Rock Chick Redemption by Kristen Ashley
After that, we went back to the big room with the desks and phones and people. Hank didn’t come with us but everyone was still there. Vance and Mace had arrived and both were looking grim. Or, at least, Mace looked grim, Vance looked pissed off.
They were talking to Lee but before they peeled off, Vance approached me, stared me in the eyes, his burning so deeply I felt the heat on my face.
“Don’t worry,” he said low.
Then, he and Mace took off.
Yowza.
I wasn’t certain what he meant. All I knew was that whatever it was, he seriously meant it.
Then, everyone else took off. I tried to follow but Lee caught my arm and held me back. “You stay here, wait for Hank,” he ordered.
Eddie stood beside him, Jet and Indy stood beside their respective men. I looked at them.
“I need to –” I started.
“You need to wait for Hank,” Lee said and his tone brooked no argument.
I felt the need to argue, even though Lee scared me a bit.
“You don’t understand. Uncle Tex –” I told him.
“We’ll talk to Tex,” Eddie cut in.
I felt another presence behind my back so I turned and there stood Malcolm, Hank and Lee’s dad; a handsome, older version of them both. I’d met him briefly at Indy and Lee’s party a week ago.
“Come on, Roxie. Let’s get you a cup of coffee,” Malcolm said.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Coffee with Hank’s dad after I’d been chased through the streets of Denver and shot at.
Shit.
I gave Lee and Indy, Eddie and Jet one last glance and a small smile. Then I nodded to Malcolm and went with him.
He got me coffee (or what could loosely be described as coffee, I’d never again take coffee for granted after having one of Uncle Tex’s orgasmic creations) and we went back to the big room, its activity beginning to fade. He sat with me on the couch.
“Let me tell you what’s goin’ on,” Malcolm said to me.
I looked at him. His eyes were open and unguarded and infinitely kind. I realized two things straight off. One, this man had raised two pretty fantastic sons and an amazing daughter and I could tell the reason for that was because this was a good man. I also realized that he had been dragged into the mess that was the last week of my life right along with everyone else. The first thing humbled me, the second thing embarrassed me.
I tamped down the embarrassment, focused and said quietly, “I’d like to know what’s going on.”
His eyes registered approval of my comment and I felt like I passed an important test. Not only that, I got an “A”.
He started talking. “They’re interrogating those men. Jimmy Marker and Danny Rose are doing it. Jimmy and Danny are veterans, good at what they do and friends. Hank can’t be involved because of you.”
I nodded, he continued.
“Hank’s watchin’, two way mirror. First, we want to know what happened to Flynn and if he’s still at large. Then, we want to know who they’re workin’ for and why they came after you.”
I nodded again. I wanted to know all of that too.
“Hank wants you here, where he knows you’re safe and he can get to you. Will you do that for him?”
I swallowed, wondering if Malcolm knew how huge his question was.
Then I nodded again.
He patted my thigh.
“Good girl,” he said.
I did it again, passed another test and got another “A”.
I took a deep breath and he continued.
“This is a family affair, Roxie, in more ways than one. Now, I’m gonna explain how that works. No one kidnaps a cop’s girlfriend out of his house then puts her in the path of a bullet. The whole department is gonna work until we get these guys and make you safe. Lee and I’ll do whatever we can to that same end. You have my promise on that.”
I tried not to focus on the fact he called me Hank’s girlfriend, instead I focused on something that was even scarier. I liked this man; he was Hank’s dad and made Hank into what he was now and what he was to me. I didn’t want him to think badly of me.
“I’m sorry all of this is happening,” I said to him. “You must think –”
He squeezed my knee and interrupted me. “No offense, honey, but you don’t know what I think.”
I waited, quiet, knowing he wasn’t done and, for some reason, even more scared.
