Wild Man

Chapter Eighteen Somewhat Good for Now

“Gonna swing by Dad’s with this TV then I’ll be over.”

I had the phone to my ear, Brock on the line and I was sliding a chicken into the oven.

It was Thursday and it was a Thursday after Brock called his sisters to get them to put him and me on the Cob Rotation. It was also a Thursday after Brock found out that Cob had only one TV and it was in his living room. So, lastly, it was a Thursday after Brock swung by Best Buy to get his Dad a TV for his bedroom so he had something to do when he was feeling double extra shit and didn’t want to leave his bed. Brock had even called the cable company to add an additional set and he’d laid it on thick about his father’s illness which meant the wait was not seventy-two hours but twenty-four. They were showing tomorrow and they’d thrown in a couple of months of free premium channels just because.

Brock, clearly, did not mess around when it came to TVs or cable; he pulled out all the stops and got results.

So, nothing new.

“All right, honey,” I answered. “Dinner’ll be done in an hour and a half but it’ll keep warm if you aren’t home.”

“I’ll aim for that,” Brock told me then, “Later, babe.”

“Later.”

Then he was gone.

I hit end call then sent a text to Martha in return to hers. She was planning a girls’ night in at her place for the weekend after this one, being cool about planning it when Brock had his boys so I could finagle some time for the boys alone with their Dad without Brock (hopefully) cottoning on.

And I was at odds, as I usually was, with how I felt about Martha’s girls’ night in. This was not a new concept for Martha but it was a crapshoot what you’d encounter when you arrived. She would either be in the mood to experiment with a variety of recipes she’d totally made up, none of them successful, all of them you at least had to try or she’d fill her house with junk food and unearth all her vast collection of romantic comedies.

I was hoping for the latter.

My text to Martha started a flurry of texts that included Elvira, Gwen, Camille, Tracy and even Shirleen getting in on the act. I fielded them all while dealing with the rest of dinner and felt great relief when Elvira firmly took charge of food preparation and stated in a way even Martha couldn’t protest she was making her “boards”.

I didn’t know what Elvira’s boards were but whatever they were they had to be better than fried celery.

Celery as celery was bad. Celery fried was the work of Satan.

The texting frenzy died down and I was basting the chicken for the last time when another text came through right when my landline rang.

I glanced at the screen on my cell to see it was Brock saying “on my way” then I went to my landline, grabbed it out of the receiver, hit the on button and put it to my ear.

“Hello,” I greeted.

Nothing.

“Hello?” I repeated.

More nothing.

I was about to take the phone from my ear when I heard a man ask, “This Tessa O’Hara?”

A shiver shot down my spine. I didn’t know why, it just did.

And it wasn’t pleasant.

“Uh…” I started.

“Tessa O’Hara who’s seein’ Brock Lucas?”

Ice filled my veins.

“Who’s this?” I asked.

“It is,” the voice whispered then I had a dead line.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

I put the phone in the receiver and moved to my cell, making quick work of calling Brock.

A ring then, “Babe.”

“I just got a creepy call.”

A small hesitation then, “What kind of creepy?”

“Creepy creepy. Creepy wrong creepy. It came in on my landline.”

“You listed?” he asked.

Heck no, I wasn’t listed. First, I was a single female. Second, my ex-husband was a whack job who raped me and eventually turned out to be a drug lord.

I didn’t give Brock this answer.

Instead, I answered, “No.”

“Fuck,” he muttered then, “What’d they say?”

I sucked in breath then told him, “He asked if I was Tessa O’Hara then he asked if I was seeing you. I didn’t answer either but I asked him who he was and he said, ‘it is,’ meaning he knew he got me and I was seeing you and then he hung up on me.”

“Doors locked?” Brock asked instantly and I felt another shiver.

“I don’t…” I paused. “I don’t know,” I told him, moving directly toward the backdoor.

“Check. Lock,” he ordered.

