Page 39 of Filthy Savage
“How far away are you?” Nancy asks.
Nice. She’s actually considering saying yes, which gives me a whole new headache on top of the current one. I tense up from the possibility that she might agree to this fucked-up last minute plan.
“I can’t have you coming at midnight,” she adds. “You’ll wake up the kids.”
My stomach does a flip of guilt at the thought of my niece, Annalee, and nephew, Asher. I’ve seen them all of maybe twice in their lives. That’s pathetic on my part, inexcusable and completely my fault.
I clear my throat. “I’m, uh, five minutes out.”
“Awww hell,” she whines. “You’re in my damned backyard, huh? Why’d you even bother calling first? Fine. Come. You’re the one who stayed away all this time, so I’m not going to give you another excuse to bail.”
“Thank you, sister,” I say to provoke her.
“But there’s one condition.”
“What?” I’m already mentally exhausted from just this one phone call. What more does she want?
“While you’re here, we’re going to sit down and have a talk. I mean really talk. Deal?”
“I was expecting that. I’m game, but only if you’ll listen, instead of insisting there’s only one right way. If you’re good with parking the pigheadedness, you have a deal. We can talk. I just won’t promise more than that.”
“I’m pigheaded?” she screeches. “If I’m stubborn, then you’re a goddamned bull in a china shop. One who runs away from his own family and never looks back to see the trail of crap you broke.”
“Good. Are you done?”
“For now. See you in a bit, Alexander.”
The line goes dead.
I’m impressed. That call actually went a lot better than I expected.
Next is to handle the panic-stricken, barefoot blonde woman running around haphazardly as though she’s trying to avoid a sharpshooter from making her a target.
“Hey,” I call out to her. “What did I say about staying put?”
Angel runs up to me, breathing like she’s run a marathon. She gives me a painless punch on the upper arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going somewhere?”
“Relax,” I tell her, shoving the phone back in my pocket. “Get back in the truck. I’ll buy you breakfast.”
She rolls her eyes and points down to her feet. “And shoes, please. Maybe a toothbrush, too?”
I point at the vehicle, signaling for her to start heading back, and add, “It’s a Chevron station, not a Walmart.”
“Yeah, I noticed, asshole,” she grumbles and leaves.
A few minutes later, I return to her with food, our coffees and a bag of whatever travel supplies I can find inside. “Here you go. This is all they had. Don’t go whining about the shitty coffee.”
Angel starts rifling through the pastry bag. “Thanks. Who were you talking to?”
I start the engine. “You’ll see soon enough.”
Judging by Angel’s reaction, that answer is not the right one. She takes a sip of her coffee and uses her free hand to fake-pour hot liquid in my lap. I flinch just a little, and she grins.
“Keep it up and I’ll burn you for real,” she warns me, taking a bite of the donut from the brown bag. “I’m tired of you treating me this way.”
“It’s for your own good.” Reversing the truck, I roll out of the lot and wait to merge into traffic.
“That’s the most sexist thing I’ve heard all morning.” She arches her eyebrow and licks frosting off her top lip. “Don’t think I can’t make you pay for it in your sleep.”
