Rock Chick Rescue (Rock Chick #2)(24)
Author: Kristen Ashley

Smithie turned to Eddie. “I’m leavin’ her in your hands.

You f**kin’ deal with her.” And he stalked away. Again.

Eddie dragged a hand through his hair.

“Eddie,” Jimmy Marker was back, “I real y gotta ask her a few questions.”

Eddie flipped his hand out in an annoyed “go ahead” gesture but didn’t leave my side as Detective Marker asked me questions. I told him my story (feeling Eddie get more and more tense as I told it; don’t ask me how I felt this, trust me, I just knew). Detective Marker took notes and asked me if I knew how to get a hold of my Dad— which I didn’t.

He took my number, turned to Eddie and said, “She’s al He took my number, turned to Eddie and said, “She’s al yours.”

Not good.

Before Eddie could do or say anything, I walked quickly to the bar to get my coat, sweater and purse. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d go away.

I took off my apron, pul ing out my cel and slapped the apron on the top of the bar to begin cashing out.

Smithie was behind the bar, glaring at me.

“Am I fired?” I asked.

Smithie snatched the apron away and said, “You’re a pain in my f**kin’ ass, that’s what you are.” He shoved the apron under the bar and shoved my stuff at me, “I’l cash you out. I’l have your tips ready for you on Friday.” Guess I wasn’t fired.

Then, I noticed, down the bar, Lee was standing and talking to Vance.

Shit and damn.

My night was now complete.

What was Lee doing here?

“Hey Lee,” I cal ed, trying to be cool.

He looked up, his eyes flicked behind me, he grinned broad and he looked back at me.

“Jet,” he said.

I smiled at Vance who was also grinning, his eyes giving my body a sweep, then his grin broadened to a breathtaking, white smile when his gaze caught mine. Then he looked behind me and I felt a hand curl around my upper arm.

“Let’s go,” Eddie said in my ear.

I stiffened and turned. Obviously, the ignoring thing didn’t work.

I tried another evasive tactic.

“Lenny’s taking me home,” I said.

That didn’t work either. Eddie steered me toward the front door.

“No one’s takin’ you home. You’re comin’ to my place.” Eek!

I dug in my heels and pul ed my arm out of his hand.

“I can’t. I have to get home,” I told him.

“You aren’t going home,” he said.

I stared at him.

“I have to go home.”

“You aren’t safe at home. You’l be safe with me and that’s where you’re stayin’.”

At his words, panic fil ed me. “You think Slick wil go to my apartment?” I asked.

“I think Slick’l do just about anything to get his thirty K.” My stomach rol ed and I leaned forward.

“But, my Mom’s there. She can’t…” I stopped talking and then, not meaning to, I gave him the girlie “please” look that worked on Smithie, “Eddie, I have to go home.” He looked at me for several seconds then he muttered,

“Fuck.”

He grabbed my hand and pul ed me forward. “I’l take you home.”

Relief flooded through me as he pushed through the front doors.

“Thanks Eddie.”

My relief was short-lived.

“We’l stop by my place on the way. I’l pick up a change of clothes.”

Eek, eek and eek!

“What?” I shouted.

Eddie stopped by his truck. “You don’t stay at my place, then I’m stayin’ at yours.”

No.

No, no, no.

“I’m sure I’l be al right,” I assured him.

“I’m sure too, mainly because I’l be there to make sure,” Eddie said, opening the passenger side door.

“We don’t have a lot of room,” I said to him as he helped me into his truck.

He stood in the opened door, looking at me.

“You got a couch?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, and wished I didn’t, “But it isn’t very comfortable.”

“You sleep on it?”

“No.”

“Your Mom sleep on it?”

This wasn’t getting any better.

“No,” I answered.

“Then you have room.”

“Eddie…” I said to the slamming door.

Eddie swung in behind the wheel and my mind whirled, trying to find some excuse, any excuse, for Eddie not to come to my house, spend the night on the couch, protecting me from men with knives.

I couldn’t find one.

He started the truck and off we went… to my doom.

Chapter Six

It Was Time to Take Things in My Own Hands The alarm went off and I stared at it.

5:20 am.

I hated my life.

I hit snooze.

My alarm went again.

5:27 am.

I really hated my life.

I hit snooze again.

My alarm went again.

5:34 am.

Seriously, my life sucked.

I turned off the alarm, rol ed out of bed and, stil half asleep, shuffled out the door, through the living room and into the kitchen. I opened the coffee filter to make sure Mom had set it up last night with coffee. She did, so I flipped the switch. I shuffled back through the living room and down the short hal , yawning and pul ing my hair away from my face with one of my hands.

I knocked on Mom’s bedroom door and when I heard her cal , I opened it and leaned against the doorjamb. I didn’t have the energy to hold my body upright.

“Mornin’, Mama,” I said across the room.

“Mornin’, dol face,” Mom replied sleepily.

“You getting up?”

I lifted both my hands to pul my hair off my neck and bundle it on the top of my head and I left my hands there.

Mom tried to get up with me in the mornings, that way I could get her sorted before I went to work. She could sleep while I worked, not to mention she could go to bed early.

“Sure, I’l have breakfast with you,” Mom said.

“You wanna try it alone today? Or do you want me to help?” I asked.

Mom was walking around a bit. Depending on her energy levels, she could get herself in and out of her chair, to the bathroom, around the apartment, even stand at the kitchen counter for awhile. She was also doing a lot better at getting herself dressed, which was exhausting one-handed. The PT and OT told her she’d get used to it, get stronger, and it would eventual y be a walk in the park (literal y). Even though progress was slow, it was happening.