Backdoor secure, I headed toward the front saying a shaky, “Okay.” Then I asked, “Is this the kind of thing Olivia would do, you know, to play with me?”

“Never played this dirty but wouldn’t put it passed her,” he answered.

Freaking great.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said softly.

“Okay,” I replied, locking the front door then I told him, “I’m all locked.”

“Good, baby, see you soon.”

“Okay.”

Then he ended the call, I moved back to the kitchen, my eyes going to the microwave to note the time. Then I tried to control the fear that was mixing with the anger should this be Olivia as I dealt with the final preparations for dinner.

Eight minutes had elapsed when it happened. I knew this because I had just checked the microwave for the fiftieth time.

And what happened was I heard gunshots, six of them, one after another sounding like they were right in front of my house.

I stared at the window a nanosecond before I crouched down behind the island as more gunfire sounded and it penetrated my frozen with terror mind that it sounded like return fire.

As the gunfight continued, I came to my senses, scuttled in a crouch to the landline phone, reached up, grabbed it, hit the on button then dialed 911.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“Gunshots outside my house,” I whispered.

“Where are you, ma’am?”

I started to give my address as I heard noise at my front door and I stopped, staring through my house at it, paralyzed with fear.

“Ma’am,” the operator called, “please confirm you’re safe and your address.”

“Someone’s –”

The door opened and Brock walked in, his overcoat on one side dusted with snow. He turned, slammed the door, locked it and prowled to me holding his gun in his hand.

I didn’t, as I usually did, admire him in his work clothes. Today, a nice, thick black turtleneck (one, incidentally, I bought him for Christmas and I say one because I bought him three), jeans that weren’t nearly as faded as his normal jeans, a great black belt that the sweater was tucked behind (and that was the only part of the sweater tucked, I didn’t know if he did it on purpose or what but for some reason I thought it looked awesome) and a handsome, tailored, black wool overcoat (which, also incidentally, Laura and Jill got together to buy him for Christmas and on him it was the bomb).

Although his work attire was only a nuance away from his non-work attire, when he got home, after greeting me, he never but never hesitated in taking it off, putting on faded jeans, no belt and, now that we were in the dead of winter, either a faded, long-sleeved tee or a thermal.

Now he prowled through the house toward me and I didn’t notice how hot he looked in his work clothes. I only noticed the dusting of snow on his overcoat and the gun in his hand.

How did he get that dusting of snow?

“Ma’am?” I heard the 911 operator call. “Are you with me?”

“That emergency?” Brock growled when he got to me, staring down at me still crouched by my kitchen counter.

I didn’t respond. He bent and pulled the phone out of my hand and put it to his ear.

“This is Detective Brock Lucas. I was just fired on and exchanged fire with an unidentified male…”

He kept talking but my mind blanked of everything but his words repeating in my head.

I was just fired on and exchanged fire…

I was just fired on and exchanged fire…

I was just fired on and exchanged fire…

I straightened as he continued to growl into the phone, his eyes on me but my thoughts were still elsewhere.

He had that snow on him because he threw himself to the ground to dodge bullets aimed at him in front of my house.

My man had thrown his beautiful body to the snow to dodge fucking bullets aimed at him in front of my fucking house.

And he had his gun in his hand because he’d had to return fire.

And I knew exactly who ordered that unidentified male to aim bullets at my man.

No.

Oh no.

I did not fucking think so.

Just like I lost it when Levi was at Brock’s house, I didn’t think.

I just moved.

And what I moved to do was snatch my keys off the counter and then I ran out of the house.

“Tess!” Brock shouted but I was gone.

Down the walk and in my car.

“Goddamn it! Tess!” I heard Brock shout from somewhere outside the car.

Car on, I didn’t even look and put the pedal to the floor.

