Page 19 of A Lick and A Promise
“I’m at your back, always.”
Totally loved my best bitch.
I jerked up my chin.
She gave me a peace sign and closed the door behind her.
I sucked in a breath and stared at it.
What I needed was a mission, and it took me point zero two seconds to decide what that mission was going to be.
So before I stretched or showered, I got on my laptop. I made a Reiki appointment for Dream, the last one Monday evening. I then texted her the deets, told her I was coming over to look after the kids and said, You throw this in my face to prove a point, I’m not only out hard-earned cash, you’re an idiot.
That would get her.
It was after stretching, my shower and the return of my beloved pooch when Dream replied to my text.
I’m going but don’t expect a thank you that you forced me to take time away from my own children.
She was so full of it.
This meant I grinned.
I hadn’t been winning a lot these days.
But I was gonna take that as a win.
A small one.
But a win was a win.
THREE
ALTERNATE UNIVERSE
It happened at the end of my shift on Monday.
I hadn’t exactly ridden the high of forcing my sister to take a break from working herself to the bone, then accomplishing a busy Saturday of keeping my life in order, then enjoying a cocktail (or two) with my girl, onward to a chill Sunday where Jacques got an extra-long walk, I got an at-home facial, and as my New Year’s Eve treat, I caught up on a binge of Slow Horses.
(As an aside, although by no means would I choose the reason why it happened, there was seriously something to be said about a quiet New Year’s. No annoying drunk people, for one. No stress/pressure about outfit, hair, or someone to kiss at the stroke of midnight, two. No having to figure out how to get home without an inebriated asshole plowing into your car and ending your new year way early, a very important three.)
The rest of my weekend was a mixed bag.
The pluses: The Tiffany’s collar that Raye did indeed put on my dog was easy to take off. Cheyenne’s face didn’t pop up behind the last jar of Biscoff cookie butter at the grocery store because she was stalking me. Mom and Dad asked me to dinner on Wednesday, and they weren’t vegan, just vegetarian, so cheese was a staple in their diet, and that cheese would be good, Mom was a great cook, and I didn’t have to worry about making something for myself at least one night that week. And word filtered to me that Knox was being released from the hospital on Monday morning.
The minuses: It took massive amounts of willpower not to fashion a disguise and go check in on Knox at the hospital in a way Knox wouldn’t know I’d checked in on him at the hospital.
Also, Brady was trying to get in touch with me, I had my suspicions why (to discuss how what we’d done was neither of our finest hours), and I couldn’t go there. Thus, very unlike me, I avoided his texts and calls.
And I couldn’t seem to stop myself from opening my laptop and researching the dastardly deeds of the Tucson Family Chambers—Knox’s birth brood.
Primarily, his father’s ties with cartels and his bent toward helping them transport drugs over the border, along with his sister, Gypsy (yeah, that was her real name), hooking up with one of her father’s scarier protégés, a dude named Rocco.
I mean…Rocco.
Cool name, but if it didn’t destine you for a life of crime, a career as an MMA fighter, or the drummer of a thrash metal band, nothing did.
Granted, there wasn’t much to find about that lot, seeing as they moved around in the under-underworld of crime. As such, they didn’t exactly take selfies with their caches of fentanyl pills, throwing up devil’s horns and posting that shit to Insta.
