Rock Chick Revolution (Rock Chick #8)(54)

Something moved over her face that I could read even behind her shades.

Surprise.

And warmth.

“You love him?” she asked quietly and I felt my lips tip up.

“Yeah,” I answered just as quietly.

Her head tipped to the side. “He loves you?”

I nodded and full-on smiled. “Oh yeah.”

No surprise that time. Just warmth.

“He’s good to you?”

My smile got bigger as my hand lifted to touch the pendant at my neck. “Definitely.”

Her shades dropped to my throat. Her mouth got soft but she didn’t say anything. I knew she’d like the pendant. I knew she’d know it was from Ren. And I knew she’d know, just looking at its kickassness, that it was thoughtful and generous and said it all.

She took in a breath, looked at me, and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

Right. The hard part.

“He said Ava’s name,” I told her.

“And?” she prompted when I said no more.

“And that hurt,” I answered. My voice was quiet, but there was a tremor in it that was not me.

And Indy knew me. She knew what that tremor meant. She knew exactly how much it hurt.

This was why her hand shot across the table and grabbed mine as she murmured, “Oh, Ally.”

“I didn’t want to share. I didn’t want to relive. It haunted me enough as it was. And I didn’t want Ava to get wind of it,” I told her.

“I see that, but you know I would never—”

I cut her off.

“I know. And I know it isn’t the same. You’ve been in love with him since you were five, but it still kind of is, so what would you do if Lee was holding you in his arms in bed after you had a great night, the best you ever had, and he said another woman’s name in your hair?”

Her hand gave mine a squeeze. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. Her face, even with shades, said it all.

She let me go, grabbed her coffee, sucked some back and put it on the table, her shades again locking with mine.

She got me.

“And all the other stuff?” she asked.

This time I got her. Conversation about Ren was done. We were moving on. She wanted to know about my activities.

Another hard part.

Crap.

I leaned forward.

“I’m good at it,” I told her.

“I know you are,” she replied, and no doubt about it, hearing her say that and do it instantaneously felt great.

But I expected nothing less. That was pure Indy.

“No, Indy, I’m good at it,” I stressed. “It’s in my blood. It’s who I am. I think I needed to prove that to myself, and the other night in the mountains, I did. What happened there was extreme, and Darius, Brody and me, we kicked its ass. It was awesome. So now, I need to prove to Hank, Lee, Dad, and probably the hardest, Ren, that this is my thing. I’m good at it. And I’m going to keep doing it.” I took in a breath then made my point. “Now, do you think I’d get the chance to do that if I did my thing with the Rock Chicks tagging along?”

She saw the wisdom of this statement, and I knew it because she sat back and sucked back more coffee.

“Right. No,” I answered for her.

“I would have kept that secret, too,” she told me something I already knew.

“I dig that,” I replied. “But honestly, think about it. If I shared—you, me, our history, the way we are—can you sit there and tell me you wouldn’t have finagled a way to get involved, or at least take my back somewhere in the last two years?”

She saw the wisdom of this statement too, and I knew it when she didn’t answer.

Tacit agreement.

“Right, no,” I repeated. “And if you did, Lee would lose his mind, you’d lose your mind with Lee for losing his mind, and all that would land on me. I’d have a choice. Stop doing what I love to do, something I’m good at, something that’s in me, or be responsible for friction between two of the most important people in my life. And Indy, I’m not going to stop. So I had to manage that situation another way. And I picked secrecy.”

She nodded. She got this, too.

Thank God.

Then she asked, “So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get licensed and put out a shingle.”

Her head jerked. “Seriously?”

“Totally seriously.”

Her lips spread in a big smile. “That’s freakin’ awesome, honey.”

Again, pure Indy.

There was a reason she was my BFF, and it was not because we’d been thrown together as babies because our parents were best friends and we had no choice.

It was because she was the absolute shit. We clicked. She was not yin to my yang. She was not Laverne to my Shirley.

We were cut from the same cloth. She might be a redhead and me a brunette. She might have curves where I had angles. And she might be a tad bit less crazy than me (a tad).

But other than that, we were sisters.

To the core.

I did not share any of this deep crap with her.

I didn’t need to.

She already knew it.

Instead I guided the discussion to something (else) that was important.