I didn’t know how I got there and it was a miracle I made it without killing myself or anyone else. But I hit University then turned right then turned left on Yale then I drove like a demon through Donald Heller’s established, tidy neighborhood with its big houses on big lots, a path I had taken frequently for twelve years while dating and married to my shitheel of an ex but had not taken once in the last six and a half.

And I went there because I had no idea where Damian lived.

But I sure as fuck was going to find out.

I screeched to a halt at the curb, shot out of my car and raced through the snow in the yard to the front door, not noticing the headlights of the truck that followed me go out as it parked behind my car.

I banged on the door loudly, not letting up as I shouted, “Don, open the fucking door!”

A hand came from behind me, fingers wrapping around my wrist, halting my pounding as I felt warmth hit my back and heard whispered in my ear, “Tess, Jesus, baby, calm –”

Brock didn’t finish because the door opened and Donald was standing there.

His eyes flashed quickly back and forth and back and forth again between Brock and me then a tentative smile hit his mouth as his eyes started to light and he whispered, “Tess, honey, my –”

He didn’t finish because I shouted, “Where is he?”

Donald blinked, his gaze moving between Brock, who now had my wrist and arm wrapped around my belly, his with it, and me then he asked, “Who?”

“Your fucking scum of the earth, shithead, asshole of a son, that’s who!” I shrieked.

He blinked again then I heard, “Tess?” and looked beyond Donald to see fucking, fucking, fucking Damian standing several feet behind him in his father’s foyer.

And that was when I lost it again.

Tearing free of Brock, I shoved straight passed Donald and launched myself at Damian, arms raised, nails bared, ready to scratch his motherfucking eyes out.

His hands came up to defend himself and he took a step back but I didn’t get there.

A steel arm clamped around my waist, I let out an “oof!” and was hauled back against Brock who then clamped another steel arm around my shoulders and chest at the front.

At my ear, he whispered, “Cool it, sweetness.”

“Fuck cool! ” I screeched and struggled against his hold at the same time planting my feet as he tried to pull me back. Through this my eyes stayed glued to Damian. “You fucking dick! ” I kept screeching.

“What on –?” Donald asked with soft shock at my side but I shouted over him.

“It wasn’t enough hitting me?” I asked and Brock froze at the same time I sensed Donald doing the same. “It wasn’t enough raping me?” I kept shouting and disregarded the noise that came from Donald that sounded like someone landed a blow to his stomach. “Then you call me out of the blue, fucking lie to me a-fucking- gain after you lied to me so many fucking, fucking times I lost count with the women you screwed who were not me, and told me your father was sick as a ploy to get me to meet you.”

“My God,” Donald whispered but I kept yelling.

“Then you keep contacting me when I asked you over and over and fucking over again not to call me and you drag me into your shit with the DEA and the FBI and the police and now you send someone to shoot at my boyfriend in front of my house! ”

Damian kept his eyes glued on me too and when I quit shrieking, he said softly, “Tess –”

“Fuck you! ” I spat. “Fuck you, Damian. What did I do? What did I do but fall in love with you? What did I do to deserve you treating me like a piece of garbage and then… then…

finally when I have something good in my life, something beautiful… finally when I feel fucking safe you move to destroy that too?”

“Honey, I didn’t do –” Damian started but I cut him off.

Screaming at the top of my lungs, the sound so shrill it pierced the space like a dart, I shouted, “Don’t you dare call me honey! ”

Damian held my eyes. Brock held me close. I glared at Damian, heat boiling through my veins, through my brain, so fucking hot, it was burning me alive.

Then Damian pulled his eyes from mine, turned his head to the side, his face grew concerned and he started to move that way saying, “Dad.”

“Don’t,” Donald ordered and I tore my eyes from Damian to see Donald standing at the wall of the foyer, hand pressed against it, that hand clearly holding him up. His face was pale, his eyes on his son wounded and I hadn’t seen him for awhile but he’d always seemed younger than his years, his humor and love of life making him that way. But in that moment he looked beyond his seventy-two years and well into his nineties.

