Page 66 of Wounded Dance
“I know I’m not the most pleasant person to be around. But I do try. Renata wouldn’t have stayed around if I didn’t. So if you need anything, Renata and I are happy to help out.”
My jaw drops open and I have to think to close it. “Thank you,” I say.
He sits back, as if he can relax now that he’s gotten past that.
As Blitz comes for us, and his dad stands up and holds out his hand as if to help me up too, I realize he cares about his son. He’s here. He can’t be all bad.
“They won’t escort us out the back themselves,” Blitz says. “But the lawyer can take us out that way. We’ll just wait on Jeremy.” Now he’s looking around the room too, wondering if anyone is covertly taking his picture.
We sit down again, feeling obvious and vulnerable. Blitz turns his back to the officer and covertly pulls his phone out. Then grimaces. He shoves it back in his pocket.
“Bad?” I ask.
“More than bad,” he says. “I’m trending. Everyone’s trying to guess my crime.”
His dad snorts. “Can I send them some ideas? That blue pantsuit you wore on your last show is bound to be illegal in most states.”
Blitz laughs and pounds his dad on the back. “You watched it!” He settles back and takes my hand. “Yeah, my wardrobe girl probably needs to rein it in.”
He seems happy and relaxed, despite the circumstances. I don’t have a Twitter account, and I wouldn’t dare comment on the situation even if I did. But I wish I could Tweet the truth.
Blitz Craven is only guilty of being a nice guy. #ForgetTheBurn
~*´`*~
After an hour’s wait, Blitz’s dad decides to take off. “They don’t know who this old fart is anyway,” he says. He looks at me. “You want to come with me rather than get caught with this crazy fool?”
“They’ll recognize her, I think,” Blitz says. “Unless you’re tired of waiting.”
“No, I’ll stay,” I say. “Thank you, though.”
David pats Blitz on the shoulder. “Be careful out there,” he says. He gives me a nod. “Make this rascal come see his old man every once in a while.”
“I will,” I say.
When he opens the door, the crowd noise is tremendous. Flashes go off until someone yells, “It’s not him!”
A whistle blows, people shout. There’s a foyer between this room and the outside door, so we’re buffered against the crowd out there. Nobody is close enough to see in. We can’t see them either. Thank goodness.
It’s another hour before Jeremy peeks through the hallway door again. “I’ve got him,” he says. “You guys can come this way.”
As we stand up, I whisper to Blitz, “What does he mean by he’s got him?”
Blitz shrugs.
But when we get in the hall, it’s clear. Denham is there, shrugging on his jacket and shoving things in his pocket from an envelope.
“Hey,” he says.
Another uniformed officer follows us as we walk down the hall.
Denham doesn’t waste any time. “So when do I get to see her?” he asks me.
I glance over at the lawyer.
“We’ve got some things to arrange first,” Jeremy says. “You need a temporary address. Check in with your probation officer. We need to contact the birth mother.”
Denham cuts him off. “Livia, shut this clown up. When can I see her?”
