CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
*Coty “Coyote” - Vice President*
Aggressively chewing the plastic at the end of my hoodie string, I knock on the wooden door as my eyes go unfocused on the rustic, engraved manager sign. Pounding steps can be heard storming across the room. The intensity of each clomp nearly makes me back up, but I hold my ground while waiting for Kal to answer. The door swings open wide, and his expression goes from rabidly annoyed to chill in a blink.
“Expecting someone else?” I ask, lumbering past him. When I go to plop down onto the couch, I stop dead, stumbling over my feet to keep myself from touching broken glass.
“A fucking price tag. One of those pesky ones where the damn plastic thing gets stuck in the material.”
“Testing the wares, huh? That kiss with Lace fuck you up? I know it fucked me up.”
Does he give me an apologetic look? Nope. Not that I was expecting one. As pissed off as it made me, I knew it was coming eventually. I might not be able to condition myself to be impervious to her around other guys, but I have been trying to work out that moment between her and Kal for three years.
Waiting for it.
Anticipating it.
Dreading it.
Kal simply grunts and falls into the chair behind his desk. Leaning way back and kicking his boot onto the top, he starts twisting and untwisting the handmade metal pen Lace gifted him years ago — a melted blend from the kickstand of his first bike and the base of her first pole.
“Find anything?” he asks, all procedural, keeping his gaze down at the small metal cylinder.
“Yeah.”
That gets his attention. His focus flies upward.
“One of our birds found her getting on a bus headed south. Said she was tweaking.”
His eyes roll. “Of course she was. Such a fucking worn-out piece of human flesh.”
“Oh, that is not the best part.”
Kal drops his foot off the desk with a thunk and leans forward, riveted.
“The ticket was paid for by your pop.” Now it’s my turn to lean back, smug. His gaze goes unfocused, his thoughts undoubtedly running a mile a minute. “Did you know they had anything going on?” I ask next.
Kal shakes his head, gaze still detached and unfocused, but his mouth moves, and words come out, despite the disconnect. “So, Stoney and Shari were fucking around and wanted Harry out of the picture then?”
I shrug, whether or not he can see it. “Unoriginal and nauseously old-school, but the motive fits.”
His jaw clenches, and his gaze finally focuses, landing on me. “Either way, that does not change the fact that he had inside help.”
I nod, bouncing lightly in my chair with each up and down bob of my head. “I would have killed him without a paper telling me to, if I knew his hands were ever on Lace. I think what she insinuated last night checks out, though.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, tapping that pen on the desktop while propped and resting on his forearms between us. “I asked her about it. I believe her. He was an abusive fuck, but not toward her or the baby.”
“Not to say it would have never happened; everyone has a breaking point. The baby still has a lot of years of growing to do. What if she turns into a teenager with an attitude like her mama? Think he could refrain from setting her straight?”
Kal nods. “Right.”
“You did the right thing, Boss.”
His eyes meet mine; in this moment of pure exhaustion and internal defeat, he looks like he aged twenty years. Fucking spitting image of Stoney.
“You did the right thing on both counts,” I mutter, looking away.
The creak of his chair sounds like the screech of a damn seagull in this stuffy room as he gets comfortable again and starts lightly bouncing.
After a deep breath in, on the exhale I admit that “I fucked up. I was only thinking about myself, no one else. That’s not how family works. What’s worse, I did it because of my obsession, not with any well-meaning to her safety. I literally fucking took from everyone else’s cup to fill my own. You were right to strip me of my colors.”
To ensure he knows without a doubt that my apology is genuine, I look him dead in the eye. “I fucking broke promises. I did exactly what I hoped I would never do.”
The words hover between us for several long seconds before Kal leans forward and holds out his wrapped hand. I stopped crying and shit as soon as I understood the thrill it gave my dad, but when I slap my hand into his, and he jerks us up to stand in order to bring me in and slap his other hand across my back, it fucking hits me hard deep inside my chest, and I find myself clearing my throat to get rid of the gathering emotions. I hate the feeling, but not the reason.
After he thumps me on my back once more, lighter this time, we separate, and I look him in the eye and say, “Tell me what to do, brother. Leave. Stay. Help. Turn a blind eye. I am here for it, whatever it is.”
Do I want to insist that whatever it is needs to include Lace? Yeah. But I can take one look at him and tell it already does. Even if not, I would still have his back. I can fight for her later. Maybe one day when I can meet her on her level instead of dragging her down to the depths of mine.
Kal nods, sits down, gives the pen one more twist, whips out a piece of paper, and taps against the white sheet. “The inherited rule books are roadkill. The time has come for us to write our own.”