Page 71 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
“What’s it?” he mumbled, without opening his eyes.
“I have good news,” I said. That was preframing, something I’d learned in one of the books from the library about parenting toddlers.
No response.
“I talked to Andrew,” I whispered, “and he’s going to sign the papers.”
“No,” he said, startlingly clear. “It’s a trap.”
And then as far as I could tell, he slept on. It took me a long time to fall asleep after that.
Chapter Eleven
When I woke up, a note was on Colin’s pillow. In bold, block letters: Call me.
So he was as terse in writing as he was in speech. He’d never left this early, but if he’d received a call, I had a suspicion I knew what it was about. I dialed his cell number—he answered on the first ring.
“Good news,” he said.
Shit. He didn’t remember my confession from the night before. What to do? I opened my mouth to interrupt, to tell him the truth.
“Andrew’s taken care of,” he said. “I’m with Laramie now.”
The words caught in my throat. Over the phone and with Colin sitting in his brother’s house most likely, was not the time or place to tell him, but I had to say something. I pushed past the panic lodged in my throat. “Oh,” I said, my voice hoarse. “That’s good.”
A short pause. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice breaking on my agreement.
“I’ll be home soon. We’ll celebrate.” He hung up.
Oh God, he was so horribly perfect. All concerned for my state of mind and trying to reassure me. Dealing with my shit, and for what? I couldn’t even have sex right. I would’ve thought two years was enough time to heal, but it was abundantly clear that I wasn’t okay. I was as messed up as ever, and worse, it was infecting Colin.
If he were just a little less wonderful, then my brokenness wouldn’t seem so bad. As it was, we fit together like a diamond in the gutter. On the outside we were well matched, but on the inside he was slumming with me. What would happen when he realized it? I’d be alone again, and Bailey would be back in that shit-poor apartment. At least the problem with Andrew had been resolved, I was thankful for that, but I didn’t want to go back to the way things were.
I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t.
I’d glimpsed happiness here. I might not deserve it, but Bailey did.
No, I wouldn’t even put this on her. I wanted this for myself. Living all ghetto had one major benefit—it had molded me this way. Ruthless.
From somewhere deep inside I dredged up the will to fight. A low-down, dirty street fight between me and, well, the other me. The stupid one who lied and fucked and hurt but had no business in Colin’s life. Her death was a worthy sacrifice so that Bailey and Colin and I could be a family.
And when Colin came home, offering a bouquet of daisies, I accepted them as my right. I thanked him as was appropriate. And I kissed him as I really wanted to—hard and deep.
It almost felt real. Maybe it was.
I felt fidgety, bursty, like I might explode but laugh right on through it. Was this happiness?
I wanted to jump Colin, though that feeling wasn’t new. But I didn’t want him to hurt me. I didn’t want him to hold me down or berate me. I wanted him to touch me, hold me, love me. I wanted to hear his voice again telling me everything would be okay. And, because happiness made me horny, I wanted his tongue on my clit. Pretty, pretty please.
But life intruded. I had Bailey, and that meant no midday sex romps.
“Let’s go out,” Colin murmured.
“Okay.” Think, think. Where did people go? None of our usual haunts—the library, the city park, the local playground—seemed adequate for this day when Colin would spend the day with us. A day of celebration.
And then it came to me—the zoo! We’d gone there once, but it had been so crowded and Bailey so young. A family thing, a real outing.
