Текст книги "Walk Through Fire"

Автор книги: Kristen Ashley

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

High could see that, seeing as Rosalie was an old lady, and when Shy dumped her, she was this without an old man.

The Bounties were another MC. Chaos had Denver central as well as claiming south Denver, Englewood, Lakewood, and Littleton. The Bounties were East Denver, including Aurora.

The Bounties were outlaws to the bone, like Chaos, and they were a decent club. Good men. But they didn’t run a Club business like Ride, so they all had jobs. This meant they dipped their wicks into extraneous shit to make extra cash.

Recently, that extraneous shit became serious.

And part of this was that they’d made an alliance with Valenzuela that earned them Chaos attention and caused friction between two clubs whose members got along, and if they didn’t, they gave each other a wide berth.

“As you know, when we pulled out of security, Bounty picked up some of that for players in town,” Tack went on. “As you also know, part a’ that was them pickin’ up some business with Valenzuela. Rosalie didn’t know about either. That is, until Snapper caught sight of her with her biker. Snap wasn’t around when you were with her. Shot a picture of the biker when she was with him. Showed it to Roscoe. Roscoe knows Rosalie, had the idea. He made the approach. She was not pleased when she heard what was goin’ down with the Bounties doin’ that shit for Valenzuela and she says she’s in to help.”

“She’s not in to help,” Shy shot back.

“We’ll keep her covered, Shy,” Tack told him. “You know that. Snap is on her, with Roscoe and Speck at his back and hers.”

“She’s not in to help,” Shy repeated, his tone deteriorating.

“Calm, Shy,” Hop warned. “You think we’d take her on if Snap didn’t have her covered?”

“Snap doesn’t have shit,” Shy clipped to Hop, then looked to Tack. “She ain’t takin’ cock to serve Chaos.”

“Can’t claim pussy that’s no longer yours, brother,” Tack stated, heat building behind his words, which was understandable since his daughter had Shy’s ring on her finger and his kid in her belly and he was throwing in for another woman.

“Rosalie isn’t pussy,” Shy returned. “She’s Rosalie.”

“We know that,” Tack replied. “But she’s tight with her man, thinks she can pull him out of it after shit goes down. And part of this decision includes us knowin’ the guy. He’s in with the Bounties and like a lot of ’em, he’s solid. They’re makin’ bad allegiances because their president is greedy. Not all of them are down with what’s goin’ on, including her man. So we think she’s not wrong and he can be turned.”

“We use her, she’s still swinging out there,” Shy pointed out.

“Which is why Snap is on her,” Tack fired back.

Shy shut his mouth but a muscle jumped in his jaw.

“Won’t let anything happen to her, Shy,” Pete said quietly. “We know she’s Rosalie. She’s not Chaos, never really was, but she’s a good gal. We wouldn’t let her swing.”

“I want on her,” Shy announced, and the men got more alert.

“No fuckin’ way,” Tack growled.

“Do not mistake me,” Shy whispered. “When it comes to my woman, the family we’re makin’ she’s got inside her, do not ever mistake me, Tack.”

Tack held Shy’s gaze steady for a beat before he said, “Tabby knows.”

“That would be you mistakin’ me,” Shy returned. “I wouldn’t do dick with or for Rosalie without my wife bein’ in the know. She’s uncomfortable with it, I leave it to Snap, Roscoe, and Speck. She’s good, I’m in.”

Tack nodded.

When the vibe in the room mellowed, High waded in.

“That’s sorted, what’s she gonna get for us?” he asked.

Tack looked to him. “Whatever she gets is shit we don’t currently have.”

“I hear that, brother, but she’s covered or not, the fact remains we’re puttin’ a good woman out there and we should do it knowin’ she’s takin’ a risk that’s worth it,” High noted.

