Rock Chick 03 Redemption (54 page)

Authors: Kristen Ashley

I got up on my elbow and watched for a few seconds, then rol ed away, snuggled into my pil ow 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.

not.

“Get up Sunshine.”

“No.”

“Up,” Hank demanded.

“No,” I repeated.

“Sunshine…”

Shamus gave me a ful face lick and I pul ed 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 wil .

“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 pul ing up but I caught his wrists and stopped him.

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

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

He nodded.

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

* * * * *

Bil y 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 al 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 cel as an unknown number, I flipped open my phone.

“Roxie,” Bil y said.

“Bil y?” 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 Bil y’s name and Shamus felt it from across the room using doggie radar.

Shamus jerked from ful on his side to lying upright. Both human and canine Nightingale boys looked at me.

“Roxie, I’m –” Bil y 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 figured 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 fol owed 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 cal my cel .” 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 stil ed.

Shamus settled back on his side with a groan, getting the al 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’l finish it later,” he replied, his mouth moving along my col ar 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, stil 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, pul ed them over my head and, after a brief tussle, held them in one hand.

“Don’t cal 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 cal ing him dude just to be annoying, we eventual y rol ed off the couch.

I landed on top of him, my hands were freed, I sat up astride him and I started to search for ticklish spots on Hank (I found none, though he didn’t let me try for very long, as in I was searching for about two seconds). This deteriorated into wrestling (because I was stil trying) which degenerated to groping which became far more serious and we ended up never seeing the end of the movie.

I didn’t mind, it didn’t seem like it was going to be a good movie anyway.

* * * * *

Early Sunday morning, I left for Chicago.

I’d packed a few suitcases to take back with me. Hank and Uncle Tex were going to move the rest of my stuff to Uncle Tex’s while I was gone. Hank took my bags out to the car while I finished getting ready at the same time I was eating a breakfast of Hank’s scrambled eggs and toast.

I put my dishes in the dishwasher, grabbed my purse, shoving my lip balm into the easily accessible side pouch (because everyone knew, on a road trip, you needed easily accessible lip balm) and walked out the front door.

Hank was leaning against the side of the hood of my car (which he’d had returned from the impound the day after Bil y was caught). He had his ankles and arms crossed and Shamus was sitting by his legs.

Hank was staring at his feet, looking both handsome and lost in thought.

I nearly tripped at the sight of him but pul ed myself together and walked forward.

Hank’s head came up and he watched me approach him.

When I got to within reaching distance, he uncrossed his arms and ankles, grabbed me and pul ed me between his legs.

My arms went around his waist, I relaxed into him and I rested my cheek on his chest.

“You’re stoppin’ in Iowa?” he asked over my head.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“You’l cal me when you get a hotel,” It wasn’t so much a question as a demand. A worthless demand, we’d already had this conversation.

“Yeah,” I said, feeling my nostrils beginning to sting.

“You’re stayin’ with Annette and Jason when you get there?” he asked, even though he knew that too.

Annette and Jason had left the day before my parents. I had no idea of the state of my loft but I didn’t want anything to do with it anymore. I didn’t want anything to do with any aspect of my life that included memories of Bil y, except to clean it up, pack it up and let it go.

“Yeah,” I repeated.

His arms, already tight, got tighter.

“Jesus, Roxie,” he muttered and his voice sounded hoarse.

My arms got tighter too and the tears started to fal down my cheeks.

“It’s only a few weeks,” I said into his chest but you could hear the tears in my voice.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

After awhile, he demanded quietly, “Look at me, Sunshine.”

I tilted my head back to look at him. The minute I did, his came down and he kissed me.

I knew Hank’s light kisses, necking kisses and make-me-dizzy kisses. This was a forth kind of kiss, long, sweet and ful of promise. It might have been the best of them al (okay, maybe not, but a close second).

His mouth came away from mine and he wiped the tears from my cheeks. Then he walked me to the driver’s side, his arm hooked around my neck, mine around his waist. He gave me a light kiss, I got in, started the car, looked up at him and gave a weak smile and a stupid wave and I drove away.