I may have passed a few tests but someone had shot at me that day. That probably wasn’t number one on a father’s list of the kind of girl he wanted his son to be with; especially a son like Hank. It occurred to me I could be Hank’s “Billy”, the girl that made his parents wince and get sad faces when they saw us together.
He continued.
“The only thing I want in this life is a piece of happiness for those I call my own. I know my boy, he doesn’t fuck around when there’s somethin’ he wants, excuse my language.”
I did a hand gesture to excuse his language. It wasn’t his using the word “fuck’ that was making me freak out.
“It’s pretty damn clear Hank wants you and that boy doesn’t make stupid decisions. He’s smart, he’s controlled and he’s decisive. If he wants you, there’s somethin’ to want and that’s all I need to know.”
I looked at him, feeling funny. It wasn’t a bad feeling, it was a good one, a really good one and that scared me even more.
“You remind me of my dad, he doesn’t bullshit either,” I told him.
“Sounds like I’ll like your dad,” Malcolm said.
He said this like it was a done deal that he’d meet my dad. I had visions of Malcolm meeting Dad and it made my heart skip a beat.
Mom and Dad had never met Billy’s parents, neither had I. Billy never even talked about them; he would close up the minute they were mentioned.
My parents would like Malcolm and they’d love Hank. I could hear Mom calling Sweet Jesus all the way from Brownsburg, Indiana at the mere thought of me with a guy like Hank.
“Thank you for telling me all of this,” I said to Malcolm.
He smiled at me and his smile was just as drop-dead gorgeous as his son’s. “My pleasure.”
We sat for a while longer, talking about Denver weather and then we started talking about sports. He told me it took awhile for him to warm to the Rockies; he’d been a Mets fan. I teasingly congratulated him for at least remaining faithful to the National League. Then, I told him I thought there was nothing better in the world than eating a hot dog and drinking a beer in the humid sun at Wrigley Field. After I finished with that, Malcolm gave me another one of his smiles, making me think I’d passed another test.
Then Hank walked into the room and I stopped talking.
His eyes settled on us and he didn’t take them away as he walked across the room.
“What’d they get?” Malcolm asked when Hank arrived.
Hank grabbed my hand, pulled me up, stood close and didn’t drop my hand. Malcolm rose as well.
“Not much, they’re not talkin’. I called the Chicago PD yesterday to have them check Roxie’s apartment. Prints from the apartment match these guys and Chicago tells us these boys are linked with a bigger operation. We’re waitin’ for reports on the prints they lifted in the hotel in Nebraska to check if we can place them there too. We don’t hold much hope for that. The place was a shithole, filthy, prints everywhere. They didn’t get much except partials from around the sink. It’ll be Roxie’s word that puts them in Nebraska.”
After he said that, his mouth got tight at the thought of me and the sink.
I stared at him. I had no idea that anyone had gone back to that hotel in Nebraska and I certainly had no idea the cops checked out my loft in Chicago.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
It was Malcolm that answered. “The minute Vance found you, Hank and Jimmy’ve been runnin’ what’s become a three state investigation.”
Holy cow.
Before I could react to what Malcolm said, Hank tugged my hand.
“Let’s go,” Hank said, nodding to his father, obviously done talking.
“Where?” I asked.
He looked down at me. “Home,” he answered.
I pulled my hand from his and gave Malcolm a kiss on the cheek. When I pulled away, I saw Malcolm’s eyes crinkled at the corners in a smile that didn’t reach his lips and I figured, somehow, I’d got another “A”.
Then I turned back to Hank. He grabbed my hand again and we left.
When we got in the 4Runner and Hank had it on the road, he asked, “How’re you doin’?”
“Not good,” I answered honestly. “You?”
“I’m angry,” he said, just as honest.
“I can tell.”
Then, after a beat I sighed, huge and loud and looked out the side window, trying hard not to cry.
“Roxie,” he said.
“What?” I asked, still looking out the window.
“I’m not angry with you.”
“I know.”