“Her man works security for Valenzuela’s dope transport,” Tack replied. “She can get to his cell, see his texts. She hears him on calls. She’s already given detail on a shipment and their possible route. We’re gonna cover that, see if what she says is gonna go down, goes down. It does, Lawson and Lucas go in on the next one, take it down but do it to turn a Bounty to the cause, informant instead of jail time, this hopefully bein’ Rosalie’s biker. Rosalie is off the hook without anyone knowin’ she was on it and we got someone on the actual inside who can really help bring Valenzuela down.”

High turned to Shy. “It’s a solid plan, brother.”

“It is, we don’t give a shit about the woman who’s got her neck out,” Shy replied. “It isn’t we do. And I thought Chaos was not into doin’ this kind of shit.”

“She’s not an old lady, Shy, and never was,” Tack remarked.

Shy looked to him. “That matters? She’s a woman.”

“She’s a woman but that don’t mean she don’t have courage or brains,” Tack returned. “She wants her man out of that business, brother, and she’s willin’ to take the risk to get the reward. That’s her call. Not yours. And she made it.”

“You’re good with that, we’ll talk again, she’s found in an alley with her throat cut,” Shy shot back, and before Tack could say anything, he looked around and stated, “This should have been brought to the table.”

“Brothers out takin’ old ladies’ backs, on our kids, we don’t have time to sit a table,” Tack told him. “Obviously Roscoe, Snap, and Speck are in with this plan. The rest of you are standin’ right here.”

“Rush isn’t here,” Shy noted.

“Rush has already voted and I think you get what his vote was,” Tack replied.

They all got it. No way in fuck would Rush put Rosalie out there.

Then again, if it was up to him, Rush would retreat off their turf and do nothing but protect Ride, the shop, the garage, the Compound, the parking lot, and the forecourt, leaving the rest to the cops.

This was not a weak decision. A woman Rush cared about was kidnapped and stabbed and he’d watched his father suffer through it right along with the woman who would become his stepmother. All because of shit Chaos waded into.

So it was an informed decision.

Just, to High’s way of thinking, the wrong one.

“So I got Rush but if this were to come to a vote, I’d be outvoted,” Shy said.

“Seems that way, brother,” Boz replied.

“Rosalie isn’t gonna get her throat cut,” Hound put in.

“You sure about that?” Shy asked.

“Sure I’m sure,” Hound returned. “She trusts Chaos. We’re your brothers. Not sure why you don’t.”

That was what got to him. Shy again shut his mouth. Then he shot Tack an unhappy look, turned, and stalked out.

“That went exactly how I expected it,” Hop muttered.

“What it did was it went,” Tack stated. “Now it’s done.” He looked Hound and Boz’s way. “I want you with Snap, Roscoe, and Speck when that shipment goes. It’s on the route Rosalie gave us, tail it, mark the route, stay unnoticed. The next one she gets, Slim and Mitch’ll be with you and so will I.”

Hound nodded and declared, “I need beer.”

He then ambled to a tap, grabbed a random plastic cup that was sitting on the bar that could be clean—it also could be dirty—and he pulled himself a cold one.

“Pull one a’ those for me,” Boz ordered.

“I gotta go get Nash from Lanie. She’s got a meeting comin’ up,” Hop muttered. “Later.”

Then he took off.

“Carrie and me got Travis this week,” Joker said. “Goin’ home.”

He took off too.

“You’re holdin’ your shit a lot better than I expected you would,” Pete remarked, and High looked to him. “Thought you’d have Valenzuela hung up by his balls by now.”

“Finally got a life not worth fuckin’ up,” High replied.

“Had that when you got your two girls, High,” Pete noted.

“You did, too, lotta folks depended on you for a lotta things when you went off the rails when your girl passed, Pete,” High said evenly, not sounding angry, even though Pete had ticked him off with what he’d said. Just making his point.

“Fair enough,” Pete muttered, grinned, then looked away and called, “Pull me one, too, Hound,” and he peeled off.

Tack got close.

“Shy’s on their team, High. Tab won’t give a shit about Rosalie. But you know security better than anyone,” Tack said. “That dope run is happening this weekend. Know you can’t go ’cause you got your girls and they’re meetin’ Millie. Next run, though, it’d help a lot you were on it.”