At the sight of him, a wave of pain rolled through me, my hands went to Brock’s arms, my fingers curling around, one at my chest, one at my belly and Brock’s arms got tighter.

“That’s why,” Donald whispered to his son.

“Dad,” Damian whispered back.

“That’s why we lost Tess.”

I felt tears fill my eyes.

Donald didn’t look away from Damian when he whispered a tortured, “You raped her?”

“It wasn’t –” Damian started, my body straightened, the tears vanished and I interrupted him.

“It was,” I snapped and Damian looked at me.

“Tess,” he shook his head and started to lift a hand, “things just got out of hand.”

Oh.

My.

God.

Brock made a noise low in his throat, his arms going super tight around me but I didn’t read these warning signs because I lost it again.

“Out of hand? ” I shrieked.

“Tess –” Damian started again, his eyes darting back and forth between me and Brock and, honest to God, it looked like he was weighing the decision to approach.

“Don’t you get near me, you motherfucking asshole,” I clipped. “And, newsflash, Damian, a woman is fighting you tooth and nail screaming, ‘No!’ at the top of her lungs, crying uncontrollably and begging you to stop and you still fuck her that… is… rape even if she is your goddamned wife.”

Brock’s super tight arms convulsed twice through this speech but I only had concentration enough for Damian who winced.

Then he said softly, “You left the next day, Tess. You never gave me a chance to explain.”

I felt my eyebrows hit my hairline.

“Explain?” I asked. “Explain?” I repeated my question. “Are you fucking high? ”

“Tess, I was –”

“Clawing your way up a drug cartel,” I finished for him then leaned forward, taking Brock’s arms with me thus taking Brock with me. “I know,” I hissed and leaned back.

“Stressful, hunh?” I asked. “So stressful you suddenly lose your ability to be a decent human being and when your patience snaps because your wife is asking you simple questions like,

‘Honey, what’s stressing you out?’ you take your hands to her. And when she says no to sex, you lose your mind and rape her. It must have been tough for you dealing with all that stress as you climbed to the highest heights of the criminal underworld, Damian. I feel bad for you that you didn’t have a different woman in your life who’d eat your shit. Sorry I was such a crap wife.”

“You weren’t a crap wife,” he whispered.

“I know,” I bit out. “I was being sarcastic, you moron.”

“I made some bad decisions and let my emotions get the better of me, Tess, I’ll admit that,” Damian said.

“Big of you,” I retorted. “Though bad decisions and emotions getting the better of you don’t entirely destroy lives, Damian, something you’ve been doing to people you care about and people you don’t even fucking know for over a decade now.”

“I –” he started, his jaw clenched and he looked away, tearing both his hands through his hair and I noticed belatedly he looked good. Like his father, age barely touched him. And like the asshole he was, impending incarceration didn’t faze him. Fit frame at least three inches shorter than Brock and probably more than thirty pounds lighter. Light brown hair. Dark brown eyes. A sharp crease in his well-tailored dark blue trousers. A light blue shirt that I knew had been made specifically for him because he always spent a whack on his clothes.

Polished, dark brown, Italian leather shoes.

Even now, he had it. Even now, even as detached as I was, I sensed his magnetism. Decent looks, great clothes he wore well, undercurrent of charisma never switching off.

Toxic charisma.

Poison.

He dropped his hands and leveled his eyes on mine.

Then he stated, “If you gave me a moment to explain at lunch before you took off, I got in touch with you because I was trying to make it up to you.”

Make it up to me?

Maybe he was high.

He kept talking.

“I asked you to lunch to explain…” his eyes moved to Brock then back to me and he carried on, “about the money. To go over the bank documents with you. I wanted you to have…” again he looked to Brock then back to me, “if something happened to me, I wanted you covered.”

“You wanted me covered?” I asked, my voice filled with derision mixed with shock.

“Yes,” he clipped.

