Rock Chick Redemption

by Kristen Ashley

  Vance caught Luke on the way into the party, warning him Billy was there.

  Coincidentally, at the same time, Marcus was telling Hank that Billy was on the property. They made plans to gather the women and get us to a safe place in the house and then go (what Hank called) hunting.

  Billy walking in had been a surprise. Vance was hanging back and saw Billy slip in, that’s when he called Lee.

  The rest I knew because I was there.

  Desmond Harper’s boys had been arrested.

  Luke had stitches and had been released.

  Hank had a phone call from Detective Marker right before we left Daisy’s. Detective Marker reported that it was likely Billy would never use his right hand again. I had to admit, this made me sad, but in a weird, detached, anyone-losing-a-hand-was-sad kind of way.

  “One more thing,” I said, when we were in Hank’s living room. We had given Shamus his greeting and Hank had taken his jacket from my shoulders and thrown it over the back of a dining table chair.

  He turned to face me. “Yeah?”

  “You need to tell me about Shirleen and her nephew Darius. She said some things tonight –”

  His hand came out, wrapped around my neck and he pulled me to him. I put my hands to his chest and tilted my head back to look at him.

  “Remember, I told you I knew good people who did bad things?”

  I felt my stomach twist.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And remember when I told you Jet and I had a conversation about people we both knew, people Jet refers to as ‘gray’?”

  I remembered.

  He said they ran games, dealt drugs and likely murdered people.

  I felt my stomach twist joined by a heart squeeze.

  “No,” I breathed.

  “Yes,” he said.

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to believe that of Shirleen. I liked her.

  “I’ll tell you the whole story later,” Hank promised, correctly assessing I’d had enough for one night. He wrapped an arm around me and moved me toward the bedroom.

  “I don’t think I want to know,” I told him.

  “Then, I won’t tell you the whole story later.”

  I nodded.

  That worked for me.

  “Okay,” I said.

  We walked through the kitchen.

  “Let’s erase the night,” Hank suggested when we neared the bedroom.

  My stomach twist eased and my heart started beating again, much faster than its normal rate.

  “Okay,” I repeated.

  * * * * *

  Friday, Hank spent the day at work sorting through my mess with Billy.

  I spent Friday helping out at Fortnum’s and alternately dancing attendance on, running interference with and reassuring my mental stability to Mom and Dad, Annette and Jason, Daisy and a variety of other people who dropped by.

  Indy was going to have to hire someone else soon, the crowds were getting fierce (especially in the mornings) and we were all forced to pitch in to keep up with them.

  Indy had the Bye-Bye Billy Party (the name was Ally’s idea) at Fortnum’s Friday evening, opening it for the private soiree because it was the only place that would fit us all in.

  Even with short notice, and an almost-shoot-out in the middle, word spread like wildfire that Indy and Ally were throwing a party. The party was well catered with everyone pitching in, most especially Kitty Sue and Eddie’s Mom, a lady named Blanca. In fact, even though I’d never met them, Eddie’s entire family came. In fact, everyone came (such was the allure of an Indy/Ally party), bringing food and booze.

  Uncle Tex and Dad had the Jet-caramel-layer-squares face off and Dad had to back down and admit Jet’s caramel-chocolate brownies were better than custard sundaes at Miriam’s Café. After this happened, Mom called repeatedly to Sweet Jesus, swearing that Dad had never admitted to anything outside Brownsburg, Indiana being better and such an admission had to be divine intervention.

  A couple of hours into the party, Vance walked in.

  I noticed him immediately (not out of any heightened awareness gained through osmosis from the Hot Boy Brigade, but because the bell over the door went). I was standing with Indy, Ally, Jet, Annette and Daisy. Hank was across the room with Malcolm, Eddie and Lee.

  I broke away from the Rock Chicks and approached Vance.

  “Hey,” I said when I made it to him.

  “Hey, girl,” he replied, his dark eyes doing a scan of my face.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I said, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Nothing to say,” he told me.