High nodded.

“In the meantime, be good you keep Snap’s shit sharp. Roscoe and Speck got more experience, so they’re on the women, only got half a mind to Rosalie and she needs more. It’d help, you helped him cover Rosalie.”

High nodded again.

“Millie good?” Tack asked.

High’s mind filled with her sweater dress and the lace of her thigh-high.

He felt his lips twitch.

Tack read it.

“Good,” Tack muttered, then noted, “Women are goin’ out Saturday night.”

He knew that. Millie had shared it on the way to go pick up cats the night before.

“Just got her back, hope she survives.”

At that, he watched Tack’s lips twitch.

“Got shit to do, brother,” High told him.

Tack sighed. “We all do.”

High slapped his shoulder and Tack returned the gesture. They traded chin lifts.

Then High headed out to find Snap, get a brief, and make sure he was covering Rosalie’s shit.

*  *  *

“This?” Millie asked.

High was lounging on his side on the bed.

Before he got that way, he’d scooped up the cats and deposited them there. They were wrestling—so damned little, the match was vicious and he didn’t feel a thing—and likely fucking up her precious sheets.

She didn’t seem to care.

He definitely didn’t care.

But she didn’t because she was in a fucking tizzy.

She’d just run into the room and was holding up a pair of jeans folded over a hanger at her bottom, a sweater dangling down her front at the top.

He was helping her pick out an outfit to meet his daughters.

This was not what he thought he was going to do when she’d led him into her bedroom after they cleaned up after dinner.

That was bad.

But it got worse when he found out what she was up to.

She started this shit, he’d approved every outfit, and she’d nixed it, tossing crap aside and rushing back to her closet only to come out again with another outfit he’d approve and she’d nix.

This had happened eight times.

He was done on the first one.

“Babe, it’s fine,” he stated.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, pulling the sweater away and looking at it. “When it’s on, this sweater is kinda tight.”

“Then it’s absolutely fine,” High declared, and she turned narrowed eyes on him.

“I’m not gonna wear something suggestive to meet your girls, Low.”

“Babe, you got a killer body, you’re an unbelievably great lay, and both a’ those are mine... again. You could wear a bag over your head and mom jeans , I knew it was you under all that, I’d still wanna fuck you.”

He saw pleasure mingle with irritation in her eyes but she went with the last.

“You shouldn’t think those things when you’re with your daughters,” she announced.

“The only time I don’t think those things is when I’m unconscious. But I probably dream about ’em and I’ll definitely be doin’ that shit after you woke me up takin’ my dick down your throat.”

She straightened her spine and stated, “I’ll never wake you up that way again.”

“Fine with me,” he returned. “Opens me up to do it to you.”

With hanger in one hand, sweater in the other, she planted her hands on her hips and rapped out, “Logan!”

He sighed, pushing up and hauling his ass off her bed. Then he approached and she glared at him as he did, but he ignored it and got in her space, lifting his hands to cup her jaw.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said quietly.

He saw her shoulders slump as she replied, “I want Zadie to like me.”

“Wear a tiara,” he suggested on a tease. “Only way that’s gonna step that shit up.”

She looked like she was considering that idea and it was cute, so he grinned. But it still disturbed him she’d consider going to those lengths, which indicated the depth of her anxiety.

He dipped closer.

“Baby, listen to me,” he coaxed gently. “They’re my kids. They’re good kids. They love their dad. They’re social, good with people. I told you, Zadie will come around. But she won’t if you get wound up.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Kids are like horses, they can read you’re spooked, which will spook them and make ’em act up. You gotta be the adult in this situation, which means you gotta fuckin’ relax, be patient, and give her the real you, which she’s got no choice but to wake up and love due to the fact that there’s a fuckuva lot to love.”

The clothes she was holding hit the floor as she leaned into him and slid her arms around his waist.

Once she had hold on him, she shared, “You’re good at the flowery biker shit.”