“Why?” I queried.

“Because you were my wife, because I still love you, because I fucked up and because I wanted to make it up to you.”

“You thought…” I whispered but stopped, momentarily unable to go on then I went on.

“You thought that you could make it up to me by infiltrating my life and saddling me with your ill-gotten gains and when I didn’t hang around long enough to say yes to this super generous offer, you forged my name on the documents anyway so you could be certain to continue infiltrating my life at the same time fucking it up when the best thing you could do, bar building a time machine so that you could go back and make sure you never met me, would be to leave me… the fuck… alone?”

He pressed his lips together and said not a word.

I turned to his father.

It killed me to see this was killing him.

But I could not help that. I couldn’t. I had enough on my plate.

So I wasn’t even going to try.

“I love you,” I said softly. “I always will. I think of you often, so often…” I sucked in breath and decided to leave that because I couldn’t go there. “Your son took a lot from me, all of it hurt, so much you wouldn’t believe me even if I described the pain. And losing you was part of that pain.”

Tears filled his eyes; I watched them as I felt the same happen in mine.

“Honey,” he whispered, taking his hand from the wall and turning away from his son to face me.

“I love you and miss you but I’m not coming back, never, no matter what happens to Damian. I can’t have anything that reminds me of him in my life. It’s toxic. I just released it and I can’t take it back. I can’t have it poisoning me anymore. Not anymore. He took eighteen years of my life. He can’t have any more.”

I watched him swallow.

“This man holding me is the man of my dreams, Don,” I told him quietly. “Tonight, someone shot at him. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to follow that trail to Damian. He has family. He has children. And he has me. Talk to your son. Make him stay out of my life and leave me and everyone I love alone. Please. Please do that for me.”

He sniffed, his eyes still wet and getting wetter then he nodded.

I looked back at Damian and stated in a firm voice that still shook, “I never want to see you again. If you can, for once, listen to what I say rather than what you want to hear then hear this. I never, never want to see you again. Never. No matter what. I don’t want your money. I don’t want your guilt. You cannot make up to me what you tore from me or the years I lost because your poison infected me. Do not call me. Do not come to my house. Do not fuck with my life. Do not fuck with people I care about. Go away and stay away.”

“Tess,” Damian whispered and it was there, right in his eyes, pain and regret.

Pain and fucking regret.

The motherfucking asshole.

“Go away and stay away,” I whispered back.

Then without looking at Don again, I moved my body toward the door. Brock felt my movement and let me go. But he grabbed my hand, led me out, through the yard and to the passenger side of his truck that was parked behind my car.

He bleeped the locks and opened the passenger door before I noticed what he was about.

I locked my body and looked up at him, saying softly, “I’m okay to drive.”

He shook his head, gently pushing me toward the seat, saying, “Get in, baby.”

“I don’t want to leave my car here,” I told him.

“Get in, don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it.”

“Brock –”

He closed in on me and I had to tip my head way back, he was that close.

“Up into the truck, Tess,” he said softly.

I bit my lip, nodded, he moved back and I climbed up.

He rounded the hood, swung up beside me, his truck rumbled to life and off we went.

And when we hit Yale it would come to me that of the many awesome powers my man held, clairvoyance was one of them for as the adrenalin surge fled and the emotions rushed in on its tail, I lost it again, this time melting into deep, body-rocking, uncontrollable sobs.

I was so far gone, I didn’t notice us getting home. I didn’t know how I got in. I didn’t even know how I got myself curled on the bed. I was just suddenly there and I just kept crying.

I vaguely heard snatches of Brock saying, “She’s bad, Martha, I need to deal with the police and she needs you so I need you over here soon as you can come.” And also what might have been just minutes later or longer, I was too far gone to tell, “My woman lost it after it went down, I can’t come to the Station. The boys are outside investigating the area, you need to come here.”

But that was all I noticed until I felt Martha crawl into bed with me, curve her body into the back of mine, her arm wrapping around and holding me tight.

