked up, and you can bitch at me all you want, but I want to know the truth about one thing before I do. How bad is your heart? Really.”
Chester shot upright in his chair, his cheeks going red. “Are you suggesting I’m lying to you about having heart problems? Why in the hell would I do that?”
I looked at him hard. “I’m not suggesting you lied. I’m suggesting you exaggerated. And you’re pretty damned defensive all of a sudden. I want to know why.”
“What would even make you think I’d try and pull your leg over something like that?” he blustered.
“Your beloved Olivia mentioned it.”
Chester sat back hard, but his cheeks were still flushed. “I do have heart issues,” he insisted.
“Okay. How bad? Scale of one to ten?”
Chester cleared his throat and scratched at the stubble on his ruddy cheek. “I take a Lipitor every day. Got high cholesterol. Or I did,” he admitted, “until Elva started force-feeding me rabbit food.”
Of course, Olivia had been right.
“So, when you were hassling me to go on vacation with you, it wasn’t because you were suffering from congestive heart failure, practically knocking on death’s door.”
Chester exploded and shot to his
feet. His face was flushed, but I could see now it was the Ainsley temper putting the color in his cheeks. Hell, Chester’s blood pressure was probably better than mine.
“No, I wasn’t dying. I was trying to get you to spend some time with me, dammit. You bought me that cabin on the Manistee and yet you’ve never made time to go there with me. I don’t want to go fishing by myself. I want to spend some time with my grandson before I go, and I’ll be damned if I’ll apologize for that.”
“I walked out on her.”
Chester shook his head, like that might help him adjust to the abrupt change in subject.
“What?”
“I took her to the Winnetka house, the night Devlin shot at her. We…”
Hell, how was I supposed to tell my grandpa I had sex with Olivia?
Chester rolled his eyes. “Knocked boots? Batter-dipped the corndog? Cleaned out the cobwebs with the old womb broom?”
I pointed a finger at him. “Keep going with that shit, and I’m writing you out of my will, you dirty old bastard.”
“Young people are such prudes. Fine. So, you pulled a hit-and-run. Is that clean enough for you, Mary Sue?”
I ignored the last taunt. “I called a buddy and had him send someone up to stay with her, and I left.”
“Without saying goodbye? You’re nine kinds of an idiot. You know that, right?”
“Thanks, Gramps. That’s very helpful.”
“How long’s it been since you talked to her? ‘Bout a month?”
“Twenty-six days.” I couldn’t stand his half-amused, half-exasperated expression and looked out the window again.
“Hell. You’re ten kinds of an idiot. You can’t just call her up now or send one of those texting messages. You have to go to Detroit and apologize in person.”
I’d been thinking the same thing, but I let Chester think it was his idea. Over the next half-hour, he gave me all kinds of unsolicited, emotionally disturbing advice on how to get around Olivia’s anger before I finally kicked him out of my office.
Claiming My Vengeance Page 20