“Learned early,” he replied. “Had a good girl named Millie to win and it was worth pullin’ out stupid shit like that in order to do it.”

A shadow of regret ran through her eyes at the reminder of what they’d had and lost but she powered through it and returned, “It’s not stupid shit.”

“Won me you so I guess you’re right.”

She pressed in until she had her cheek to his chest. As she did this, she held on tighter.

High wrapped his arms around her and returned the tight.

“I’ll wear the first outfit. I think it was the best,” she decided.

“Great,” he muttered. “And so you know, we got plans for dinner at The Broker on Monday night.” She tipped her head back and caught his eyes. “Sweater dress,” he finished.

She melted deeper into him and grinned.

They heard an angry kitty mew and a soft thump but neither of them let the other go as they twisted in order to see Poem had fallen off the bed and she was kitty run-waddling out of the room.

Their eyes went back to the bed and Millie let out a quiet gasp of alarm when Chief took a flying leap off the side. He didn’t land real good but he recovered fast and ran-waddled after his sister.

“I think until they can get up and down themselves without breaking their necks, the bed should be off-limits,” Millie declared.

High looked down at her. “They’re tougher than you think, beautiful.”

“I think until they can get up and down themselves without breaking their necks, the bed should be off-limits,” she repeated. He grinned. She kept going. “Unless there’s human supervision.”

He kept grinning as he asked, “We done with the fashion show?”

She nodded, then started looking around. “I should pick up.”

He started walking backward, taking her with him. “You can do that later.”

She tipped her head back to look at him. “Low, it won’t take a minute.”

He hit bed, went down, she landed on top of him, and he immediately rolled so he had the advantage.

He lifted his head to look down at her but he didn’t lift it far, just enough so her brown eyes, her beautiful face, her cute mole were all he could see.

He focused on the mole.

“Think I mentioned I appreciate that you give great head, baby. I also ate you hard and later we fucked fast.” He looked to her eyes. “Now we’re gonna take all that slow.”

She dipped a hand in his shirt so he felt it against the skin of his back.

She was in with his plan.

“I should check the kitties,” she said.

Maybe she wasn’t in with his plan.

“They weigh less than two pounds each. They couldn’t hurt each other or anything else even if they put effort into that shit.”

“But—”

“After I eat you.”

She melted.

But she started, “Snooks—”

“And you suck me.”

She licked her lips but said nothing.

“And we fuck. Then you can check on ’em.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay,” he whispered back.

Before she could say anything else, he kissed her.

They carried out his plans and took their time doing it.

In the end, she was so out of it after two orgasms, lazy and half asleep, it was him who checked on the cats.

They’d managed to get up on her couch and were asleep on opposite ends of it, one snuggled into an afghan, the other half buried under a toss pillow.

They were good.

So High went back to his girl in order to join her in bed, fall asleep, and dream of Millie’s blow jobs.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

No Matter How That Happens

Millie

I SUCKED IN a deep breath and pinned a smile on my face, moving toward the back door since I heard Logan’s truck pull into the courtyard.

It was Friday night. He was there with his girls to pick me up for dinner.

I was a nervous wreck.

I just hoped I was hiding it.

I was in a nice pair of jeans, a frilly (but not over the top) blouse, and fabulous high-heeled booties. I’d secured my hair in a ponytail at the nape of my neck, had on subtle makeup, subdued perfume, and a touch under my usual amount of jewelry.

In other words, I felt I was ready to face my first meeting with the daughters Logan adored, representing myself as his choice in a positive light.

Or at least I hoped that too.

I unarmed the alarm, opened the door, and stood in it, watching them hopping down from the truck, these activities illuminated by my outside light.

And as I watched, all thoughts of clothes, shoes, and jewelry flew from my head.

I should have asked him to show me pictures.

In all that was happening, I didn’t ask him to show me pictures.

Big mistake.

I had no idea what his ex looked like but Logan’s daughters looked exactly like him, except young and female, but just as beautiful.

Through all that beauty, the vision of them killed. The hit of it striking so hard it was a wonder I didn’t fall to my knees.