  Then I figured out what to say. “I’m sorry you had to do that.”

  “Had to do what?”

  I sighed. “Spend days hunting down Billy, then having to shoot him. I’m so sorry, Vance.”

  He watched me for a beat. “How much you got left?” he asked, what I thought, bizarrely.

  “Of what?”

  “Of whatever it is that’s pulled you through this shit.”

  I shook my head, confused.

  He got in my space.

  “Maybe you should know somethin’ about me.”

  Oh no.

  “What?” I asked, even though I didn’t know if I wanted to know. Every time one of these boys shared, it freaked me out.

  “I’m not sorry,” Vance said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That he’s never gonna use that hand again. I’m not sorry. Not only that but, Roxie, I’m glad I got to do it. Fuckin’ thrilled.”

  Holy cow.

  I held my breath.

  He got closer and said low, “Justice.”

  Holy, holy, cow, cow, cow.

  Then, I felt heat at my back, an arm came around my upper chest from behind and I was pulled into Hank’s body.

  Vance moved back, his eyes shifting to look over my shoulder.

  “Hank.” he said.

  “Vance,” Hank said from behind me.

  Vance’s shit-eating grin spread across his face as he took us in.

  Then he said, “I’ll let you two let life begin again, I’m gettin’ a drink.”

  Good grief.

  I closed my eyes and curled my fingers around Hank’s forearm.

  When I opened my eyes, Vance was still grinning at me.

  “I’m not going to hear the end of that, am I?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Vance answered.

  He kept right on grinning.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t you need a drink?” I asked, sounding uppity.

  Vance started laughing.

  Then he said, “Yep,” and walked away.

  After a few seconds, I realized that Hank’s body was moving and I was pretty certain it was with laughter.

  “Don’t you start, Whisky,” I warned, looking out the window at the cars on Broadway, my back still pressed against him.

  He kissed the back of my head.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Hank said.

  “No, we won’t. We’re never going to talk about it. Never. Never, never, never,” I announced.

  Hank’s arm tightened and I felt his breath at my cheek.

  “Later,” he promised.

  Good God.

  “Whatever,” I muttered.

  He let me go and walked away.

  When I turned back to the Rock Chicks, they were all smiling.

  Jeez.

  * * * * *

  Some time later, Luke walked in.

  He looked none the worse for wear, in fact, just as good as ever.

  “I’m sorry, I love Jason and all, but that man is fucking hot,” Annette said (and luckily Jason was across the room talking to my Dad).

  I disengaged from the Rock Chicks again and walked to Luke.

  I didn’t know what to say to him either, so, even though he was a badass and super cool, I just invaded his space, wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed my cheek to his chest and I hugged him.

  I know it was
a girlie thing to do, but a bullet sliced through his flesh while he was protecting me, I had to do something.

  After a few seconds, his arms came around me.

  Not surprisingly, he didn’t say anything.

  Surprisingly, neither did I.

  Then, quietly he said, “I know it hasn’t been that long for you, but…”

  When he hesitated, I said to his chest, “What?”

  “Feel like having your life begin again?”

  My body went stiff but my head tilted back to look at him.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Just checkin’. See, my life could begin again. I’m thinkin’ about now,” he replied.

  I blinked at him.

  “Are you fucking with me?” I whispered, my body still stiff.

  He did his half-grin. “Yeah.”

  I pulled out of his arms.

  “That isn’t funny,” I snapped.

  “It’s fuckin’ hilarious,” he told me.

  I was in the middle of growling my frustration when Hank’s arm went around my shoulders and he pulled me to his side.

  “Luke,” Hank said, his gaze was locked on Luke.

  Luke’s eyes cut to Hank. “Hank,” Luke said back.

  They just stared at each other.

  This was making me supremely uncomfortable so I decided to butt in to the badass, super cool, hot guy staring contest.

  “Well, um… thanks for getting shot for me,” I said to Luke, then wished someone would shoot me.

