Rock Chick Regret (Rock Chick #7)(61)

Which meant…

Sometime, a long time ago, I’d been one of them.

Sometime, a long time ago, I’d been the baby of The Nightingale/Savage/Townsend Clan.

Sometime, a long time ago, my Mom lost her friends and I lost my chance to be a good, normal, nice person surrounded by genuine friends, people that truly cared about me.

I lost all that had been their life. All that made them laugh with each other, tease each other, take care of each other.

Heck, Indy had just gotten married! I could have been one of her bridesmaids!

I tried to hold on but I couldn’t help it, I could feel the tears welling in my eyes.

I thought I was used to the loss but, apparently, I wasn’t.

And that stunk.

“I hate my father,” I told Tom Savage quietly. Then before I could stop it, my breath hitched (repeatedly) and I hissed, “I hate him!”

Hector’s hands disappeared from my shoulders, his arms slid around my chest, his body got closer and I felt his jaw against the side of my head.

Still I tried to gain control (this, by the way, didn’t work and I felt the tears slide down my cheeks).

“Sadie, sugar –” Daisy whispered gently and at her words the Rock Chicks and Ralphie pulled in ever closer.

“I want you to come over for dinner tomorrow,” Tom said. “Indy and Ally’ll be there. So will Lee, Hank and Roxie. Hector too. The whole family.”

The whole family. He said, “The whole family.” I’d never had a “whole family”. Not their kind of family.

Well, I guess I did, once, but I lost it before I knew I even had it.

I pulled in my lips. Hector’s jaw left my head and his arms gave me a squeeze.

There was no way I was going to dinner at Tom Savage’s house with all my babyhood friends reunited. There was no way I was going to set myself up for that kind of loss. There was no way I was going to let any of this go on any longer than it had to.

The only thing I knew was that I had to devise a plan to get myself safe, safe from the Crazy Balducci Brothers and safe from any further emotional turmoil.

Tom must have read my intent on my face because he added, “I have pictures. Of your mother. You could –”

I immediately changed my mind. “I’ll be there.”

Hector gave me another squeeze.

Tom gave me a smile.

Indy threw her hands up and yelled, “Party!”

Ally laughed with obvious relief on the word, “Righteous.”

I relaxed into Hector’s warmth, looked down at the photo and made my decision.

I’d let myself have this one small gift, a gift, I told myself, that was from my Mom.

Then as soon as I could finagle it, just like my Mom, I was going to disappear.

Chapter Eleven

Hector’s Rose

Sadie

“Sadie, maybe you should come in and talk. I’m not sure this is –” my dead grandmother’s financial manager, Aaron Lockhart, said in my ear.

“Please Aaron, just do it,” I interrupted him.

It was after work, I was in my bedroom on the landline not delaying a minute in putting my newly formed plans in place.

One thing my Mom left me was Aaron Lockhart. He was old as the hills, stooped, had wispy white hairs across his liver-spotted scalp and he still worked full-time because, he told me, when he tried retirement his wife nearly drove him to murder.

Since he liked his work, and his freedom, he got in his car every morning at 8:30 and his driver drove him to his office in the Denver Technical Center (known as DTC). He left work at 5:30, which gave his wife plenty of time to have a couple of martinis and mellow out a bit before he got home (he told me this too).

Aaron and I had never been close – my father didn’t like him and wouldn’t allow it – but in an ironclad agreement devised by my dead (but clearly, while she was alive, shrewd) grandmother when she set up my trust, he was appointed to manage my trust fund which had not been touchable until I was twenty-one. He also managed the income derived from the flat in London I inherited which had been rented out since around the time of the Blitz to an old lady named Mrs. Burnsley and a small villa on Crete which was hired out to tourists. I’d never been to either of these properties, my father also wouldn’t allow that, but I’d seen pictures. The flat was close to Covent Garden. The villa was in a small fishing village by the sea.

When I opened Art, I asked Aaron to help me to keep it clean, away from my father and entirely law-abiding, and he did.

Aaron was one of the few people I knew who, regardless of his age, was not frightened of going head-to-head with my father. I admired him, totally trusted him and I’d always liked him but, as ever, I’d never let it show.

I’d just asked him to find out Mrs. Burnsley’s plans for her future in my flat as well as the schedule of occupancy on the villa in Crete. One or the other of them might well be my next destination or a future one as the case may be.

As I didn’t want to put old lady Burnsley out of her home or devastate excited tourists who were looking forward to their time in the sun on a Greek Island, I’d also charged Aaron to find other properties. I didn’t care where just as long as they were manageable on a fixed income and there was at least an ocean between me and the Crazy Balducci Brothers. I also asked him to set up an auction of my belongings that were in storage.