I’d never know, not ever, if they were what I’d have given to him. But the idea that such perfect specimens of all that was Logan in girl form might, in some alternate universe, have been what I’d help him to create, what would have been his and mine, what we’d watch grow even more beautiful with each passing day, was too much to bear.

I couldn’t handle it.

I was stiff as a board and deep breathing as they all moved as one to the door.

I couldn’t tear my eyes from the girls.

“Babe,” Logan called.

With a great deal of effort, I forced my gaze to him.

He took in the look on my face and I saw the pain of understanding slash through his and that hurt even more.

I realized they’d stopped moving when I heard a relatively snotty, “Is she gonna let us in?”

This took me out of the moment and I looked down to the girls, who were both tall, like their dad.

In fact, taking them in up close, I saw absolutely everything was just like their dad.

God.

I had to get it together.

“Hey,” I pushed out. “So sorry.” I moved aside. “Come in out of the cold.”

The taller, likely older one, Cleo, gave me a careful smile and moved inside.

The shorter, probably younger one, Zadie, gave me a once-over, stopped on my blouse, my boots. Something slid over her face I couldn’t read, then she marched in.

After she did, Logan moved in, not to the house, to me.

I felt his hand at my waist, the bristles of his whiskers brush my cheek, and heard him say at my ear, “Fucked up. This was too soon.”

I pinned another smile on my face, this one as beaming as it was false, pulled away, and looked at him.

“It’s all good,” I stated brightly, then moved farther into the kitchen, Logan coming with me and shutting the door¸ all this happening with me turning my attention back to the girls and declaring, “Welcome! I’m so glad to meet you.”

“You too,” Cleo replied.

Zadie didn’t say anything. She was looking around, though the good part about this was that she was looking around and doing it with her mouth open in what appeared to be wonder.

“Babe, this is Cleo, my oldest,” Logan stated, moving in and wrapping his arm around the taller girl, tucking her into his side. “And that’s Zadie, my baby.”

“Hi, Cleo,” I greeted.

She waved and mumbled a shy, “Hey.”

I turned to Zadie and opened my mouth but didn’t say anything when she looked to her father.

“This house is like a non-fairy tale, fairy-tale castle but in house form,” she decreed.

Oh, thank God.

Suddenly, all the effort, expense, and hassle of renovations became more worth it than it already had been.

Logan grinned at me. I grinned back.

My eyes shot to Zadie again when she shrieked.

“Look at that kitty!”

“What kitty?” Cleo asked, a thread of excitement in her voice. She pulled from her dad and moved toward her sister.

“He has blue eyes, he’s teeny-tiny, and he’s all fluffy,” Zadie breathed excitedly, now hunched over and walking toward Chief, who was lounged on his side on the edge of the living room rug, studying her warily.

“Oh my gosh, they’re so cute,” Cleo whispered reverently. “They’re, like, perfect. Look, Zade, there’s another one on the couch.”

She wasn’t wrong. Poem was sitting on the arm of the couch, also studying the girls warily.

And suddenly paying through the nose for two purebred cats became more worth it than it already was.

I followed the girls to the space between living room and kitchen and stopped. When I did, I felt Logan move in beside me and he slid his arm around my shoulders.

I wasn’t sure about touching in front of the girls but I figured he was their dad, he’d know how to play this, so I had to follow his lead.

Thus I slid my arm around his waist.

Cleo turned to me and didn’t even blink when she saw me standing close, holding and being held by her dad.

She was in kitty wonderland.

“Can we touch them? Hold them?” she asked.

“Of course, sweetie,” I answered.

She grinned genuinely and it transformed her whole face, making beauty exponentially more beautiful.

Zadie already had a hold of Chief and was cuddling him under her chin.

“He weighs, like, nothing,” she whispered in awe.

“You have Chief, Zadie,” I told her, then looked to Cleo, who was slowly stalking Poem down the couch. “And that’s Poem, Cleo. She’s my girl.” I looked back to Zadie. “Chief’s my boy and your dad named him.”