  Luke watched me speak then his eyes went to Hank again. “She’s cute,” Luke noted.

  “I know,” Hank replied.

  “Oh for goodness sakes,” I clipped out.

  “My favorite part from last night, outside of the ‘my life began’ speech, was when she told him he was makin’ her dizzy,” Luke shared, feeling verbose for once in his life.

  “Didn’t think it was funny at the time, but, in retrospect…” Hank to my shock agreed.

  “The part about the dog and the Frisbee was a good touch too,” Luke clearly felt in a talkative mood.

  I’d had enough so I cut in. “Don’t you need a drink?” I asked Luke pointedly.

  Luke’s half-grin went full-fledged. “Yeah,” he said but he didn’t move.

  “Well, why don’t you go get one?” I snapped.

  He reached out and touched my nose with his finger. Then he was gone.

  I turned into Hank. “I’m beginning to regret my actions last night,” I told him.

  “Finally,” he said, sounding relieved and slightly arrogant.

  I frowned at him. “Not because I did the wrong thing, but because… never mind,” I stopped and tried to pull away from Hank’s arm but it tightened and I couldn’t move.

  “Sunshine?”

  I looked up at Hank. “What?”

  “You think they’d tease you if they thought you’d done something to regret?” Hank asked.

  I thought about it.

  “Probably not,” I relented.

  “You think they’d tease you if they thought you did the wrong thing?” Hank asked.

  I thought about that too.

  “I guess not.”

  He watched me for a beat then he shook his head. “Jesus, I can’t believe you hugged Luke Stark. Christ. They’re probably laughin’ themselves sick in the control room.”

  Oh no.

  I’d forgotten about the control room.

  “Maybe we should leave before I do anything else embarrassing,” I suggested.

  “Feel like makin’ any heartfelt speeches?” Hank asked.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Absolutely not.”

  His other arm went around me and curled me full frontal into his body, then his head dipped low.

  “Maybe, from now on, those are best just between you and me.”

  “Hank Nightingale –” I started, but didn’t finish because he kissed me dizzy.

  * * * * *

  Saturday morning we were woken up by my mother yelling through the door to Hank’s bedroom at the same time she was knocking.

  “Kids! You awake?”

  We weren’t, or at least I wasn’t.

  “Yeah Mom,” I called my lie.

  “Tex is here. We’re spending the day with him and Nancy. We’re taking you out to dinner tonight. Malcolm and Kitty Sue are coming too. Meet you back here at six o’clock.”

  “‘Kay,” I shouted then I snuggled deeper into Hank’s warm body, deciding to think about the scary get-to-know-the-parents dinner some other time (or never).

  Shamus jerked to his feet when he heard the movement in the other room and he started walking around on the bed, or, more to the point, on us and tried to lick our faces.

  Hank’s arms went from around me to around Shamus and he wrestled him away, turning his back to me. Shamus didn’t give much of a struggle as Hank got Shamus to his side and pulled the dog to his chest and started to rub his belly.

  I got up on my elbow and watched for a few seconds, then rolled away, snuggled into my pillow instead of Hank and closed my eyes to go back to sleep.

  The bed moved with Hank and Shamus. Shamus obviously let loose, he started to walk on me and snuffle the covers around my body and face.

  “What are you doin’?” Hank asked.

  “Sleeping,” I replied, even though it was obvious I was not.

  “Get up Sunshine.”

  “No.”

  “Up,” Hank demanded.

  “No,” I repeated.

  “Sunshine…”

  Shamus gave me a full face lick and I pulled the covers over my head. No sooner had I got them over my head when they were yanked off, the bed moved when Hank exited it, then I exited it too, but against my will.

  “Whisky!” I shouted, throwing my arms around his shoulders as he carried me into the bathroom.

  “Time to shower.”

  “I want to sleep,” it came out kind of whiney.

  He set me down in the bathroom, his hands went to the hem of my nightie and started pulling up but I caught his wrists and stopped him.