I heard the voices in the living room then.

“Who’s here?” I asked through a sniffle.

“Cops, honey,” she whispered. “Brock has some business he needs to tend to after what went down tonight.”

Of course.

I shut my eyes tight and pressed out more tears. Finding her hand with mine at my belly, I pulled it up to my chest, held it tight with my fingers as I pressed it deep into my chest.

I opened my eyes and whispered, “He got shot at tonight.”

“I know,” she whispered back.

My hand clutched hers and new tears stung my eyes and nose. “I can’t lose him.”

“I know, honey.”

“His boys can’t lose him.”

“I know.”

“His family –”

“Shh, Tess.”

I sucked in a broken breath.

Then I stated a trembling, “I hate Damian.”

Her arm gave me a squeeze and her hand twisted to hold mine.

“I do too.”

I fell quiet. So did Martha.

Then I sucked in another broken breath and told her, “There’s a chicken in the oven.”

“I know, I sorted it,” she told me. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to get you something?”

“No, but Brock –”

“He’s a big boy, honey, he can take care of himself.”

“I know, but –”

“Tess, honey, trust me,” she said while squeezing my hand. “Right now, he’s not hungry.

Right now that man out there is concentrating on making a statement to his colleagues and trying not to rip your living room apart. He pulls his shit together; I don’t think the first thing on his mind is going to be dinner.”

I nodded then said, “I should go to him.”

“No,” she held me closer. “He wants you here and safe with me while he deals with that shit. Let him have that. You do what he needs you to do and get your shit together.”

She was right.

Therefore I nodded again and settled.

She held me for a long time. The voices in the living room silenced. Brock didn’t come in.

Then she sensed I’d gotten my shit together (and she was right), I knew this because she gave me a squeeze and said, “The chicken is burnt so I’m gonna go rustle up dinner. Time you two ate.”

She pulled away and I rolled to my back to look at her.

She hadn’t even taken off her coat.

She came right to me and didn’t take off her coat.

Fresh tears hit my eyes but I beat them back and started to suggest, “Maybe you shouldn’t

–”

“I’m not going to cook, Tess. Riviera.”

Well that was a relief.

“Chile rellenos,” I ordered and she grinned.

That was to say she grinned before she muttered, “Like I don’t know that,” as she rolled off the bed, rounded it, shot me another grin then she disappeared.

She would know I liked the Riviera’s chile rellenos considering I’d eaten approximately seven hundred and twenty-two plates filled with them while sitting across from her.

I gave it awhile before I got up, went to the bathroom, took my contacts out, washed my face and then went back to the bedroom to grab my glasses.

Then I moved out to the living room to see Brock standing just inside the front door talking to Levi and Lenore.

This was interesting.

Quick update: Lenore had not gone away. Lenore was around for Christmas lunch and New Year’s dinner with the Lucas clan. When I quizzed Brock about this, he told me he had no clue and when I pressed him to get the dirt, he told me had no intention of giving his brother the third degree about his love life. He said this firmly therefore I let it go reluctantly.

But I was thinking good thoughts.

“Hey, Tess,” Levi called, his hazel eyes gentle on me in a way that was sweetly familiar mostly because his brother often looked at me the same way.

“Hey, Levi,” my eyes went to Lenore, “hey, Lenore.”

“Hey, honey,” she said softly.

I got close and Brock claimed me, arm around the shoulders, tucking my front to his side.

I tipped my head back to look up at him and he informed me, “They went and got your car. It’s all good.”

It wasn’t all good. It wouldn’t be all good for awhile.

But at least it was somewhat good for now.

I looked to Levi and Lenore. “Thanks guys.”

“Not a problem,” Levi rumbled.

“Are you staying for Mexican?” I asked.

“No, we already ate, Tess, and we gotta go. But thanks,” Levi answered.

I nodded.

Lenore smiled at me.