This was the wrong thing to say. I knew it immediately when Zadie’s attention cut to me, then to her dad.

She dropped Chief on the back of the couch and declared, “I’m hungry. Can we go?”

My body got tight. I felt Logan’s body get tight. And Cleo’s eyes shot to her dad.

I could feel he was annoyed but this was a much better beginning than I expected and I didn’t want anything, outside of things Zadie might do, to mess that up.

So I said quickly, “Yes. Let’s get going. Can’t wait for a big plate of spaghetti!”

I moved from Logan’s arm and toward the hooks behind the door where my jackets were so we could get on with getting to where we were having dinner. The Old Spaghetti Factory.

I grabbed the suede jacket I’d put there earlier with my pashmina in preparation for that very moment and shrugged it on, wrapping the scarf around my neck and grabbing my bag.

The girls had trooped out and Logan was holding the door.

“Alarm, beautiful,” he muttered.

I nodded, hit the digits, and armed it. We got out, Logan closing the door, me locking it.

We moved toward the truck. Logan took my hand and I saw Cleo in the truck, Zadie standing outside of it, her eyes narrowed on our hands.

She lifted her gaze to her father and asked, “Does Millie get to sit in front?”

“What do you think?” Logan asked back.

She huffed like this was an affront beyond the beyond.

Logan stopped us close to her. “Zade, do you ever sit in the front when there’s an adult in the truck with us?”

“Whatever,” she mumbled, and climbed into the back of the cab.

Logan let me go to shut her door.

I drew in a deep breath and lifted a hand to open the front door but Logan’s hand covering mine on the handle stopped further movement.

“Warning,” he stated, his voice abrasive and I knew from it precisely how pissed he was at his girl. “She keeps up with this shit, we’re outta there. I’ll drop you back here and the girls get beans and hot dogs in the RV.”

I looked to him. “Don’t do that, Low.”

“Don’t think I won’t, Millie,” he returned. “That shit is not okay and she can’t think it is.”

Damn it!

If he did that, she’d dislike me more and maybe Cleo wouldn’t like me much either.

Before I could argue (not that I could with the girls in the truck), he pushed my hand aside and opened the door for me.

I climbed in. He slammed the door and moved around the hood. I put my seat belt on as Logan angled in the other side.

He had the truck started and was negotiating a tedious six-point turn to get his big truck around in my courtyard when I asked the girls in the backseat, “Have you guys been to the Old Spaghetti Factory before?”

“Yeah, lots,” Cleo answered. “We love it.”

“We loved it when Daddy took us when Mom was with us,” Zadie mumbled, not quite under her breath.

“Zadie, strike one,” Logan growled.

The air in the cab, not exactly free flowing, clogged even further and I knew strike one meant to the girls what I suspected it did.

I just wondered how many strikes they got.

I gave it a moment for their father’s message to sink in before I instigated conversation, asking about school, friends, favorite subjects, teachers, movies, if they read. Then, finding Cleo liked to read, I asked what her favorite books were.

This lasted us from Cheesman Park where my house was to downtown where the Spaghetti Factory was.

Only Cleo replied. She didn’t do it by rote. She was relatively chatty and asked questions back, like what my favorite movies and books were.

Zadie didn’t say a word and I didn’t have to be a mother or know these girls since birth to feel her pouting.

Halfway through our journey, Logan took my hand and held it. Again, I worried about this display and I worried more when I felt Zadie-induced laser beams burning into our hands from the backseat.

However, I didn’t pull away.

We got in the restaurant. We got seated. We took off our jackets and put in our drink orders.

It was there that I noticed that Cleo often looked to her father even when she was speaking to me. And it was then that I realized that she was making an effort for her dad because it meant something to him, he meant something to her, and it wasn’t about me.

I’d take that. I could work with that. She’d soon see I loved her dad and that might free her to be open to building a relationship with me.

Regardless, I’d take it simply because it was a good deal better than the petulant silence coming from Zadie.

