Rock Chick Reckoning (Rock Chick #6)(119)

madhouse in here. And most of ‘em are new which means they don’t know the dril , like, what I say f**kin’ goes. They expect me to be nice or somethin’. One told me I needed a customer service trainin’ course. What the f**k is that? ”

“Tex –” I tried to cut in but it didn’t work.

“Trainin’ courses! Yeah, we need trainin’ al right. These f**kers need to learn that I make coffee and they drink it. It doesn’t come with a ‘hi’, ‘how you doin’’ or ‘have a nice f**kin’ day’. They order, they move to the end of the counter, they get their coffee and they cease to exist for me.

Fuck! ” he finished on a boom.

“Tex, stop saying ‘f*ck’ so loud!” I heard Indy shout in the background.

“Fuck!” Tex shouted back. “Fuck, f**k, f**k, f**k, f**k! ” Oh dear.

“Would it kil you to be a little nice?” I asked when he’d quit saying f**k.

“Yes,” he answered immediately.

Okay, I didn’t have time for this. We needed to move on.

“Tex, I need a favor,” I told him.

“Does it involve me kickin’ someone’s ass?” he asked.

“No.”

“Great. Fuckin’ great. I need to kick someone’s ass. But do you need me to do that? No! You f**kin’ do not. Jesus Jones, what is it?”

I told him about my strategy, Mace’s Mom and Stepmom’s imminent arrival and I needed the Rock Chicks in on it but sworn to secrecy under threat of certain death if they breathed a word.

“I get to kil ‘em if they let the cat out of the bag?” Tex asked.

“Knock yourself out,” I replied.

“Leave it to me.”

Disconnect without even a good-bye.

I ticked that off my mental list.

Onward.

* * * * *

Mace and I were sitting in Lee’s office. I was behind the desk in Lee’s chair. Mace was on the desk, sitting close. Next to his thigh were the wrappers from our spicy chicken tortil a wraps.

I sucked on the straw, procrastinating by consuming the watery dregs of a long since dead Diet Coke. I was staring at the phone Mace placed in front of me next to the wrappers.

“Kitten,” Mace said softly.

I didn’t take my eyes from the phone.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

“Do it fast. Get it over with,” Mace encouraged.

I looked up at him. Then I set down my dead Diet Coke.

Then I tossed my hair.

“Right. Fast. Over with. Here I go.”

I picked up the receiver, dialed the number to my childhood home that, even after years I hadn’t forgotten and sat and listened to it ring.

“Hel o,” my Mom said. She sounded seven hundred years old.

My eyes flew to Mace. He leaned forward and put his hand on my neck right where it met my shoulder. Then he squeezed.

Strength flowed though me.

That may sound stupid but it was true.

“Mom?” I cal ed.

Silence.

“Mom? You there?”

“Stel a?”

“Yeah, Mom. It’s Stel a.”

“Stel a,” she breathed.

“Hey. How’re you doin’?”

Silence.

Then I heard a hitch, like she was crying.

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

How’re you doin’? What kind of question is that? My brain asked.

I ignored my brain.

“Mom, I know what’s going on,” I told her.

“You do? How do you know?” Mom asked.

“I have a friend who… wel , he’s more than a friend. He’s kind of my boyfriend.” I looked up at Mace. He wasn’t looking concerned anymore, his mouth was twitching.

Effing hel .

I kept going. “Wel , we’re actual y kind of living together.

His name is Kai Mason. I cal him Mace. Though, not just me. Everyone does. That is, everyone cal s him Mace.” Why was I babbling?

“Anyway, he’s nice and he’s cute. You’d like him.” Cute?

I was stil babbling!

“How do you know what’s going on?” Mom got back to the subject.

“Wel , he’s also a private investigator.” Mom gasped.

“No! No, he didn’t investigate you or anything. I mean, wel , he did. After we found out from his Dad, who’s kind of a jerk…” My eyes skidded toward Mace’s face again but I couldn’t see it as his head was tilted down. His shoulders were shaking however and I knew it was with laughter. I forged ahead, “Anyway, it’s a long story. His Dad told me you were sick so Mace checked up on you and he told me you were in trouble. So –”

“Did you pay the mortgage?”

My hand went to Mace’s thigh, I squeezed and his head came up. I was right, he was smiling.

The smile faded when I said, “No, I didn’t pay the mortgage. Mace did.”

“Your Dad’s real mad about the mortgage. Went to the bank and told them to return the money but they won’t do it because we’re behind.”

“He’s going to have to get over it,” I told her. “We’re sending more money, Mom. Our friends did a col ection.”