I believed him, still, I felt like a total and complete pain in the ass.
“I like your dad,” I offered as a change of subject.
“Good,” he replied and, for the first time that afternoon, I felt some of his anger had slipped away.
* * * * *
He parked in front of his house. There were familiar cars lining the street, including Uncle Tex’s El Camino.
When we walked into the house, we were assaulted by the smell of garlic, the sounds of Led Zeppelin and an overexcited chocolate lab.
If that wasn’t overwhelming enough, the place was filled. Indy, Jet, Ally and Annette were sitting at Hank’s dining room table playing cards. Kitty Sue (Hank’s Mom) and Nancy were in the kitchen cooking. I could hear (just, Led Zeppelin was kind of loud) a ballgame playing on the TV in the other room.
“Yo bitch!” Annette greeted when we walked in. “And, um… dude,” Annette went on, looking at Hank.
“Is everything okay?” Kitty Sue asked, her eyes on Hank. She was holding up a wooden spoon that looked like it was coated with spaghetti sauce.
Nancy moved toward me and gave me a one-armed hug.
“Bet you’re hungry,” she said into my ear.
Hank answered his Mom while I relaxed into Nancy’s hug and nodded to her. She moved away and Uncle Tex was standing behind her.
“For fuck’s sake, girl. We don’t want it borin’ but this ain’t the goddamned French fuckin’ Connection,” he boomed and I could tell he was trying to make a joke but he didn’t think the situation was all that funny.
I grinned at him, but it was weak.
He put his big hand on the top of my head for a second then took it away.
I grinned at him again, this time it was stronger.
“We got all your stuff in, it’s in the extra bedroom,” Ally announced and I turned to her.
“Nancy and I packed your things at Tex’s and brought them over,” Kitty Sue added and I looked to her, in total shock. I opened my mouth to say something, something like, “Are you fucking insane?” but then Tex caught my look and started booming.
“No lip, Roxie. Hank wants you with him, you’re stayin’ with him.”
Good God.
They’d moved me in with Hank.
Uncle Tex was right. It’d been a week, and there I was, all moved in with Hank.
Shit.
I stared at Jet and she was giving me a look that was half smile, half grimace. She knew my pain, she’d had to move in with Eddie during her troubles and even though her problems were through, she still hadn’t moved out. I could tell she wasn’t going to do a thing about my current situation though, likely because she agreed with everyone else.
I made a strangled sound and looked back at Tex. I was beginning to get angry.
“Do I not have a say in this?” I asked Uncle Tex.
“Nope,” He responded.
My eyes narrowed. “Excuse me but I think I do.”
“You can have your say when people aren’t shootin’ at you,” Tex returned.
Jason, Lee and Eddie walked in from the TV room to catch what was likely to be a more spectacular show as I squared off with Uncle Tex.
“That’s just it, they were shooting at me but Daisy was with me. They could have shot her. They did shoot her car!” I snapped. “Seems to me everyone would be a heck of a lot safer if I was far away from here.”
“You ain’t thinkin’ straight,” Tex said agreeably. “That’s understandable.”
I stomped my foot. I was no longer beginning to get angry, I was out and out angry.
“I am thinking straight. If something happens to someone because of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” Hank said from beside me, cutting into the conversation.
I turned to him. “Yeah? You sure about that?” I asked.
His eyes got hard. “Yeah,” he said slowly, staring at me. “Yeah, I’m fuckin’ sure.”
Holy cow.
The way he said it, the way he looked, made me believe him.
Almost.
“Hank, that mouth,” Kitty Sue said in a mother’s tone. Even with the tension flowing between Hank and me, I had to admire Kitty Sue telling off her grown-up, super-macho, badass cop son for dropping the f-bomb.
Then she announced, “Spaghetti’s ready, let’s eat.”
The conversation was over and so was the show.
Even though I didn’t want it to be, I really had no choice.