  “Shower, breakfast and then we’ll teach Shamus how to play Frisbee,” Hank said.

  My head shot up and I looked at him. “Really?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  I let go of his wrists, put my arms over my head and he pulled up my nightie.

  * * * * *

  Billy had confessed to beating me up, abducting me, shooting Luke and trying to shoot Hank. Assault, kidnapping and two counts of attempted homicide were kinda big crimes to commit. Hank told me he was going to go down for a long time. And that was just the time he was going to serve in Colorado.

  It was Thursday, a week after the big event. Mom and Dad had left a few days earlier: I was going to leave for Chicago on Sunday.

  Since our day teaching Shamus to play Frisbee (Shamus learned quickly, I knew he was a smart dog), Hank had been spending all of our time together showing me what normal was like.

  I realized normal was good, in fact, normal was downright delicious.

  I was curled up on the couch in Hank’s TV room. It was evening, after I’d made Hank lasagna, after we ate it, after we did the dishes and after we settled in to watch a movie.

  My phone rang and, as it was displayed on my cell as an unknown number, I flipped open my phone.

  “Roxie,” Billy said.

  “Billy?” I asked, shock in my voice.

  I was leaned up against Hank, Shamus was lying in his doggie bed in front of the TV.

  Hank’s body tensed when I said Billy’s name and Shamus felt it from across the room using doggie radar. Shamus jerked from full on his side to lying upright. Both human and canine Nightingale boys looked at me.

  “Roxie, I’m –” Billy started.

  I flipped the phone shut, opened it again and pressed the button until it went off. Then I threw it on the coffee table.

  Maybe I should have listened to him, though I didn’t care. I wasn’t in the mood and I f
igured it was likely I’d never be in the mood again.

  “You need a new phone,” Hank remarked, his body relaxing, his eyes moving back to the TV.

  “You’re right,” I agreed.

  His glance came back to me. “Sorry?” he asked.

  “You’re right,” I repeated.

  He did a slow blink. “Can you say that again?” he asked, his lips twitching.

  I gave him a look.

  His body followed his eyes and he turned into me.

  Then I said, “My phone has a Chicago number. Of course I need a new one. You don’t want to be paying long distance charges every time you call my cell.”

  He ignored what I said, his body moved over mine, pressing me back into the seat of the couch. His hands were sliding up my sides and I squirmed because it was ticklish.

  “Hank, stop, we’re missing the movie.”

  His arm went out and he nabbed the remote. He twisted, hit pause and the screen stilled.

  Shamus settled back on his side with a groan, getting the all clear from his doggie radar as Hank threw the remote back on the table.

  “I was watching that,” I protested to Hank when he came back to me.

  “We’ll finish it later,” he replied, his mouth moving along my collar bone, his hands sliding back down my sides and I squirmed again.

  “Whisky, stop doing that, you’re tickling me,” I snapped, pushing at him.

  His head came up and he looked at me. “What? This?” His hands went under my top and moved up my sides, even lighter.

  I giggled, just a little, mainly because I couldn’t help myself. I squirmed and kept pushing at him. He didn’t budge.

  Then I scowled.

  “Seriously, stop. I don’t like being tickled.”

  “Seriously?” he asked, still watching me, then he did it again.

  “Dude! Stop!” I shouted and heaved. Heaving, I found, also didn’t work. Hank was solid and strong and, although most of the time it was super-good, there were times, like that one, when it was irritatingly bad.

  I tried to grab his wrists. Instead, he grabbed mine, pulled them over my head and, after a brief tussle, held them in one hand.

  “Don’t call me dude,” he said but he was grinning.

  I frowned.

  “Dude,” I replied, just to be stubborn.

  At my use of the word “dude” he used his free hand to torment me by tickling me again.

  Half-giggling, half-squirming under him, some of the time shouting at him to stop, alternating with calling him dude just to be annoying, we eventually rolled off the couch.