Logan ignored Zadie’s behavior and joined Cleo’s and my conversation. He also sat us at our table so he and I were side by side and the girls were across from us. I didn’t know if he was making a statement, if he wanted to keep an eye on them, or this was their usual arrangement.

But I was glad he was at my side.

It happened when we fell into a natural silence after we had to send the waitress away because we weren’t ready to order; therefore, everyone focused on their menus.

It happened when some sixth sense I had made me look beyond my menu toward Zadie, who was across from me.

Therefore, I saw her overturn her large glass of Sprite, doing it with intent and a little girl evil look on her face. And she did it spilling the drink in my direction.

There was a lot of beverage in that glass and liquid moves fast, so even though I saw her, it saturated the table between us, dripping over my side onto my jeans before I could push back my chair to avoid it.

I threw my napkin down on the spill. Cleo did the same with hers as did Logan. Zadie, moving slowly, did the same with hers. And at the hurried activity and the noise of my chair scraping, patrons around us turned our way.

“Need a towel,” Logan growled as I mopped Sprite up with napkins and I saw a busboy rush away. “Jeans are soaked,” he went on, this time talking to me.

I looked to my jeans. They were wet. They weren’t soaked.

“It’s not that bad,” I murmured, shoving all the napkins to my place setting.

“Oh no, did we have an accident here?” our waitress asked, moving in with a towel to sweep away the napkins and soak up the spill.

“No, we didn’t,” Logan answered, and my gaze skittered to him just as he announced, “We need our bill.”

Oh no!

“You’re leaving?” the waitress asked.

“We’re leaving?” Zadie asked.

“Zadie,” Cleo snapped in irritation.

No again!

“We’re leaving,” Logan stated inflexibly, his angry eyes aimed at his daughter, and I felt my heart start to race. “You hear me say strike one?” he asked Zadie.

Apparently, they only got one strike.

“But I just spilled my Sprite,” Zadie returned. “It was an accident and it’s all cleaned up now, so it isn’t that big of a deal.”

She did not just spill her Sprite. That was a bald-faced lie. She didn’t see me catch her doing it but she did it.

I kept that to myself and opened my mouth to get a word in but Logan was pissed and he got there before me.

“Jackets on,” Logan ordered in a tone not to be denied, then looked to the waitress. “Bill.”

I looked to our waitress too.

“I’m so sorry,” I said softly.

She nodded, not looking happy, and took off and we put on our jackets.

“I’ll deal with the bill. Zadie stays with me,” Logan stated. “Babe, you take Cleo to the truck.”

I wanted to question this too. I didn’t want him to make a big thing out of what Zadie did mostly because I didn’t want to be the reason she got into trouble.

But she’d essentially poured Sprite on me. Not liking me or not liking me with her dad or not liking the fact that her family had fallen apart or all of the above was no reason to do something that naughty. Dot and Alan would lose their minds if Katy or Freddie did anything like that at their ages, at Zadie’s age, or when they were fifty.

It appeared Logan’s daughter wasn’t only a dreamer.

It appeared she could be a brat.

So I looked to Cleo and said quietly, “Let’s go, sweetie.”

She looked to me, her dad, and her sister. She kept her eyes on her sister and I was surprised to see rebuke in them and not just a little of it.

Then she turned back to me and came my way.

We walked through the restaurant but I held her up at the front door so we didn’t have to stand outside in the cold for too long.

“Let’s stay here where it’s warm for a minute while your dad deals with the check,” I said.

“He’s not dealing with the check; he’s dealing with Zadie,” she replied, not looking at me, her head turned to look back from where we came.

I decided not to say anything.

Cleo kept her gaze aimed toward the restaurant when she continued, “She’s havin’ trouble with Mom and Daddy splitting.”

“Your father mentioned something about that,” I told her cautiously.

She looked up at me. “They split, like, ages ago.”

I nodded.

“And they were split it seems like before we were born.”

I was alarmed she held that knowledge and further, I had no clue how to reply.