Levi looked to his brother and gave him a chin lift.

“I’ll walk you out,” Brock muttered then looked down at me. “Stay here, babe, yeah?”

I nodded, gave out cheek kisses, hugs and more words of gratitude and Brock walked out behind his brother and his brother’s girl.

I closed the door behind them but stared out the little window, exhausted from my terror-filled, adrenalin-surge, tantrum-throwing, crying-jag evening but not so exhausted I couldn’t be nosy about Lenore and Levi.

And I saw that I was right to think good thoughts. As they walked down my walk, Levi slid his arm around her shoulders and Lenore slid hers around his waist. Bonus was when they stopped at Levi’s SUV to talk with Brock, Levi kept her close and Lenore rested the side of her head on his shoulder and when she did, it appeared Levi held her even closer.

Excellent.

After playing busybody, I walked to the kitchen. I had two cold ones popped open by the time Brock got back and I was taking a huge freaking swallow from mine.

Brock walked right to me and I had to jerk my arms to the side because when he walked to me, he didn’t stop. He folded his arms around me and pulled me deep.

Then, against the top of my hair, he asked, “You good?”

“I think that was cathartic,” I said to his chest, my arms snaking around him.

“Good,” he muttered into my hair.

“I still feel the need to get drunk,” I went on and he chuckled. “Blotto,” I changed my mind as to the state of drunkenness I aimed to achieve and Brock kept chuckling. Then I changed my mind again, “No, shitfaced. Totally.”

His arms gave me a squeeze before one of them released me and my head went back just as his hand wrapped around my neck, his thumb stroking my jaw.

“Have at it, sweetness,” he said quietly.

I sucked in breath.

Then I asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered immediately.

“Brock –” I started warningly but stopped when he shook his head, his thumb stopped stroking and his fingers grew tight.

“I could be wrong, babe, but you got through. I don’t know if he was behind the shit that went down in front of your house tonight but if he was, it won’t happen again. You wounded him. No, you crushed him. Whatever fucked up shit that’s in his head that makes him tick, it unscrambled and he focused long enough for your message to get through. Even if I miss my guess and he still intends to dick with you, I suspect his father will move mountains to try and make him stop.”

“Well, that’s good news,” and it was, “but I was talking about you getting shot at.”

At that, I felt and saw his casual shrug before, “Not my favorite pastime, baby, not even in the top hundred and fifty but it’s happened and you deal.”

Okay, well…

Yikes!

I’d pulled my shit together but frankly I’d dealt with enough that night and enough the last however many years. I would deal with the fact my man was a man who got shot at later.

Like, in my next life.

Moving on.

“You said if that was Damian, do you not think it is?”

“He’d be my prime suspect. Or he was until I saw him with you. Probably not his brightest move to admit to calling a hit on a cop ever but definitely not right in front of the cop he called the hit on but when you were shoutin’ at him, he seemed genuinely surprised and started to deny it though he didn’t get to finish considering you were still shoutin’.”

“I had things to get off my chest,” I told him quietly and he grinned as his hand at my neck as well as his arm around my back gave me a squeeze.

Then he dipped his head, touched his mouth to mine and then lifted it away before he whispered, “Yeah, and I’m fuckin’ glad you did. You were magnificent, sweetness. Fuckin’

phenomenal. ”

It was nice he thought that and all.

But…

“I lost it again,” I whispered, pressing in closer.

“No, you’re finding it,” he contradicted.

“What?”

“Babe, he took your power. Tonight, you took it back. And it…” his arm gave me a squeeze, “was,” his hand gave me a squeeze, “fuckin’,” his forehead dropped to rest on mine,

“beautiful. ”

I closed my eyes and pulled in a deep breath.

Then I opened them and said, “You had my back.”

“I always have your back.”

Warm gushiness flooded through me, one of my hands slid from around his back, up his chest, his neck to cup his cheek.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“You’re welcome, Tess,” he whispered back.

