Rock Chick Regret (Rock Chick #7)(135)

“I know where my money is, Aaron takes care of it.”

“That’s your grandmother’s money. This is our money. The money I earned, the money the Feds didn’t get. It’s in your name in an account in the Caymans.”

I felt my heart lodge in my throat.

He was joking.

Right?

“Do you need me to get it for you?” I asked stupidly.

What was he going to do with it?

Unless he was planning a prison break.

Someone, please tell me he wasn’t planning a prison break!

“No,” he answered and I let out a quiet, relieved breath. “I need to know you can get to it if you need to.”

This surprised me too. More than before. Down to my core.

My heart slid to the side, lengthwise, threatening to choke me.

“I don’t want your money,” I whispered.

“Sadie, you need to get gone, until the Balduccis –”

“Hector’s taking care of me,” I cut in.

“Yes, I can see that. He’s doing a stellar job. That’s why you’re cuffed to a bed,” my father shot back impatiently.

Oh no, he was not going to lay this on Hector!

“Only because Jerry shot at the Rock Chicks!” I cried.

“You think one of the Balducci boys wouldn’t shoot at those girls? They wouldn’t think twice and they wouldn’t intentionally miss.”

He was probably right about that.

I, of course, was not going to tell him that.

“Even the Balduccis wouldn’t be fool enough to walk into Lee Nightingale’s office and nab me. Jerry’s f**ked. Hector’s probably livid and the Nightingale Men are going to freak.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he asked sharply. “I need Lee Nightingale breathing down my neck like I need a hole in my head. Sadie, you forced my hand, put me in a situation where I had to put one of my men at risk just so I could talk to my own goddamned daughter.”

I steeled myself so his words wouldn’t affect me.

“Are we done here?” I asked sounding like I was definitely done.

“No. I need to give you the name of the bank, the account numbers –”

“I think I already told you I don’t want your money and I’m fine where I am.”

More silence, this stretched longer, became scarier then my father said in a low voice, a voice I knew very well, the voice he used when he meant to be listened to and obeyed.

“We need to talk about Chavez.”

I fought against my conditioning to listen and obey and said, fake-breezily, “Talk away.”

“I don’t like you with him.”

“Well, I didn’t suspect you’d be leaping for joy but I also don’t care. I like him. He taught me how to make s’mores.”

Silence again, this time it wasn’t scary, it was something else.

“S’mores?” he asked and I could swear my always unruffled father sounded confused.

“Yes, those graham cracker sandwiches where you roast a marsh –”

“I know what s’mores are, Sadie.”

“Well, he taught me how to make them. He found out I’d never had them and always wanted to make some and he made sure I had them. And we sanded his floors. And his mother likes me. She’s going to teach me how to cook.”

The scary was back. “He’s got you, my daughter, sanding his floors?”

“I asked to do it. Hector wanted to watch a movie.”

“Jesus Christ,” my father muttered.

At this point, in order to speed things up and get the hell out of there, I channeled Hector and explained, “I know you don’t have a lot of time and you’re not getting this so I’ll give it to you. See, a good life is about sanding floors, making s’mores and laughing while you do the dishes. It’s about putting lip gloss on in the restroom with your girlfriends during a rock gig. It’s about being able to say things that aren’t smart or do things that are really stupid and people forgiving you. It’s about looking after each other. That’s a good life. Ralphie and Buddy, my friends, gave that to me. Then Hector came into my life and made it even better. I’ve had that life for…” I stopped, counted and then went on, “Five weeks and five days. I like it. I’m not giving it up. I’m not going to the Caymans and living the big life off your drug money, surrounded by pretty things, eating the finest foods, drinking champagne but being totally alone and utterly lonely. I’d rather paint Hector’s living room which is what I might do today, if he lets me. Now, can we stop talking so Jerry can take me home and good people can stop worrying about me?”

Apparently, he didn’t listen to a word I said.

“It’s my job to take care of you, I’m your father,” he told me.

“Well, if it’s your job, you’re fired,” I replied calmly, proud of myself.

Who would have known I had it in me?

But there it was.

Silence again, then, “This isn’t done, Sadie.”

It was my turn to sigh. “I didn’t figure it would be. But can it be for now? I need a shower.”

Then he surprised me again, he did this by giving in.

My father never gave in.

Ever!