* * * * *
We ate. We did the dishes. We played Scattergories. Uncle Tex took Nancy home. We had sundaes smothered in hot fudge sauce and topped with whipped cream and a cherry. We did the new dishes. Kitty Sue went home, Hank and Lee both walking her to her car.
This I found so sweet I felt my breath constrict in my chest and caught Indy’s eye. Her eyes were bright and warm and something flowed from her to me, like an invitation to a sisterhood that only we two could share. I wanted to accept, more than anything I’d ever wanted in my whole life; even Corporate Diva-dom, closets stuffed with clothes and a front row seat at the Chanel Winter Runway Show in Paris.
Hank and Lee came back and the moment was lost, but the promise remained and I felt so moved by it, I barely said another word the rest of the night.
We played more Scattergories. We listened to Indy and Ally telling stories of Haunted Houses past and I began to get more and more freaked out at this Haunted House business. It didn’t sound fun, it sounded frightening, it sounded crazy, it sounded totally out of control.
Hank noticed me getting tense and pointedly put away the Scattergories game.
Everyone took the hint, hugs were exchanged then they all left.
“You’ve gone quiet,” Hank commented after he’d closed and locked the door.
“I was shot at today,” I answered, thinking I had a good point even though I was lying.
He walked up to me. “That’s not it.”
He was right, that wasn’t it. How he knew that, don’t ask me but it was like he had a cord and he’d plugged it into me the minute he first laid eyes on me. It had been that way since the start. This freaked me out and made me feel centered and safe all at the same time. Don’t ask me how it did this, I couldn’t tell you that either.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “I need to call Daisy.”
Surprisingly, he let it go, saying he had his own calls to make.
I called Daisy and she told me she was fine and not to worry about her.
“They fucked with the wrong girl when they fucked with me. Mark my words,” she threatened.
I marked them, she sounded serious. Daisy might be sweet-as-pie and cute-as-a-button but I got the definite sense she could ope
* * * * *
Hank’s house had three bedrooms. The master, at the side of the house next to the kitchen with a small, three quarter bathroom attached, and there were two bedrooms at the back, off the living room, separated by a full bath. One of these rooms was what appeared to be a weight room-slash-junk room, made more so by my boxes and suitcases.
Annette and Jason had brought my stashed clothing and also packed up most of my clothes, shoes, my jewelry case, my high school yearbooks, photo albums and some picture frames filled with photos of family, and friends and carted it all out to Denver.
Apparently, they thought I was going to stay for a while.
The other bedroom was Hank’s office. It had an old comfy looking couch, a table with TV, a desk, his computer and a bag filled with bats that was lumpy at the bottom (with what appeared to be softballs) sitting in the corner. I figured that room was his lair. He’d disappeared there when I called Daisy and I didn’t disturb him.
After I called Daisy, I got undressed and ready for bed, found Hank’s CDs in the TV room, picked “Born to Run” (because I was in Hank’s house and that demanded Springsteen) and Shamus and I settled in with my lilac, embossed stationery.
I had set aside my stationery, was amusing myself (not) by thinking how my life was certifiably fucked and “She’s the One” had just started playing when Hank arrived.
He stopped at the side of the bed and stared down at me. He did this for a while; so long, it made me uncomfortable.
“What?” I asked.
“Been waitin’ a long time to meet the girl in this song.”
I felt my body still at the importance of what he just said.
So did Shamus, his head came up and he looked over at Hank too.
The lyrics to this song weren’t cryptic, even so somehow to me they collided with the thundering, unbelievably cool music that told what I considered the real story; starting expectantly and then exploding and then drawing out to a beautiful, vibrating climax.
Every girl would secretly want to be “the one” even though she might lie to herself that she did not. It was a man’s view of the woman he desired, and even loved: bitter, sweet, defiant, admiring and fucking sexy as hell. Regardless of all that, the chorus was a repeat of “she’s the one”, present tense, which said it all.