He lifted his forehead and his thumb swept my jaw as my fingers slid from his cheek into his hair.

Then he declared, “Shit that went down tonight, get it outta your head.”

I blinked.

Then I asked, “Sorry?”

“It happened, it’s reported, the phone call prior is bein’ looked into. You live your life.

You bake your cakes. You spend time with your friends. You already tell me where you are and where you’re goin’, you intensify that. I’ll send someone to look at the security at your bakery and also look into setting something up here.”

“Brock –”

“Vance is good at that shit, stellar. I’ll talk to him.”

“Brock –”

“Units are gonna drive by regular, keep a look out. And your bakery is now on radar.”

“Hon –”

“They got shell casings. Those might have prints. Guy was wearin’ a ski mask but I got his build, make and model on the car, a partial plate and he wasn’t wearin’ gloves so we know he’s white.”

“Can I –?”

His thumb stopped stroking and his fingers gave me a squeeze.

“You be smart, you be vigilant but I have your back, Tess, I always do. You do not need to worry about this.”

I stared at him thinking now maybe Brock was high.

Then I reminded him, “You got shot at tonight.”

“Yeah, babe, and it’s happened before. I hope it won’t happen again but in my line of work that’s a possibility. I deal and you bein’ my woman, you deal.”

“But –”

His hand shifted so his thumb could press on my lips.

“This is the job you have now, Tess. You’re with me, you deal and you’re with me. And the woman I saw tonight shrieking in the face of the monster who violated her, she won’t have a problem with that. The only way you beat motherfuckers who try to fuck with you is not to let them beat you. So you deal.”

Damn, I freaking hated it when he made sense.

“Yeah?” he prompted when I said nothing.

I didn’t answer. Instead I asked, “Did Martha ask your Riviera order?”

“Yeah she did, now did you get me?”

It also bugged me that you couldn’t pull shit over on him.

I rolled my eyes.

Then I said, “I got you.”

He grinned. Then he dipped his head to touch his lips to mine again. Then he lifted it and looked at the counter of the island.

Then he looked back at me. “That for me or you double-fisting it?”

“For you,” I answered though double-fisting it sounded like a plan. Until one of my fists was wrapped around a fork and shoveling in chile rellenos that was.

He let me go with one arm and grabbed his beer. I moved my hand in his hair to around his waist and lifted my beer to take another slug.

Then I remarked, “Well, silver lining, toxic exes, middle of the night phone calls interrupting great sex and imminent orgasms, gunfights in the front yard, our lives aren’t boring.”

Brock finished taking his pull, dropped his beer hand and agreed, “Nope.”

“That said, I’m investigating vacation spots, requirements include beachfront hotel, therefore a beach, a bar that serves cocktails that taste like liquid candy and that’s pretty much it. If you can’t get off work, I’m selling cupcakes on street corners to make up the dough so you can take leave without pay and we’re kidnapping Rex and Joel if we have to because I am not waiting two months for spring break and we’ll answer to the charges when we get back.”

He stared down at me.

“It’ll be worth it, I promise,” I assured him.

He continued to stare down at me.

“We’ll get Rex and Joel their own room. Adjoining. Locks on our side.”

He looked away, muttered, “Now you’re talkin’,” and took another pull of beer.

I grinned and took another pull at mine.

Then a knock came at the front door.

Martha and Mexican.

No, my best friend Martha who dropped everything to be with me during a serious drama and really freaking good Mexican.

And, as ever, the ride continues.

But at this present time, that ride was on an up.

So I was going to take advantage.

And clearly Brock was too for he didn’t hesitate to let me go and move to the door.

Or maybe he was just hungry.

Still, the ride was on an up. I knew this because as I stood in my fabulous kitchen with a beer in my hand and my man heading toward the door, my best friend and really freaking good Mexican, I was watching his ass.

Definitely an up.

Absolutely.