At the end of the block, I looked into the rearview mirror and he was standing in the same spot, eyes on my car, Shamus at his side.

I turned the car left toward University Boulevard.

* * * * *

When there was nothing but highway in front of me and Denver in my mirrors, I pul ed out my cel , flipped it opened and said Hank’s name into the phone.

It rang twice.

“You okay?” he asked in greeting.

“My life began when I met you,” I told him.

There was a beat of silence.

Then, I heard him say, “Sunshine –”

I flipped the phone closed, pushed it deep in my purse but it rang once before I turned up Springsteen and I started singing with him to “
She’s the One
”.

Together, Bruce and I drowned out the sound of the ringing phone.

* * * * *

Now, I was back.

It was nearly noon. I was on I-25 and wel into Denver when I pul ed out my phone, flipped it open and said Hank’s name.

I was now beyond nervous, no longer excited, just total y scared to death.

For three weeks, Hank and I had talked almost daily.

He’d missed cal ing me twice (I counted) because of work.

Sometimes, we could only talk for minutes; three times (I counted) we talked over an hour.

“Jeez, Bitch! Starving people in Africa would get a new lease on life with the money you two spend on phone cal s,” Annette shouted each of the three times.

I ignored her.

Never did Hank give an indication he was going to back out.

Always, he was just Hank.

Stil …

In my car, Denver sliding by me, I listened to the phone ring and held my breath.

On the second ring, he answered.

“You in Denver?” he asked by way of greeting.

I let go of my breath. “Wel , hel o to you too,” I answered, sounding uppity.

“Sunshine, are you in Denver?” Hank repeated.

“You could say hel o. It’s the nice thing to do. What?

Have you been taking Luke Etiquette Lessons while I’ve been gone?”

I was trying to cover my nerves.

A beat of silence and then, “Sweetheart, I’m gonna ask one more time…”

I bit my lip.

Then I said, “Yeah, Whisky, I’m in Denver. Exiting I-25

now.”

“See you at our place.”

Then he disconnected.

I flipped my phone shut and my brows drew together.

Our place?

He must mean Fortnum’s.

I pointed my car toward Fortnum’s.

Chapter Twenty-Nine
Our Place

I walked into Fortnum’s and everyone was there.

Everyone, that was, except Hank.

Lee, Mace, Vance, Eddie and Luke were relaxing on the couches with Jet sitting on the arm of the couch by Eddie.

Al y was standing by Mace. Uncle Tex and Duke were behind the espresso counter. Jane was behind the book counter, Indy and Daisy sitting on top of it.

They al looked up at me when I walked in.

“Where’s Hank?” I asked.

“Wel , how the fuck are you too?” Uncle Tex boomed, coming out from behind the counter.

I grinned at him. I couldn’t help it.

“Hey, Uncle Tex,” I said.

He made it to me and his arms engulfed me, so hard, my breath went out of me in a poof. “Darlin’ girl,” he half-boomed.

I smiled into his chest and gave him a hug back.

Then I gave hugs and cheek kisses to everyone else (except Mace and Luke, I didn’t know Mace al that wel and I’d already had my lifetime quota of hugs from Luke).

Indy, Lee, Al y, Jet and Daisy stayed close while everyone else wandered away.

“Hank said he’d see me at our place. He should have been here before me,” I told them.

The Rock Chicks looked at each other.

Lee got out his phone.

“Uh-oh,” Al y said.

“Uh-oh what?” I asked.

“Uh-oh nothing,” Al y muttered and bugged her eyes out and Indy.

I looked at Indy and my stomach did a scared-to-death curl.

“Uh-oh what?” I asked Indy.

“Um…” Indy said.

“Hank?” Lee said into the phone. “Yeah, Roxie’s at Fortnum’s,” he paused then he said, “Right.” Then he flipped his phone closed.

“Where is he?” I asked Lee.